Page 6 of It All Started with a Bite

“That’s not even the worst part,” Bo huffed. “Wait till you see yourself.”

“Why are you talking? Why is Ellie crying?And why can I smell Mrs. Chen’s coffee three floors down?!”

I realized I was shouting and took a gulping breath.

Panicking was going to achieve nothing.

Ellie uncurled from the chair, took a hand mirror from my dressing table, and approached the bed, her knuckles white on the bat. She held out the mirror wordlessly.

I stared at it like it was a tax audit before taking it with trembling hands. I was pretty convinced I was not going to like what I was going to see. My eyes bulged when I caught my reflection.

It was ten times worse than I’d imagined.

“Argh!” The mirror slipped from my fingers and bounced on the bed.

“I tried to warn you about that guy.” There was a sullen undertone to Bo’s whine. “But nooo, you had to bring the werewolf inside our apartment.”

I stopped arghing and dragged my gaze from the furry freak show that was my reflection to the Husky. “The what?!”

A loud groan from the living room made Bo and Ellie jump.

Bo glanced in that direction and gulped. “Sounds like the werewolf is up.”

I listened with half an ear, still staring at my reflection in the mirror on the bed in horror. My cheeks sported an impressive coating of facial hair. My normally wavy brown locks had developed a definite wild quality. Even my neckline looked hairier.

That thought brought me up short.

I peeked inside my pajama top. This proved to be a bad idea.

“I have boob hair,” I mumbled hoarsely. I looked at Ellie. “I have boob hair!” I yelled, stabbing an accusing finger at my chest.

Ellie hiccuped and wiped her nose, her grip relaxing slightly on the bat. “Waxing those is going to hurt.”

“At least you don’t have a tail.” Bo’s attempt at helpfulness needed work.

Another groan came from the living room. It was followed by a man’s protest.

“Hey, could you keep it down? My head is killing me!”

Something snapped inside me. Maybe it was the facial hair. Maybe it was the talking dog. Maybe it was the fact that I could actually smell Mrs. Chen’s coffee three floors down (Colombian dark roast with a hint of vanilla).

I yanked the sheets off my legs, sucked in air at the sight of my hairy toes, arghed some more, and stormed out of the room. I ignored Ellie’s squeak of protest and Bo’s “Oh boy” as they trailed reluctantly behind me.

Our guest was sitting up on the sofa, his head in his hands. He looked normal except for a weird yellow tinge to his eyes and what appeared to be the mother of all hangovers.

He spotted me and paled. “Oh no.”

His expression of guilt confirmed my worst suspicions.

This asshole was the reason I’d woken up looking like Bigfoot’s sister.

“Start talking,” I snapped, advancing on him. “What did you do to me?!”

“I can explain.” He gulped and raised his hands defensively. “It was an accident. I was high on werewolf nip and?—”

I hit him again.

This time, he managed to stay conscious. “Ouch.” He winced and swiveled his jaw with a couple of toe-curling pops. “I probably deserved that.”

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