The Hollow Crown

Jaxon

The scent of stale whiskey and dried blood clung to my room like a curse. I lay sprawled on the wide leather couch near the window, staring blankly at the ceiling. Dust motes drifted through shafts of weak morning light slicing between the blackout curtains I hadn’t opened in days.

My beard had grown thick and untamed, dark bristles covering my jaw and throat, curling slightly at the ends. My brows had overgrown too, shadowing my bloodshot eyes. When I shifted, the scruff rasped against my collarbone, sending a small shiver through my exhausted body. My hair fell in messy waves to my shoulders, heavy with...