Page 172 of Marked By His Hunger
Her horror was honest.
Her compassion sharper still.
When she heard the vow aloud, something shifted inside me.
The Norns.
The Fates.
The clause of sated lust.
Destiny.
“I think you might be the one to sate my Bloodlust,” I told her.
“How?”
I moved closer.
Her heartbeat accelerated.
She smelled like frost-kissed pine and grave soil and temptation.
“I believe you are my destiny, Unnasta.”
“You think so?”
“I know.”
She drew closer by design or intent. It mattered little.
She was here now, and that was everything.
And when her lips met mine—there was no restraint left.
The kiss was violent in its hunger.
Not cruel.
But desperate.
Her body pressed to mine.
She straddled me.
And I let her.
Craved it.
Her hands removed my vest.
Traced the runes carved into my flesh.
My cock hardened painfully beneath her.
I growled her name.
She removed her dress. Next, her bra.
