Page 210 of Marked By His Hunger
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It hit instantly.
Not imagined.
Not distant.
Real.
Ropes cut into my wrists.
My skin burned.
My body—God—it felt used.
Broken.
My scream tore out of me before I could stop it.
The smell of blood.
Rot.
Fear.
A woman hovered over me—nun’s robes, twisted face, eyes filled with something hateful and righteous and utterly wrong.
She struck.
The pain was blinding.
My mind fractured.
Two realities collided.
Asgarheim Runevald Institute.
The past.
Serena.
Someone else.
No—still Serena.
Always Serena.
Just not this Serena.
I heard Bannerman.
Distant.
Panicked.
Too late.
The nun screamed something in a language I shouldn’t know—and I answered in a language I did not know.
Fluent.
