An excerpt from Werewolf Winter Soldier.
Bucky’s mother knows her boy. She sees the way he looks at Steve, like he’s watching the moon — an inescapable pull.
“Bucky,” she says, when they are in the kitchen. She kneads the bread with her strong hands while he minds the stew. It smells like yeast and meat and home. “You know we don’t care about that the way the humans do. It’s easier to live by their rules in their world, of course, but that doesn’t matter. Choose anyone you want — but choose a wolf.”
“Ma,” Bucky lies, “I don’t know what you mean.”
She looks up from the dough, one pointed glance. Bucky takes the lid off the pot to give the meat and potatoes and vegetables a stir. Beneath the weight of her gaze, he’s six and not sixteen.
“They’re not like us, Bucky,” she continues. “It’ll be life for you the moment you touch him. He will always be able to leave.
Okay yes I really really want this very badly.