CHAPTER 52

Miatta

Lucas dropped into a crouch, bones snapping and rearranging within him. His shifting phase looked painful yet intriguing, drawing attention to the spectacle. Thick sheaves of hair grew out on his neck and back and he howled long into the night. It caused shivers down my spinal column as I marveled at his animalistic beauty. Suddenly, he leapt off the ground, somersaulted in mid-air and landed gracefully on all fours. His clothes were in shreds at his feet and I stood in quiet adoration. His wolf had ink-black, almost oily fur, covering him from his head to his powerful paws. He sniffed at something in the air and turned his head towards me in expectation. His eyes were darker and mystic, compelling me to do anything he asked. In either form, he was a sight to behold and I was proud he was mine, all mine.

As shifters, our eyes represented the colour of our fur. The eyes were the window to the soul and our animals were our soul. Without them, one was condemned to a unfulfilled