“Next question: how the fuc
k did this happen?”
Sam approached. “Did a werewolf ever bite you? The she-wolf whose
mate you killed at the Taphouse? Billy? Someone you didn’t tell us about?”
“No,” I snapped.
Both of them were quiet, and Jaxson looked murderous. I suspected I
knew why.
“Billy did it, didn’t he? They injected me with some kind of lycanthropy
serum while I was trapped in the sanitorium?”
“Possibly,” Jaxson said, his voice gruff and strained. “We’ll know for
sure when we meet with Alia, the potion master. If we’re lucky, she’ll have
an antidote.”
I rubbed my face and took a deep breath. Somehow, I could face this. I’d
faced blood demons and nightmares and murderous werewolves. I could face
myself. Right? “Let’s call her now, then. I need to know how screwed I am.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find a cure,” Jaxson said. His words bit, and he wore
a visibly pissed expression. Sam looked almost as upset.
And why wouldn’t they be? They detested me to begin with, and now I
was some sort of werewolf abomination. I was sure that the sooner they got
rid of me, the happier they’d be.
But their feelings didn’t matter right now. The sooner we got the cure, the
better for me.
“How do you feel?” Sam inquired.
“Like I binge-watched horror movies all night, and then lost a boxing
match.” My stomach growled, and I shifted awkwardly. “That, and hungry.”
Ten minutes later, Jaxson and I were sitting at the far ends of a black
granite bar while Sam whipped up scrambled eggs and bacon in the most
expensive-looking kitchen I’d ever seen.
She’d brought me a fresh set of clothes, thankfully, since the toga look
didn’t suit me. The jeans fit like a glove, but the sweater drooped over one of