The memory of that bite slammed into me like a freight train carrying nothing but bad news and regret.
Lycan blood, as it turned out, was basically vampire kryptonite. And not in the fun, comic book way where you just get a little weak and need to take a power nap. No, this was the kind of poison that made you want to claw your own skin off while simultaneously questioning every life choice that had led you to this moment.
Which, in my case, was pretty much all of them.
The white lycan's fangs had pumped something into my system that my vampire healing couldn't touch. For three days—three entire days—I had lain in Aldric's mountain stronghold, screaming myself hoarse while my body tried and failed to process whatever supernatural toxin was eating me alive from the inside.
