About Once Bitten by Heather McCorkle:
One night was all it took to change everything. One moment of weakness, and now I’m becoming. Werewolves were supposed to be things only seen in movies, not things that exist in real life. Instead of med school and homework, my life is filled with a laundry list of things that were once impossibilities. Groups fighting over whom I belong to. The possibility of dying if I don’t learn everything before the next full moon. Figuring out how to survive in a world I never knew existed. But the biggest danger? Ty: history professor, super sexy Viking werewolf, and the man who’s been assigned by the Council to teach me how to survive becoming a werewolf.
“What do you mean ‘in the process,’ and what am I changing into?” I asked. The world started to close in again.
Recognizing the signs this time, I took several deep breaths to stave off the tunnel vision that came before a panic attack.
It worked, a little. The dark tunnel trying to close around me opened up.
Even in the dim light I could see the calculating look in his eyes as they met my gaze. He stretched an arm up onto the back of the bench, fingers just barely brushing my shoulder. The light touch banished my panic far better than a few calculated breaths ever could. “Your DNA is changing; that takes time. You are changing into a varúlfur, but you will still be you, only enhanced.”
“Wait, I’m changing into a…varúlfur? What is that, even?” Coming out of my throat it sounded like a completely different word.
Half of his mouth quirked up into what I had to admit was a handsome grin. “Varúlfur, or in English…” He paused and stared hard at me before finishing. “A werewolf.”
Though I had been expecting something like it, the words hit me like a hard slap. It explained the fangs, and it meant some of my dad’s old stories were true. I’d always written them off as the ramblings of an overly religious man. One of a peculiar religion, admittedly, but a zealot nevertheless.
Head dropping into my hands, I leaned forward until my elbows rested on my knees. It was too much. Could my dad’s stories seriously have been true?
It had never bothered him that I didn’t embrace his religion. He always said I’d understand someday. More than anything, I wished I could talk to him again. Tears began to drip between my fingers. Jeans brushed against steel as Ty slid over next to me. His arm came to rest on my shoulders, warm and heavy. He didn’t pull me in against his chest this time, but I wanted him to, oh how I wanted him to.
That was twice tonight I had let a practical stranger see me weak. I leaped to my feet and began to pace before the bench.
“That bastard. I should have realized him calling his nitro-addicted friends his ‘pack’ wasn’t a way of being original. Dammit!” It served me right for being attracted to a man with a fast car. Whether all this shit was true or not, and I wasn’t sure it was yet, that I had made a colossal mistake with Raul was clear.
Spinning on Ty, I fixed him with a hard look. It might not be his fault, but he was the only one I had on hand to focus my anger on. “Why would he do this to me?”
Sadness filled Ty’s eyes. “To make you his.”
A feral-sounding growl tore from my throat, frightening me almost as much as the fangs that sprang forth. Now I really, really wanted to hurt this bastard. Moisture stung my eyes. I looked down before Ty could notice. Pinecones and goose droppings littered the sidewalk but I was able to avoid them by mostly smell alone. This fact only disturbed me more. My mind searched for conditions and disorders that heightened senses, but everything I came up with was almost as improbable as becoming a werewolf. I kicked hard at one of the pinecones, sending it flying off into the night. It took a lot of deep breaths to get my fangs to go away.
Fangs. Fucking hell.
About Heather McCorkle:
Heather McCorkle is an award-winning author of paranormal, steampunk, and historical fiction. When she is not writing, or editing she can be found on the slopes, the hiking trails, or paddleboarding. As a native Oregonian, she enjoy the outdoors nearly as much as the worlds she creates on the pages. No need to travel to the Great Northwest though, you can connect with her on her blog and her many social networking sites. You can also find her the first Monday night of every month at 6:00 pm Pacific Time on the #WritersRoad chat on Twitter, which she co-created and moderates. Entertaining readers and uncovering stories and points of view that haven’t been covered are two of her greatest passions. For more info please visit heathermccorkle.com.