Page 135 of Marked By His Hunger
Both.
“Your family learned to fear it,” she continued. “So they did what mortals often do when confronted with something they cannot control—they tried to suppress it.”
The word hit like a punch.
Suppress.
Medicate.
Control.
My chest tightened.
“They weakened the bloodline over time,” she said. “Diminished the power through careful unions, through deliberate choices meant to dilute what they feared.”
A bitter laugh threatened to rise in my throat.
“Well, that clearly worked out great.”
Her gaze didn’t soften.
“And yet,” she said, “by what some might call fate… or misfortune…”
Her eyes locked onto mine.
“You were born with your magic fully intact.”
The room felt smaller.
“Heavier.”
“Unfiltered,” she added. “Unbound.”
My pulse started to race again.
“Do you understand how rare that is?” she asked.
I shook my head slowly.
“Necromancers of your capacity are nearly nonexistent,” she said. “There are those who can sense death. Those who can glimpse beyond. But to speak with the dead as you do? To command their attention?”
Her voice dropped.
“That is power most would kill to possess.”
My mouth went dry.
“I don’t command anything,” I said quickly. “I just see them. Hear them. Sometimes they?—”
“Answer you,” she finished.
Silence stretched.
“And that,” she said, “is precisely the problem.”
A chill slid through me.
“You did not come here to explore curiosity,” she continued. “You came here to survive what you are becoming. And you will need help. Our help.”
