Liora watched, breath caught in her throat, as Lyander stepped forward. There was something terrifyingly beautiful in his movements—fluid, lethal, graceful like a predator in his prime. His muscles coiled beneath his skin like barely leashed lightning.
She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, not just with fear—but awe.
The first Beta lunged.
Lyander met him head-on.
The air snapped.
In a breath—no, less than a breath—Lyander was in motion.
His body surged forward, a ripple of muscle and purpose, and before the first Beta could even finish his growl, Lyander leapt—
—and shifted mid-air.
Bones cracked and reformed with brutal elegance. His limbs elongated, his spine curved, fur burst across his skin like wildfire. The air filled with the deep, visceral sound of transformation, flesh and magic twisting into one seamless, terrifying form.
