Then she turned back to Thessian.
He stood rooted in the living room's center, a tower of coiled fury, every muscle etched taut under his shirt, veins bulging along corded forearms, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists that trembled with the effort of restraint. Sweat beaded his brow, dripping slow down temples; his chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, fighting the beast's rise. He clung to humanity by threads, golden flickers invading his darkening eyes, the air around him thickening with musky wolf-scent and raw power.
"I don't want to hurt you," he forced through gritted teeth, jaw locked so tight Liora heard enamel grind.
"I know," Liora replied, voice steady anchor in the storm, stepping closer despite the danger radiating from him like heat from coals. Her heart hammered, but fear twisted into resolve, the same steel forged in his cage.
