Todos los capítulos de Shifter Deathbound Curse : Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

The dead phone was still pressed against Siron's ear, but Morat's laugh, deep, echoing, triumphant, still rang out as clearly as if it came from inside his own head. Yet, the physical Morat, the Morat who had just crushed the silver coin with a single-handed grip, stood directly in front of him. His satisfied smile had not fully faded."Was that... your voice?" Siron's voice cracked, full of piercing doubt. His gaze flicked back and forth between the black phone and the handsome face that had become the center of his dependence. "From a dead speaker. You laughed."Morat shifted his gaze from the silver dust on the floor to Siron. His expression changed, becoming one of genuine inquiry. "I made no sound, my Dear. My thoughts were on you and on the destruction of this breaker." He stepped closer, the scent of petrichor and something darker enveloping Siron. "It must be an echo from the temple. Sounds trapped in the stone, bouncing through your bloodline. Or," he leaned down, his whisper

As the intensity peaked, Morat's eyes suddenly changed, one pupil red, one pitch black, and from his mouth came two voices simultaneously: “FINALLY” and “DON'T!”Siron froze, the entire sensation that had been carrying him to a climax instantly turning to ice in his veins. The two voices, one echoing with triumph, the other a suppressed scream, sounded distinctly from the very same mouth of Morat."What" Siron stammered, trying to pull away.But Morat's body above him trembled violently. His muscles tightened like wire, and the faint light from the window showed his silhouette changing erratically. The handsome face distorted for a moment, revealing the shadow of a sharper jawbone, deeper eyes."Hold on," Morat hissed, but his voice cracked, as if two people were speaking almost at once. His hands gripped Siron's shoulders, possibly to restrain or to hold on.Siron looked directly into Morat's eyes. The red left pupil blazed like an ember, full of possessive desire. The pitch-black ri

Siron froze in the doorway. The man stood in the dimly lit apartment corridor, illuminated by a flickering neon light. His face was still handsome, but something was different. He looked more human, there was a shadow of tiredness under those gray eyes, facial lines that were slightly softer. His clothing was ordinary, too: a simple black shirt and jeans, not a robe or ancient attire. Yet his eyes, though gray now, still radiated the same depth."Morat?" Siron mumbled, his voice hoarse."May I come in?" Morat's voice sounded normal, but there was a subtle vibration beneath it that made the air hum.Siron nodded stiffly, opening the door wider. Morat stepped inside, his movements graceful but no longer like a floating shadow. He closed the door himself.For the past three days, Siron had tried to return to routine. Classes, assignments, comforting his still-wary mother. But every night, he woke up and reached for his wrist, feeling the scar of the symbol that was now

The three new shadow figures hovered on the stairs, blocking the only way out. Their red eyes flickered in unison, like predatory insects. Kit lay on the floor near Siron's feet, gasping for breath, his face etched with confusion and fear."I... I saw you go into the temple," Kit cried out to Siron, his voice hoarse. "I was worried, so I followed you. Then... they appeared out of the walls!"Morat moved immediately, pulling Siron and Kit closer to the center of the room, near the ritual circle that still glowed golden from Siron's drop of blood. The first shadow, the remnant of the rage fragment, had already regained its footing, joining the three new shadows to form a semicircle formation that enclosed them."Good," the first shadow hissed. "More fuel.""Who are they?" Siron asked Morat, his voice trembling."Echoes," Morat answered briefly, his eyes fixed on the threat ahead. "Other echoes from the past. Perhaps my soldiers who fell in rage, or other victims of

Siron froze, his blood seemingly stopping in his veins. The face beneath the hood was Kit's face, but not the Kit he knew. The pitch-black eyes were empty, like two pure dark holes. Blood trailed from the corner of his lips, which were curved into an unnatural smile. But the most terrifying thing was the way he stood: rigid, with his head tilted unnaturally, like a puppet whose strings were being pulled."K-Kit?" Siron's voice cracked, full of disbelief."Siron," the figure replied, its voice still Kit's, but flat, devoid of emotion. "You came. Good."Siron backed away a step, his body hitting a table near the door. On the floor, Mr. Rudi groaned weakly, drawing his attention for a moment."What... what's wrong with you?" Siron asked, trying to find signs of consciousness in those empty eyes."I was asked to bring you," Kit said, stepping into the room. His movement was smooth, too smooth, like floating. "He needs you for the final ritual.""Who? Morat?"