Joe had always thought pain ended when you died.
Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Every inch of his body screamed. It felt like someone had shattered each bone, poured acid into the cracks, then done it all over again for good measure. His chest burned when he tried to breathe, sharp and shallow, like his lungs were scraping against broken glass. His head throbbed in slow, brutal pulses, each one sending sparks of agony behind his eyes. Even his skin hurt. Just existing hurt.
So maybe this was hell.
Even here, wherever here was, all he could think about was Abby.
He would’ve sworn he heard her right before everything went black. Sworn he’d caught her scent through the blood and wolfsbane and fear. Rosewater and mint. Home. Everything he’d ever wanted and convinced himself he couldn’t have
