Page 174 of Marked By His Hunger
Her pulse thundered beneath my mouth.
Not metaphor.
Not poetic exaggeration.
I could hear it.
Feel it.
Taste it without ever breaking skin.
Serena arched beneath me, her breath catching, her hands gripping at my shoulders as if she needed something—more—and the bond between us flared in violent agreement.
More.
The word wasn’t spoken.
It didn’t need to be.
It slammed through me like a war cry.
My fangs pressed harder against her throat.
Just enough to feel the delicate give of her skin.
Not enough to break it.
Not yet.
Gods.
The scent of her—sweet.
Alive.
Laced with that velvet-dark undertone of Necromantic magic that clung to her like a second skin.
It drove me mad.
My hands tightened on her hips, anchoring myself to something physical, something real, as my mind fractured into competing instincts.
Take.
Claim.
Feed.
No.
Protect.
Hold.
Don’t hurt her.
The conflict split me open.
A snarl tore from my throat before I could stop it, low and ragged, vibrating against her skin.
