Swiftcurrent Creek he said he had himself a dark-haired daughter, with long green eyes

Lothario had returned, it would seem. The boy beckoned for the pale she-wolf, drawing a derisive snort from the regal; she had not gone with him before, but he was clearly intent on the icy-eyed woman. Constantine couldn’t blame him—he once had been, too. He still was, if he would be honest with himself. The idea of loving two women, though, and hurting them both was enough to seal his lips into secrecy.

The swarthy wolf made himself known first. The brazen wolf was not stupid enough to remain by his gift, and as the fiery-eyed male cast his eyes outward, he then smoothed his form upon the frozen ground, one paw swinging heavily onto the moose limb as his nose pushed the snow from it—and there he took a grand bite—his senses alert to whether the male would challenge him or not.