182days at the Lycan’s palace
Something that keeps burning him.
Caught in a whirlwind of thoughts, a sudden surge of heat courses through our intertwined hands. Unsure if it stems from anger, his touch grows increasingly warm, then hot—almost scorching. My expression shifts, and I attempt to wriggle free, but his grip tightens, refusing to release me. The burning sensation intensifies, and with each failed attempt to break free, I find myself longing for escape from his unyielding grasp.
"Austin, my hand," I said still trying to tug my hand from his grip but he didn’t seem to hear what I said. "My hand, Austin, you’re hurting me."
Bab Populer