Rhodes
The blood tastes metallic.
I brace myself over the porcelain sink, jaw clenched as another cough rattles from my lungs. Crimson spatters the basin. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, but it’s already streaking down my chin.
This is getting worse.
The curse gnaws through me with more hunger each day. It burns through my spine like ice and fire, and for a moment, the world tilts sideways.
I shut my eyes.
Focus.
I am the Lycan King. I do not kneel. I do not beg.
And yet—
My breaths come in shallow gasps.
It started when I was twelve. The moment Lhysa Heartlock, the silver wolf herself, laid her hand on my chest and whispered words I’ll never forget: “You and your powers are dangerous.”
Then the curse took root.
I was just a boy. Feared by my own parents. They called m
