Walt in werewolf form was a sight to behold. He was eight feet tall, all power and fur. His torso was elongated but rippled with lanky muscle. His head was the part of him that looked most like a wolf, muzzle lined with teeth, lips pulled back in anger. Thick drool hung in ropey strands from his powerful jaw. Black fur, maybe touched a little with gray, covered his head like a true wolf, coming down off his neck and shoulders like a mane. Claws like steel blades sprouted from his fingers.
Michael had never seen Walt in his werewolf form. He had known what he was of course, but knowing and seeing were two different things. Michael was just glad he was on their side.
The Fey warrior slipped out a wicked looking blade that shone silver in the fake city light that filtered from above
