Breakfast With a Werewolf (pt 1)

“I dreamed that I ate the dog last night.”

My eyebrows shot up so fast I thought they’d fly off and I gaped at the man sitting across the table. We only said a handful of mundane things since climbing out of bed—who’d make the coffee, which bread to use for toast—you know, normal things. The new turn in conversation took my caffeine-deprived mind by complete surprise. The only way he could’ve shocked me more would be if he jumped on the table and sang the national anthem backwards. In Latin.

In...