Thorne hadn't slept. He couldn't.
It had been three days, and he was slowly spiraling into madness. His mind was a jumbled mess. The bond was tugging at his soul, eating his very core.
And his wolf—his Lycan. It was raving mad. A beast that used to burn through his chest was now cold and silent, ignoring him completely.
What was Thorne without his beast? What was a king without his throne?
He dragged his hand over his face, groaning. This was hell. Ever since Thessara's unfortunate visit, he had been in hell.
The second his Lycan heard it. That Adina had sought out to nullify the bond. It went silent—dead silent, and nothing Thorne did made it react. It only went like this when Roseanne died.
Thorne shook his head; he wasn't going to think about that now. No— he'd rather bury himself in the mountain of work waiting for him.
He shook his head, grabbing the cup of whiskey and downed it all in one go. Shaking his head and went back to work.
