Her body arches off the ground so violently that the earth beneath her cracks.
One moment she is staring at me with pain and defiance in her eyes. The next, her back bends in an impossible angle, lifting her shoulders and hips off the forest floor. Her fingers dig into the dirt. Her throat tightens around a sound that is not human.
Light rips down her spine.
It bursts through her skin in jagged streaks, illuminating her veins, flooding the clearing with a bright silver glow that blinds me. The air fills with the scent of ozone and something ancient, something older than wolves, older than moonlight.
Addison’s mouth opens in a scream, but the sound that escapes is her wolf’s howl. Raw. Echoing. Terrifying.
Her human form cannot contain the power trying to tear through her.
“Addison.”
