Reborn Saintess: The Lycan King’s Doomsday Mate
Caleb whispered, his voice cracking into a jagged, venomous hiss.
He slowly rose from his chair, his gaunt frame trembling not with fear, but with a terrifying, unhinged ecstasy. Beneath the cuffs of his tunic, the flesh of his forearms began to twist and crawl, sickening veins of dark, necrotic purple glowing violently beneath his skin. The air inside the tent plummeted to an unnatural, suffocating chill, saturated with the foul stench of grave dirt, rotting copper, and forbidden flesh-magic.