Page 175 of Marked By His Hunger
She gasped—not in fear, not fully—but in something that made everything worse.
Because she didn’t pull away.
She leaned into it.
“Raven,” she whispered.
My name.
Not my title.
Not the curse.
Me.
That was what nearly broke me.
The runes carved into my flesh flared, heat flooding through my veins, the ancient magic reacting to the surge in my control—or lack of it.
I could feel it slipping.
Not all at once. Not dramatically.
But enough.
Enough that the edge was no longer distant.
It was right here.
Beneath my teeth.
My tongue dragged slowly along the line of her throat, tasting the salt of her skin, mapping the rhythm of her life beneath it.
My vision blurred at the edges, narrowing to that single point of warmth, of pulse, of need.
If I bit her—if I just sliced through her soft skin—the thought hit like lightning.
And the hunger roared.
Not quiet anymore.
Not focused.
Not controlled.
It surged up, violent and ancient, the full weight of the Draugr curse crashing against the fragile restraint I’d built over centuries.
My grip tightened without meaning to.
She gasped again, sharper this time.
And suddenly—I felt it.
Her.
Not her body.
Her mind.
