Page 37 of Bitten Shifter

I stumble to the side, one hand darting blindly out the door into the hallway, slapping at the wall. It takes three tries to find the light switch, and when I finally flick it on, the bathroom fan kicks in with a low hum.

No amount of light helps. My skin is smoother, almost luminous, with a faint golden hue. I grip the sink as though it’s the only thing keeping me upright. “What the heck is going on?”

As panic rises, something inside me growls.

Ooh, that’s not a good sign.

Chapter Fifteen

Surely a little spitfrom a shifter isn’t enough to trigger a change at the DNA level. That can’t be how humans turn—there’s supposed to be a ceremony, magic, all sorts of steps. It can’t be as simple as a bite. No, it does not make sense that one bite could flip a switch and cause this much change.

Humans don’t just turn furry overnight.

The only other possibility is that the wizard’s house triggered something inside me—or used powerful magic to save my life—and this transformation has nothing to do with the bite. Maybe it’s just my imagination running wild, a trick of the mind.

I stare at the mirror.

That—right there—is not my imagination.

I run my hands over my hips, searching for the comforting soft roll I’d always convinced myself was necessary cushioning. It’s gone. I’m slimmer, my figure more proportionate—if that makes sense. My once long legs and short torso now seem balanced. There’s more space between my hips and ribs, almost as if my body’s been rearranged and I’ve been stretched out.

“This is… all so confusing.”

My eyes aren’t their warm, familiar brown anymore. Dark silver stares back, framed by thick lashes. Even if the expressionis a tad feral, they are not glowing—at least, not as far as I can tell. Then again, perhaps you can’t tell when you are looking at yourself?

My face is mine, but it’s not. I’ve never looked like this, even on my best day. My nose is perfectly straight, a little narrower than before. My eyes are slightly wider apart, and my cheekbones… they are so defined.

I touch them. In the mirror, I see my skin pucker. I can feel my thumbs digging in.

It’s real, not some elaborate prank.

My jaw is almost square but still feminine, and my hair is darker, triple its original thickness and weight. No wonder I was struggling with it.

I don’t just look different; I look like someone else entirely—someone from another time. My great-grandmother’s face stares back at me—her jaw, her nose, even those dark, intense eyes. The silver colour? That’s new. It’s as if my DNA got thrown into a cosmic blender, and the universe pulled out the best bits of my lineage to create this.

I open my mouth wide, shove trembling fingers inside, and prod teeth that are now perfectly straight, smooth, and blindingly white. My tongue and fingers search out the little bumps inside my lips and cheeks—remnants of years of absentminded biting.

Gone.

I can’t even find the tiny scar between my eyes from when one of the twins at school threw a rock at me.

It’s gone.

All of it is gone.

Every freckle, every blemish—erased. Apart from the white wolf’s bites and claw marks, my skin is flawless. Do shifters have perfect skin? I can’t recall. I never cared enough to check.

It’s as though I’ve been… soul-snatched, my essence poured into this stranger’s body. I can’t decide if it’s amazing or utterly horrifying.

Horrifying, I think. I liked being me. I enjoyed being forty-seven.

Now I look barely out of my teens.

Who in their right mind wants to be a teenager again? Living in that chaos once was more than enough. Not again. Please, not again. This—this is my worst nightmare. Sure, some women would kill to wake up younger, more vibrant, more perfect than ever before.

But me? I feel like I’ve been flung into a waking nightmare.

As you age, you fade into the background, and with that comes a fragile sense of safety, even if it’s an illusion. I liked my face the way it was—familiar, lived-in. I wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous. Not perfect, not stunning, but fine. It was mine.

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