Page 12 of Marked By His Hunger
Chosen.
To starve.
To tremble.
To pray I would not wake with blood on my hands.
My father had borne the title before me.
His father before him.
Each generation, one male inherited the burden—the insatiable hunger that would otherwise devour the Clan.
“You protect them,” he said.
“I terrify them,” I corrected.
He did not deny it.
That night, the hunger became unbearable.
I left the keep and walked beneath the frozen sky. Snow crunched under my boots. Wind cut against my blackened skin.
Laughter carried across the clearing.
Young males of the Clan Draugen gathered around a fire, ale in hand, hands entwined with chosen mates.
Their blood sang.
It called to me.
The sound pierced my skull.
I staggered.
The hunger roared.
My knees hit the snow as a scream tore from my throat—a sound not entirely mortal.
Warriors descended on me.
Chains.
Cold iron.
My uncle’s voice cutting through the chaos.
“I will get you help.”
When I awoke, I was no longer in the North.
The air was different.
Charged.
Ancient.
Rune-marked stone surrounded me, humming with controlled arcane energy.
