“I was born Dalton Roan Black,” he began, “in 1764 to John and Cybil Black. I couldn’t have asked for two more loving parents. Like most werewolf mates, they only had one child. We were members of a small pack in a village just outside of Salem, Massachusetts. Back in those days, large packs in North America were rare. Owing to the superstitions of the people during those times, we were mistrusted and hunted in larger cities. It was much safer to live in small communities. We had to be careful and not come across as too different, or odd. Anything that was different was perceived as evil, so it was just our family and three others in our pack.” He paused as memories of his childhood flashed in his mind—fishing with his father, baking bread with his mother, running in their wolf forms with
