Page 17 of Marked By His Hunger
“I call it surrender.”
Silence stretched between us.
“This ends with me.”
She studied me for a long moment, her gaze ancient, weighing, as though measuring the truth of my conviction against the inevitability of fate itself.
“I wonder if you realize the arrogance of such a statement, young Draugr.”
“It is not arrogance,” I said. “It is will.”
“And what of desire?” she asked, almost idly. “Companionship? You are not beyond such things.”
A humorless sound left me.
“What worthy female would willingly bind herself to a Monster like me?”
Because that is what I am.
Not misunderstood.
Not tragic.
A Monster.
“A creature defined by Bloodlust,” I continued, quieter now. “A Revenant forged by a curse older than memory. My touch is ruin.”
She had smiled then.
Faint. Knowing.
“You may find,” she said, “that not all women are as fragile as you believe.”
I stood, unwilling to entertain fantasies that would never belong to me.
“Unlikely.”
She did not argue.
She never did when time would prove her right.
The present returns with the cold bite of night air against my skin.
I walk the grounds of the Institute beneath the cover of darkness, where I belong.
The shadows cling to me as if recognizing their kin. They soften my edges, swallow my presence, make me something less visible—though never less dangerous.
Students have begun to arrive.
I can feel them.
Each heartbeat echoes faintly against my senses, a distant rhythm that grows louder the closer I draw. Warm. Alive. Fragile.
Tempting.
I veer away from the main path, forcing myself deeper into shadow.
Control.
