Alcuin began to feel a very urgent need to take a step back when the werewolf began his slow transformation into the beast that lurked just beneath his skin, but some cold and calculating part of him reminded him that the man across from him was no more dangerous than he was a minute ago. It was only that he could see it now. He could see the raw and untamed power in muscle and bone, see the wicked rows of teeth shaped perfectly for only one thing and one thing only, and suddenly felt very much like he were perched upon the razor's edge of those claws. It should have frightened him – and perhaps it did on some deeply ingrained, primordial level.
Mostly, though, he found himself drawn further in by the fierce elegance of it all. More often than not, he scoffed at the idea that there was some grand design to their form, but there was no mistaking the purpose here. Derek was every inch the predator that he was designed to be, fulfilled his purpose in a way that no ordinary human could ever hope to achieve. Derek was, in that moment, whole and complete. “Vous êtes beau,” he declared.