Her arms reached out, instinctively searching the area next to her until her fingers met the sought-after object. She tucked the tattered teddy bear to her chest, triggering a flood of memories best left forgotten. Memories of home, of family, of a happy, unfettered life… before he’d known lycans existed in anything other than Hollywood movies.

She smiled in her sleep. A soft, dreamy smile that did strange things to his insides.

“Shit,” he muttered, repeating the NODEAL code in his mind like a mantra. Destroy them at any cost.

CHAPTER THREE

Some dogs take longer to train than others.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

Claire opened her eyes, blinked once, and was instantly wide awake, surging upright in bed. Astonishing alertness for a woman who deliberately set her alarm thirty minutes early just so she could hit the snooze button three times. Her body required that extra half hour to adjust to the idea of waking.

From the darkness enveloping her, she knew it was still morning. The bedside clock read four fifteen.

She had slept only four hours?

Strange. She had been so exhausted.

Her belly rumbled. Thoughts of swinging by Krispy Kreme wormed into her head. Hmmm, or breakfast tacos from Tia Rosa. Her growling stomach made the decision. Both.

Lifting her arms, she stretched, remembering too late to have a care for her shoulder. But surprisingly the stretch didn’t hurt. She rotated her shoulder gingerly, waiting to feel her muscles’ protest. Nothing happened. She moved her shoulder more vigorously, delighted to discover no pain at all. It felt fine. In fact, every last inch of her felt fine—great, even. Like a woman reborn, bounding with energy. The alien impulse to don some sweats and take a Saturday morning jog seized her.

“Some drugs,” she muttered.

Then another urge asserted itself. Claire bounded from the bed. Arms outstretched, she made her way through the gloom to the bathroom.

Moments later she emerged and picked up her phone from the nightstand, noticing the missed calls. Apparently, she’d slept through her ringing phone.

Grateful she had her phone in her pocket and hadn’t lost it alongside her purse, she played the voicemail on speaker, wondering who would have called her in the middle of the night.

Returning to her bathroom, she flipped on the light and squinted against the glare. Giving her reflection a cursory inspection, she reached for her toothbrush as the voicemail played in the tight space.

Her gaze flew back to the mirror and the face that was her own. Yet not. She leaned forward warily over the sink, as though the woman in the mirror might leap out to harm her.

Her face was… different.

She stared hard, trying to put her finger on the difference.