It was the second morning following that I got the worst news of my life, worse than getting laid off, although I didn't realize it at the time. At first, I thought it might be good news. We'd gone running and Brigitte was running as a wolf, while Conor and I ran together as humans.

Brigitte suddenly woofed, and Conor stopped dead. I halted and looked around, wondering if trouble was coming.

Conor said, "You're pregnant."

"What the fuck! You better be joking."

"No, Brigitte smells it. She's not joking."

Please, God. Don't let it be Quinn's, or that fucking orgy I had.

"When?"

"I didn't smell it yesterday when...