Wox looked at Myor. His yellow eyes were still half-wild, half-human. For a long moment, he just stared at him. Then he took a step forward.
But before he could take another step, his body began to shift.
A sharp tension spread through his limbs, forcing him to stop. His body trembled as his towering frame began to shrink. Muscles tightened painfully beneath his fur, pulling inward as his height reduced.
A faint groan slipped from his lips. He felt everything, every shift, every contraction. The strength that had filled his body moments ago began to recede, leaving behind a heavy strain as his form compressed back into human shape.
Each joint ached as his body forced itself back into place, his spine compressing under a dull pressure. His teeth shifted, settling back into a human shape as his mouth adjusted. His claws curled back into fingers, the sharp edges smoothing into nails.
His chest convulsed, his muzzle slowly reforming as the bones aligned. One by one, the changes settled until his face returned to normal.
The glow in his eyes faded, the sharp yellow softening into its natural green.
Wox collapsed onto his forelegs, except they were not forelegs anymore. His arms trembled beneath him. The wound where the blood blade had pierced him was still there, healing slowly.
He stayed there for a long moment, on hands and knees, breathing in shuddering gasps. The floor felt cold under his palms. He did not even want to open his eyes, but he had to stand.
He pushed himself up. His legs buckled once. Twice. On the third try, he stood.
I really transformed without the full moon.
He looked at his naked body, covered in blood. Some his, most Rip’s. His chest was still torn open where the blade had pierced through him. The healing was working, but slowly.
They’re healing… but slower than usual. Is it because it’s from a vampire’s blood magic? I guess that makes sense.
Wox lifted his head and looked toward the captured vampire. He had been staring at him this entire time without blinking once.
What should I do with him? I want my revenge, but I’m not a mindless beast who kills anyone. I just want to kill that one bastard. Even if werewolves and vampires are natural enemies, I’m not sensing any hostility from him.
Wox took a step toward him. Then another.
He stopped a few feet away and looked down at him.
The vampire stared back at him. Up close, Wox noticed the details more clearly. His smooth white skin, almost delicate. His red lips, soft and deep like aged wine, almost too perfect, the kind that made Wox stare longer than he meant to. His long black hair fell down his back, almost touching the floor.
No wonder I mistook him for a girl earlier.
Wox let out a small sigh. “Hey. What’s your name?”
Myor kept staring at him without answering.
Wox frowned slightly. “What the... hey, I’m asking you something.”
Myor blinked, as if snapping out of a trance.
“Oh… y-yeah. What is it?”
Wox gave him a puzzled look. Then he asked bluntly, “Why are you staring at my dagger? Don’t you have your own?”
“W-what? Of course I have,” Myor replied awkwardly, looking away. His cheeks turned slightly red. Then his voice dropped low, almost muttering to himself. “But yours isn’t a dagger. It’s a sword.”
“What? Anyway, I asked. What is your name?”
“It’s Myor… Are you going to kill me too?”
Wox stared at him without answering. Myor’s breath caught in his throat as he waited.
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