It roared through the wolf’s head as he charged. His teeth sank deep into the lycan’s shoulder and the lycan screamed. The sound speared the wolf’s brain, scattering shards of pain. He looked down at his prey, and his blood stilled. That face. Panic surged, choking and hot. He knew this face, this lycan man. No, no, no! His lungs seized. Memories threatened to drown him. He lashed out, his claws hitting the lycan’s face to obliterate it, make him die. Blood splattered. But the lycan did not die as humans did. Instead, he snarled, his own wolf coming to the fore, his human body growing, twisting, and bending, bones popping, changing, fur growing thick upon smooth skin. The wolf remembered how it felt to turn from man to beast. Agony and dread. The thought confused him and made him slow when he should be quick. The lycan used the advantage and sank his claws deep into the wolf’s belly and wrenched it open. Pain and more pain. The wolf howled and scrambled back. He did not want any more pain.
