Flynn’s blue-tinged lips curved into a smile as he ran both hands over Rory’s head, examining the way moonlight caught his fur. “So they can understand me like this? Just like normal?” “More or less,” I said, watching Rory press against Flynn’s legs like an oversized house pet. “Their base instincts are stronger in this form—the urge to hunt, the urge to protect. But they’re still themselves. Still perfectly capable of rolling their eyes at me when I give orders.”
