The sight startled her. Those eyes—she refused to think of them as hers—stood out starkly against her pale face, a haunting reminder of what she had become. Of what she was becoming. Her hair was a wild tangle about her shoulders and body. And her body… well, it looked different. Thinner, leaner. Amazing considering everything she had been eating lately.

She splayed a hand across her rib cage in awe. She’d never been exactly overweight, but her ribs had never jutted out from her skin before. She angled her head, inspecting herself further in the fogging mirror. It wasn’t only the weight loss, she decided. Her body seemed toned, muscles sharply defined. A certain vitality hummed from her skin. Not a bad thing, she concluded, then frowned. No, not bad. But not her. Not Claire. It had to be the lycan, readying her body as the full moon drew nearer.

Everything was different. She was different. The woman Gideon made love to wasn’t the real Claire Morgan. That conclusion soured the sweet memories as nothing else could. What would happen if the curse were broken? If she returned to her old self? A shadow everyone overlooked? A shadow Gideon would overlook? No. Her hand curled into a fist at her side. She would hang on to this new Claire… while ridding herself of the curse.

Stepping into the shower, she let the water pound against her skin. She sniffed the salon shampoo before applying it to her hair and working it into a thick lather. Time vanished as she stood beneath the water’s spray, letting the liquid warmth permeate her body.

Shutting the water off, she stepped out and wrapped herself in one of the fluffy white towels. She grabbed a second one off the rack and rubbed her hair. It took a moment to realize the jacket and chenille throw were missing. Gone. Someone had entered the bathroom while she showered and taken them.

A sexy little black number hung from a hanger on the back of the door. On the counter sat a tiny pile of black lace. With two fingers, she lifted the impossibly small panties. G-string. Briefly, she considered rebelling and not wearing the clothes left for her. But then she reconsidered. Why not look her best and use her wiles to get what she wanted from Darius? It might go a long way in convincing him to help her.

She slipped into the lingerie and black dress, towel-drying her hair before using the mousse on the counter to tame her locks. She availed herself of the cosmetics displayed on a glass tray. Stepping back, she assessed herself, pleased with the smokiness of her eyes and glossy pout to her lips.

Minutes later the door opened and Claire couldn’t help wondering if Helen had been listening for the water to stop.