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Originally published by Berkley Books
To Kate Daniel
Three years ago, if you’d asked me what was the worst thing about being a lycanthrope, I’d have had a hard time answering the question. I was new to the game in those days, so all of it was unfamiliar and most of it was inconvenient. Some of it, like the silver bullets, was downright dangerous–because “lycanthrope” is the polite name for a werewolf.
My name is Valerie Sherwood, I’m seventeen, and the reason I know about werewolves is that I’ve been one for three years now.
My grandmother used to tell me that you could get used to anything if you worked at it long enough. She was right. By the time my senior year in high school rolled around I didn’t even miss things like silver jewelry and garlic bread. As for spending one night every lunar month running the hills in wolf-shape, chasing rabbits and field mice and howling at the moon, I’d learned to enjoy that part a long time before.