I was captivated by the gesture, my mouth dry with shock. His hands were exactly like any man’s hands—I had already seen them before. Of course: he had five fingers, fairly normal; but covered in short white fur (at that moment brownish from dried blood) and with yellowish claws, short and fine, hard-looking, sharp. I couldn’t help noticing all those details, because deep down I was afraid he intended to use those nails on me and tear me to shreds.
It was confusing: part of me wanted to scream like a madwoman, jump out the window, get to the jeep and escape at full speed; and the other part tried to tell me the best thing was not to move, and not to look him in the eyes. Those deep, calculating eyes. Despite the wolfish features, there was something very human in the air of his expression
