Page 241 of Marked By His Hunger
His expression shifted.
Not mockery now.
Interest.
“Ah,” he murmured. “That’s… significant.”
My wings flexed slightly.
Possessive instinct rose before I could stop it.
He noticed.
And grinned wider.
“Relax, Draugr. I’m not here for your mate.”
“Then why are you here?”
The moonlight brightened around him.
“The Institute has stirred,” he said casually. “Your Necromancer tore open more than a classroom veil.”
I already knew that.
The dead had listened.
But something else had, too.
“There are movements,” Ivan continued. “Old bloodlines waking. Ancient rivalries sniffing around the Runevald archives.”
My jaw tightened.
“Speak plainly.”
He leaned against the balcony rail as if gravity itself were optional.
“Something is coming to Asgarheim.”
The wind went still.
Not storm.
Not war.
Something subtler.
“And it has nothing to do with you,” Ivan added, almost lazily.
That was worse.
Because if it wasn’t tied to my curse—it was tied to the Institute.
To fate.
To whatever power had awakened in Serena.
“To whom, then?” I asked.
