But then there were rules that there were no exceptions to, laws ingrained in your very being: the roar of your alpha, the pull of the moon, the uncontrollable revulsion when a vampire sinks its teeth into you.

In a fierce, sudden movement, Derek slammed his hands into Lydia's ribcage, flinging her back from him. He felt rather than heard the ripping of fabric when his claws caught her dress, but any injury to her was a faint concern. Everything rational was buried for a few moments under an overwhelming tide of horror and loathing and deep, ancestral nausea.

In the moments that followed, as he backed himself up against the counter and the shockwaves subsided, he became aware of himself. The ticklish crawl of blood down his throat and shoulder, the sharpness of his eyes, the feel of a mouthful of sharp teeth and the tension in his hands. He breathed, longer and slower, and forced himself to relax. The glow faded from his eyes.

"Vampire," he said lowly as his canines receded.