I slumped down and put my head in my hands as I tried to grip the bull by
the horns.
So, I was a werewolf now.
I tried the thought on for size, like a new pair of jeans. I didn’t like it one
bit, but I wasn’t sure if this was something I could just return.
Inhaling deep breaths, I let my chest rise and fall. Okay. Where did being
a werewolf leave me, other than screwed?
Worst-case scenario, this was now my life. Overwhelming sensory input,
agonizing bone-snapping transformations, lots of hair everywhere. Potential
for fleas. Benefits: none.
Best-case scenario, there was a way to fix this.
Either way, I still had a madman trying to abduct me, and being a
werewolf didn’t change that.
Impending death really had a way of putting things in perspective. I
clambered to my feet with a low growl as my aches and pains reasserted
themselves.
There was going to be a way to fix this. And after I found it, I was going
to find whoever was responsible for this shit and make them pay.
I cleaned myself up as best I could and returned to the bedroom with the
bedsheet wrapped around me like a toga. Sam was sitting at the foot of the
bed while Jaxson stood by the window, arms crossed. He turned to me, worry
and exhaustion clouding his face.
“Right, then, I’m a werewolf. How do we fix this?” I looked between
Jaxson and Sam, feeling unexpectedly rational about the situation. Well,
rational and pissed.
Jaxson took a step forward, but I shook my head as I stepped back. “I
need answers. Is this lycanthropy? Is there a cure?”
He flexed his hands. “I’m not sure. Lycanthropy is extremely rare.
There’s a potion master who might know more.”
“That’s a start.” A sliver of hope peeked out of the darkness in my soul.