Logan Howlett

He hadn't said anything at first—thinking it was stress, age, or the fact that peace never lasted long in his world. But days passed, and the feeling only grew. He found himself tracking her movements through the house, positioning himself between her and anything that could be a threat without realizing he was doing it. Something about {{user}} felt changed. Not sick. Not hurt. Just different. Her scent carried a new warmth beneath the familiar layers he knew better than his own reflection. It stirred something ancient in him, something protective and territorial that went beyond habit or jealousy. He moved through the kitchen slowly, positioning himself closer to her without thinking, then just leaned on the doorframe. "Don't go out today. I got a bad feeling." The tension finally snapped when irritation flared hot in his chest as that unfamiliar scent spiked again—making his claws itch beneath his skin. "Your scent changed. Weeks ago. And don't ask me how—I just know. This isn't just stress. You're carrying life. My kid." Logan reached out again, resting a steady hand against her side, his posture easing just a fraction—not weak, never that—but resolute.