#Harper
A week with a Werebear will do interesting things to your personality.
For example, you start voluntarily waking up early. You begin to think of bruises as “points.” You learn that if a six-foot-ten man tilts his head at you in disappointed silence, it’s worse than being yelled at by an entire school assembly. And, wildest of all, you sort of, kind of, accidentally enjoy yourself.
I know. I’m disgusted too.
Every morning for the past seven days, Thorne has marched me to the pack’s training grounds. “Marched” is generous. He walks. I do that slightly panicked trot humans do when their long-striding friend refuses to slow down.
The training grounds are carved into a clearing on the far side of town, a big ring of packed dirt, sand pits for falls, a weapons shed, I’m slightly int
