~Marcus~
They say death tastes like copper. But as I dragged my tongue across my teeth, all I tasted was silver—metallic and cold, the flavor of my own approaching end.
Three warning alerts had flashed on my implant monitor before I'd smashed the damn thing against the bathroom wall. The numbers didn't matter anymore. Survival probability: 17%. Neural degradation: 68%. Estimated functionality remaining: nine days. The screen had shattered satisfyingly beneath my fist, my own silver-laced blood smearing across the fractured glass.
I caught my reflection in the mirror—a faded echo of the wolf who'd stood beside Damon when the humans attacked our Silver Fang pack years ago. Silver veins, like grotesque tattoos, snaked beneath my skin, more prominent with each passing hour. My eyes, once th
