Abigail Clarke's POV

I was exhausted, and my wolf was on edge by the time I left the plane in Moscow. Crying babies, turbulence and a businessman who stank of cigarettes and body odor, while ignoring my ring and trying to hit on me at 30,000 feet, pretty much did me in. I turned on my phone and texted my son I was on the ground before heading to baggage claim.

He met me just outside the security area, and I hugged him tight as he embraced me back. "Welcome to Russia, Mom," he said.

I looked up at him and cupped his face. "You look like you're beat up,...