THE LYCAN KING
Dying was easier than I imagined.
However, once my naked soul steadied in its new state, it refused to look back at Annatoria.
Her tears alone were piercing.
Had I looked back, I would have been too drawn to her pain, tempted to tether my soul to hers.
I doubt she would appreciate living with a Lycan ghost, so I followed the mist that lifted my body and soul towards the dark abyss of the underworld.
But the worries I tried to push aside persisted when I saw that the golden strings of our still-connected mate bond flowed out of my soul.
Those strings cursed me with a sensation no dead soul should ever feel.
Her anger.
Her pain.
Her sorrow.
Even the pulse of her arousal. And the silent cries through which she mourned how she broke my curse.
My otherworld
