“Dad?” I called, waving smoke away from my face. “Are you trying to summon demons in here or just kill us all with toxic fumes?”
My father looked up from the oven, sheepish and singed.
“Salted muffins,” he muttered, holding out a tray with something that looked like it belonged on the bottom of a boot. “Shifters need more protein, I told you.”
“Did you try cooking the protein inside the muffins or just using them as weights for a gym session?” I asked, nose wrinkling.
He shrugged. “It's a work in progress.”
But I wasn’t listening anymore. My stomach twisted, flipped, then clenched hard.
Oh no.
Not here. Not now.
“Bathroom—” I gasped, bolting out of the kitchen so fast my dad barely got out of the way.
I barely made it.
My knees hit the tile and I emptied everything in my stomach
