Page 228 of Marked By His Hunger
Not the kind bound to thought.
The kind etched into bone.
Ancient.
Endless.
I held Serena close as we cut through the skies, my wings beating against the currents that rose from the cliffs and forests below.
The Institute faded behind us—its towers of knowledge and restraint, its wards and watchers and carefully constructed control.
That place had saved me.
But it had never been mine.
Not truly.
Not like this.
Not like what I carried in my arms now.
Her.
My Unnasta.
My mate.
Mine.
The bond pulsed between us—not wild, not unstable, but settled.
Like something that had always been meant to exist had finally been allowed to take shape.
She fit against me perfectly, her arms looped around my neck, her breath warm against my skin.
Alive.
Always alive.
And now—so was I.
Not in the hollow, cursed way I had endured for centuries.
But fully.
Terrifyingly.
And I was so hopeful.
The castle came into view slowly, emerging from the mist like something pulled from an old saga.
It stood on the far edge of Asgarheim, where the land dipped into black stone cliffs and the sea below roared like a beast chained to the shore.
Jagged towers.
Weathered walls.
Runes carved deep into every arch and column—older than the Institute itself, older than the bindings placed upon my bloodline.
