They left him alone at night. Had to. At sunset, Cal and Jasper retired and left shadows for company. Dorian stayed horizontal, still shirtless, still feeling awful. His energy had wavered through the day and he wanted nothing more to sleep, but something stopped him. It was his own blood- it seemed to roar through him, squeezing itself through him. He felt too tight to sleep. It was a waiting game now, just waiting for the pressure to build to the point where it broke. He dreaded and longed for the release, wanting it all to be done.

Cal had said something about pain. That scared him too. He was scared about a lot of things.

The raw steak in the corner turned his still upset stomach unpleasantly. The bowl of water he had resolved not to drink out of while he was still human. While he was still human … how much longer? He wondered if there was any point retaining dignity now. He looked out the window with dread.

Darkness had not yet descended fully, but it wasn’t long. The sun was slowly retreating. He let out a shuddering breath, lying still on the cushions. His skin did not feel like his. The feeling was increasing. It would not be long. His heart jumped and found a new seat in his throat, beating uncomfortably and ominously. His body knew, but he didn’t. He was terrified.

The next few moments, however long they were, were lost to an unsalvageable time- the sun had just dipped out of sight. He gulped, unable to see. Only colourless silhouettes. The terrible anticipation built till it was unbearable and could feel his hands go cold as he clenched them shut into hard fists.

An isolated beam of silver slithered through the window.

His body jolted unexpectedly, his spine arching away from the floor before crashing down heavily. He made a sound of surprise, not pain. Something like excitement skipped across his senses, though it was something more than that. It felt profoundly wrong. Anticipation of what? Freedom perhaps? The feeling was so remote, like it was another being’s. The prospect horrified him and he clenched at the cushions.

And then pain. It built in his face first, reaching a macabre crescendo of grinding bones and cartilage. He only managed a strangled whine, because the feeling had slipped across his throat, morphing his vocal chords. And then his limbs- it was prolonged in his limbs. It lingered there longest, agonisingly long. But the worst, the most terrible pain was when it slipped across his mind. It was like something had dug its claws into his conscious and was ripping it out of him. His voice had changed when he cried out. He bolted upright and threw himself forward, curled into a ball with his arms across his head. How did one cling on with their mind?

He felt the other presence. Its rage, its power. He was mortally afraid of succumbing to it, of it annexing him. He could not. He felt as if he was about to lose at any moment but something, an unexplainable something, was holding on for him. He could keep it at bay, just. He could keep the violence away. It would be a fight for a long as he was awake. He whined and stayed still, trying to adjust.

He felt so alien. Felt isn’t the right word. It was as if he was floating alongside this being. He was disjointed from his body. But there was some human sense. Very little, seemingly connected by the most delicate of threads. He was aware of base things first; the intense hunger settling into his form only beaten by his thirst.

His tongue lolled out and he tasted new smells. The steak suddenly became much more appetising. He uncurled, observed, with reluctant scrutiny, his forelegs. Before he even directed himself to do so, he bounded over to the water and lapped at it greedily. Humanity took over for a brief second and he restrained himself, waiting for the water to level again. Amber eyes stared back at him. It was not his face. He was covered in grey fur with a horrible unnatural mix of animal ferocity and human understanding. It made him feel even more the monster. His animal instinct returned and he attacked the bowl, spilling the rest of his water in panic, his distress fuelling him to get rid of the image. Wet and cold, he stood there, puzzled at what had occurred.

He turned his frustrations to the steak and he made short work of it. Blood tasted different- sweeter. He licked his nose when he finished and stood alert with his ears perked. He could hear observers from the other side of the door. Excitedly, he ran up to it and jumped onto his hind legs, paws braced against the door. But he couldn’t reach the window. He let himself slide back down and he scratched at the barrier.

He did a few rounds of the room before growing bored. Or the beast grew bored, he was fighting constantly with the aid of what he supposed was the potion to keep it under control. Eventually he threw the cushions into a corner and curled on top of them. Snout to tail, in a strange way appearing like a domestic dog, he fell asleep.

He was awoken when he transformed once again. It didn’t hurt as much this time- reverting seemed to be less effort than expanding. His senses retracted, but that threatening presence disappeared entirely. He almost gasped and cried in relief. He was Dorian again and the glorious moment was taken from him by the ache in his body that when deeper than anything he had ever experienced before.

He disregarded the world, too tired and too traumatised to care about anything. He could barely remember the night. The only testaments were the dented water bowl, the flecks of the blood from the steak and the remains of what had once been his jeans.

He blocked out everything; the cold, his hunger and his naked human form. He fell back asleep, but an easy sleep this time. A healing sleep. He hoped nothing would ever rouse him from it.