Transformation

"Do not let the dragon wake? What the stars is that supposed to mean?" Matias growled. His muscles felt too tight. His skin itched and his hands clenched with irritation.

The night air carried a biting chill, yet heat coiled beneath his skin, spreading in waves through his limbs. The scent of pine and damp earth mixed with the acrid tang of blood still lingering in the grove. His heart pounded—too fast, too hard. Every breath came sharper, every sound too crisp. The rustling of distant branches grated against his ears, the whispering wind a low howl in his skull. The moon watched from above, an unblinking eye, dragging at something deep within him.

No. Not now. I have to fight it. I can't lose control. I have to hold on for Alek's sake.