Page 25 of It All Started with a Bite

“I am not wearing those.”

“You said Samuel told you to wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to look like I rolled in it first.”

This was my third outfit change. Not that I was trying to impress anyone. I just didn’t want to look completely incompetent on my first day as a supernatural creature.

“I may be overthinking this,” Bo huffed, watching me swap shirts again, “but you seem to be paying more attention to your appearance than you did on your last three dates.”

I flinched. I’d taken Ellie’s stupid advice to get over Mark and briefly signed up to a dating app.

“Those weren’t dates. They were mistakes.”

“Like the guy who collected ceramic chickens?” Bo said innocently.

“We agreed never to speak of him again.”

My phone buzzed. It was another text from Samuel.

I’m outside.

I checked my watch. 7:55 p.m.

“He’s early,” I muttered.

“Alphas probably don’t do fashionably late,” Bo commented, climbing off the bed with obvious reluctance. “Unlike some people I could name.”

Luckily, Ellie wasn’t in the room. Not that it would have mattered anyway, seeing as she couldn’t understand my dog.

I grabbed my house keys and gave myself one last look in the mirror. I’d settled on black leggings and a fitted long-sleeve top that wouldn’t get in the way. My hair was pulled back in a sensible ponytail.

I pursed my lips. I looked ready for a workout, not a supernatural training session.

The sound of an engine idling reached my ears as I exited my room. Even from four floors up, I could tell it was something expensive.

“That’s a Bentley,” Bo said, his nose pressed against the sitting room window. “Very alpha-ish.”

I rolled my eyes. “Since when are you a car expert?”

“Discovery Channel did a series on luxury vehicles.” He paused. “It must be new. I can smell the leather seats from here.”

I realized that I could too.

These enhanced senses were going to take some getting used to.

Ellie popped her head out of the kitchen. “You leaving?” She had flour on her nose and smelled of sugar.

I grimaced. “Are you stress baking again?”

“Yes.” Ellie’s mouth pressed to a thin line. “Who can blame me after what Mrs. Chen told us this afternoon?”

I sighed. “I’m sure she was exaggerating. Also, you know I need to watch my calories.”

“Not anymore you don’t,” Bo said.

I stared at him.

“Are you saying werewolves don’t get fat?”

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