Are There Memorials For Laika The Space Dog Today?

The healer told me I might not survive childbirth. I was eight months pregnant with Damian’s pup, and the cancer in my body was spreading faster than anyone expected. I walked out of the healer’s room with the report shaking in my hand, hoping my mate would finally come to one checkup with me. Instead, I saw him kneeling in front of another pregnant she-wolf. Lydia. His childhood love. She touched her stomach and whispered, “Damian, if Selene finds out you came with me, she’ll be hurt. She’s about to give birth too.” Damian kissed her belly and said, “She won’t find out. I’ve hidden it this long.” Then he added, “The pup you’re carrying is mine too. If Selene makes trouble, I’ll break the bond.” The report slipped from my fingers. For months, I had believed his lies. I thought he was only busy as the strongest Alpha. I thought he loved me, even if he kept missing my checkups. But he had never been too busy. He had simply chosen her. That night, when I started bleeding, Damian carried Lydia away for a minor burn and left me on the floor with our unborn pup. So I called the only wolf who could help me. A witch. “Break the mate-bond between Damian and me,” I whispered. And before Damian realized what he had lost, I took my newborn pup and disappeared.

My grandfather died on a covert mission, and authorities approved a grand funeral in his honor. Concerned about my grief, my fiancé offered to handle the arrangements. On the day of the funeral, I arrived with my grandfather's ashes, only to find his portrait discarded on the ground, replaced by one of a dog. Furious, I tried to remove it, but my fiancé's adopted sister stopped me. "Hands off that portrait!" Suppressing my fury, I countered, "This is my grandfather's funeral. He was a decorated hero." "So what?" She shrugged, sneering, "Isaac said Luck deserves the grandest send-off. If you've got a problem, take it up with him. Adoring me, he'd cancel your engagement and ditch you in a heartbeat." I laughed incredulously, calling Isaac's family. "You people begged for this engagement. Since when does your adopted daughter get to call it off?"

I was trapped in a sea filled with icebergs, clinging to life alongside Elsa —the sweetheart of my mate, Alpha Luke, and her son. After a long hesitation, Luke chose to save me, the one carrying his unborn twins. After he brought me to shore, there wasn’t enough time for him to go back for Elsa. All he could do was watch her drift away, swallowed by the freezing waves, until she disappeared from sight. He never forgave me for it. He said I delayed him—that if not for me, he could have saved her. For five long years, he hated me. He wouldn't even let my twin pups call him “father.” Then came the day the witch brewed a time machine that could turn back time. Luke gave up everything—his title, his pride, even his sons—just for the chance to go back. “Aria,” he said before leaving, “did you really think I saved you because I cared? If I hadn’t saved you first, the whole pack would’ve blamed Elsa. That’s the only reason.” After he was gone, his mother looked at me with eyes full of disdain. “This is all your fault,” she said. “If Luke had saved Elsa first, he might’ve been happy now.” Even my own children resented me. “You're the reason Father hates us,” they said. “You're the one who killed Elsa. Why couldn’t it have been you who died that day?” Despised by everyone, I drank the potion without a second thought. This time, I would go back. This time, I would save myself. And I would owe Luke nothing.

Sirius remembers being born. He knows who he is. He knows the Commander will come. He remembers before. He knows the future. A hybrid dog/wolf serving the British Military? Look closer. He will pay the debt he owes humankind. Then he will take his rightful place. The first book is his history. The Lycanthrope. The King who needs a Queen. The second book is his future. He will make many sacrifices and face many battles. Sirius must win For the sake of the Immortals, For the sake of humankind For the sake of the Earth.

At my lowest point that year, I took a job at a pet shop, where I was assigned to take care of a "gentle-tempered" silver-white Alaskan Malamute. Every time I went near him, he would lift his head and bury his nose against my chest, breathing in low, rough sounds that felt disturbingly like a grown man holding himself back. Especially when my hand brushed through his beautiful fur, his body would heat up, and his eyes would darken and burn with unmistakable possessiveness. Thinking he was sick, I rushed to find the shop owner. The owner gave me a long, meaningful glance. "He's not sick. But he only acts like this with you. "You need to bathe him, give him a full-body massage, and try giving him a little kiss. Otherwise, he might lose control." I had my doubts about the whole thing, but I didn't really have a choice. I went along with it anyway. Eventually, I told the friend who had gotten me this job everything that had been happening. After she heard me out, she went quiet for a second. Then, she looked at me strangely and said, "Have you ever thought that maybe you're not looking after a dog at all? What if he's actually a werewolf who can take human form, and he's in heat, using pheromones to mess with you because he wants to… You know, sleep with you?"

On Christmas Eve, my six-year-old, Yule, was dying from cancer, and all he wanted was a gift from his dad dressed as Santa. I called Peter, my husband, begging him to come. His reply? "Can you stop blowing up my phone? I don't have time for this! I'm helping Tracey find Puffy. Do you know how upset she is?" Oh, Tracey. His first love. And Puffy? Her dog. I told him Yule might not make it through the night. His response? A straight-up dagger: "Don't act like this isn't your fault, Freya. If Yule hadn't kicked Puffy, none of this would've happened. Tomorrow, make sure he apologizes to Tracey." Then he hung up. That night, I sat with Yule, crying as I helped him celebrate his last Christmas. By morning, Peter's social medias were still full of posts about that freaking dog. Mine? Yule's obituary. Ten years of marriage, gone.