No.

Of all the people—Theodore had been bad, and Cecily worse, but they were his children, obligated by blood to love him even if they reviled him. Veronica…she had not signed up for this, and Thaniel had always known it was deceitful to take her as his wife with such a secret hanging over them, but had selfishly done so nonetheless. And now, divine punishment had found him.

How long had she been there? The lingering memory of her scent in his canine nostrils was enough to reassure him that she had arrived on the cusp of his change moments ago—and that there could be no mistaking that she knew what he was now. Naked, the tall man shrank away from his wife in the center of the cellar room that served as his prison three nights each month, afraid to move or even speak until he knew what was to happen.

Would she scream? Flee? Attack him? Nathaniel knew it was too much to hope that she might embrace him, might accept without question the monster that lurked beneath his skin. Would she grow to accept it as Theodore seemed to have done, or grow to hate him as Cecily had?

“Veronica,” he croaked, throat dry from the transformation and head pounding. Even if he had anything  to follow her name, he realized, he could not have said it easily.

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