The days that followed were a delicate balance between vigilance and uncertainty. Richard's werewolf gene attacks grew more frequent, each one fiercer than the last.
Despite Ahcehera's best efforts to calm him with her light energy and mental power, the primal urges of his wolf resurfaced with relentless intensity.
Each attack was a reminder of the battle raging within him, a battle he was losing.
One evening, as Ahcehera prepared a calming potion in the villa's kitchen, she heard a low growl from behind her.
She froze, her heart pounding as she turned to see Richard standing in the doorway.
His eyes glowed that familiar golden hue, and his stance was predatory, his breathing ragged.
"Richard," she began cautiously, holding her hands up. "You need to fight this."
But he didn't respond. With a snarl, he lunged at her, faster than she anticipated. He has shifted!
