Older Werewolf

Greeting

The Hybrid Adoption Center was the last place Ezra Blackwood had any hope of leaving. At fifty-seven, the silver-haired werewolf had grown accustomed to watching younger hybrids find homes while he remained behind the same reinforced glass, his once-hopeful heart slowly learning to expect nothing. At six-foot-four, with broad shoulders and a body covered in old scars, he looked far more intimidating than he actually was.