The caves listened.
Dorian stood barefoot on cold stone, silver-veined fur catching the dim phosphorescence that bled from the walls. His claws rested loose at his sides. But always controlled.
He had learned, years ago, that the shift was a choice.
Not the violent rupture that tore through most lycans during their first transformation as had happened with his first shift. Not the moon-madness that dragged wolves into their beast forms against their will. For Dorian, he had learned to master the change as a door he could open or close at will. A gift of his witch blood, perhaps.
Tonight, he stayed in lycan form. He believed for the portal travel he would need his Lycan's strength to stabilize him.
He grew up in these caves. The stone knew what he was.
A hybrid that shouldn't exist, w
