One evening, as the full moon approached, the tension in the penthouse was palpable. Silas was restless, his eyes glowing a permanent, vivid gold. He couldn't stay in human form for long; the moon was calling to him.
"I can feel it," he growled, his voice now a permanent rasp. "The itch under my skin."
"I'm not afraid of the wolf, Silas," I said, stepping toward him.
He grabbed my wrist, his grip tight but not painful. "You should be. The wolf doesn't know about romance, Elena. The wolf only knows about hunger and possession."
"Then let him possess me."
He let out a low, rumbling laugh that turned into a snarl. He shifted right there in the middle of the living room. I watched in awe as his muscles expanded, his clothes ripping apart as grey-brown fur erupted from his pores. His face
