Leaning forward, I stare at the spirit, who seems nonplussed by the intensity of my gaze.
"What?" They sound defensive for the first time.
"You aren't fond of wizards or magicians, are you?"
They scowl. "I am not fond of humans, human."
"I told you, I'm Lycan." Kind of.
"Hmm." They don't sound convinced. I guess I can't blame them. It isn't like I can shift.
"You're Grimoire, aren't you?"
In between one blink and the next, they're now standing in front of me, feet firmly planted against the ground and taller than before. How tall? Seven feet? Eight?
Are those flames I see flickering over their skin? Yes. Yes, those are.
Gone is the ethereal, androgynous being. In their place stands a towering figure, flames dancing across skin that seems both solid and intangible. His hair is as red as blood, his eyes an unnerving silver, and he's unmistakably male.
I keep my eyes on his face.
