The Lycan King’s Broken Mate
The mist patch doesn’t close fully; the crack fades like ice regaining its smoothness.
“I’ll take him back,” the Dark Lord says—not loud, not harsh. He holds the baby at the belly, and with one motion settles him on his side. He doesn’t tear anything from the air, doesn’t “strip” the link. What I see is release, not possession. It’s both worse and better.
“We’ll come again tomorrow,” I say. “The same way. Slower, but further.”
“I’ll hold as well,” he answers. “Learning takes time.” His gaze flicks briefly to Aedan. “Does time work for you, too?”