The Marked Mate of the Lycan King
I twisted it slowly, listening to the solid clack of the tumblers falling into place.
The lid was still heavy. I lifted it just enough to slip my head under the edge and peek inside.
It was not filled with bottles or herbs. It was mostly empty, lined with dark velvet. In the center, sitting on the cushion, was a single, terrible thing.
It wasn't a bottle of medication. It wasn't an anti-toxin powder. It was a metal object, small and deeply carved, nestled in a fold of silk. It pulsed faintly, even in the dim light. It was silver. Pure, shining, hateful silver. And it wasn't a relic he was wearing. It was a thing he kept close.
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