Amaya's pov 

 

I wake up feeling like I've been hit by a truck.

 

My head pounds. My body aches in a way that has nothing to do with what happened two nights ago—this is deeper, like my bones are trying to rearrange themselves. When I try to sit up, the room spins so violently I have to lie back down and wait for it to pass.

 

My wolf is restless, pacing and whining. Something's wrong.

 

"Just the flu," I mutter, forcing myself out of bed. "It's just the stupid flu."

 

Except I never get sick. Werewolves don't really get sick.

 

I make it through my morning routine on autopilot, though...