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“Oh, you know. The full moon, I guess.”

“Uh-huh.” Thankfully she didn’t ask for details—although my mom had a fair idea how I liked to spend my full moons, so she was probably making some accurate assumptions right now. “Come over for dinner and we’ll celebrate. I’m so pleased. You finally did it!”

“Thanks, Mom.”

It might have sounded like she thought I was somehow responsible for when my shifter genes kicked in, but I knew she didn’t mean it like that. I’d been more disappointed than anyone when puberty had come and gone without me showing so much as a hint of fur, and Mom had been the first one to tell me that it didn’t matter if I never shifted.

And now it turned out I was just a late bloomer who needed the right kind of encouragement. And by encouragement, I meant dick.

“How do you feel?” she asked. “It can be rough the first time you transform. Make sure you eat, drink plenty of electrolytes today, and watch your step.”

Which sounded like weird advice until I recalled my dizzy spell. “I will.”

That was my mom all over—I’d just told her my supernatural abilities had kicked in, and her first thought was to let me know about the practical implications. She was awesome like that.

“We’ll see you for dinner. Love you, Lukey.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

I ended the call and stood, and this time I was steadier on my feet. I wandered through to the bathroom and showered, washing away the mingled scents of sex and sweat. The warm water eased the dull ache in my muscles, and by the time I was dressed, I felt almost human. Except of course I wasn’t, not completely. I could shift.

The realization had me grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.

My stomach growled, and I remembered my mom’s advice. I opened the refrigerator but I was met by empty white space and an air of judgment—could appliances judge? Because this one sure as hell felt like it was—that I’d forgotten to pick up groceries again.

But nothing could dim my good mood. I was a fully fledged kickass werewolf, and that called for bacon. I picked up my keys and walked out the door of my apartment.

It was when I got to the top step of the staircase that things got decidedly less kickass.

When I went to walk down the stairs, my brain flickered like a faulty light switch—and just like that, I was convinced I had paws. I stopped in my tracks and closed my eyes, and when I opened them again I saw feet—but suddenly, I had no idea how my legs worked.

I stared at the staircase. I lifted one foot off the ground. I put it back down. I took a cautious step backward, and when that worked, I tried again.

One step forward on level ground? No big deal.

One step down? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

I froze in place while my brain circled endlessly like the loading screen on a Windows XP laptop.

Come on. You know how stairs work.

Except I didn’t, not anymore. Figuring out how to walk downstairs was like one of those magic eye puzzles where if you look just right the picture becomes clear.

Yeah, I’d never been able to figure those out either.

I stood there, still frozen, as panic started to rise up. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Become a second-floor hermit for the rest of my life, living off DoorDash and watching YouTube?

If that was the case I was screwed, because Hyde didn’t even have DoorDash.

The elevator doors over to the left of me dinged and slid open, and my neighbor Mr. Grayson shuffled out. He was a nice enough old guy and seemed to be oblivious to the presence of supernatural beings in the town. That or he just didn’t care. He gave me a nod and I returned it, but my attention was stuck on the elevator, not him, as relief washed over me.

I could ride down to the ground floor! I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t thought of it before, but I was blaming the aftereffects of my first full shift and the general weirdness of the day.

I walked over to the elevator and stepped inside, and the doors slid shut. Almost at once the walls began closing in on me, and my heart started pounding as panic rose up in my chest.

Get it together, I told myself. You’ve ridden an elevator before.

A whine left my throat before I could stop it, and I had to fight the urge to crouch—and possibly pee—in the corner. The ground under my feet shifted slightly, and I reached out and stabbed desperately at the buttons until the doors slid open, and it was only when I stepped out that I remembered how to breathe.