My new BFF is a witch and apparently, I’m a member of a witch’s coven. Only, I’m not a witch. Word is, I’m a wolf shifter. When I said I wanted to start over again, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Being a shifter isn’t the worst thing I could imagine. It’s taken care of all the hot flashes. My body temperature now runs constantly high. I like it. Snow? Who cares? I don’t need no stinking coat anymore. I can smell like ten times better than even when I was pregnant, and as for my vision? Glasses...

My new BFF is a witch and apparently, I’m a member of a witch’s coven. Only, I’m not a witch. Word is, I’m a wolf shifter. When I said I wanted to start over again, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Being a shifter isn’t the worst thing I could imagine. It’s taken care of all the hot flashes. My body temperature now runs constantly high. I like it. Snow? Who cares? I don’t need no stinking coat anymore. I can smell like ten times better than even when I was pregnant, and as for my vision? Glasses are SO last year. I won’t be needing those anytime soon. But man, what about the actual shifting? That hurts like nobody’s business. They say I’ll get used to it, but they don’t know how much it hurts, because I’m the only shifter for miles around. “They” are the coven that has accepted me and given me a new family. The threat from the cemetery is very real and the dead aren’t sleeping quietly. Our coven is the frontline on keeping the dead in their graves and for some reason, they think because I’m a wolf I should have some superpower against the dead. But I don’t. What I have is an amazing BFF just as powerful and middle-aged as me and I know together we can face anything. At least I think we can. We survived the first half of our lives. How hard can the second magic half be?