Page 37 of Marked By His Hunger
Some walked with confidence.
Others hesitated, already sensing they had stepped into something far beyond comprehension.
Fresh blood.
The scent hit me like a blow.
The hunger surged so violently I dropped to one knee, breath tearing from my lungs in a ragged snarl.
Focus.
Control.
I forced it down—but then the scent sharpened.
Refined.
Singular.
Her.
Oh yes.
There was no mistaking it now.
I did not know how I knew.
But I knew.
The pulse was steady.
Strong.
Threaded with something ancient that did not belong to the living alone.
Death.
Grave soil.
Ghost-light.
My head snapped toward the courtyard.
Through the sheets of rain, I saw her.
Small against the vast expanse of rune-carved stone. Dragging a suitcase across the slick ground, her movements deliberate, unaware—or perhaps unwilling to show she understood exactly where she had arrived.
Lightning flashed.
For a brief, searing moment, the world stood still.
She paused.
Lifted her head.
Looked directly toward the tower.
Toward me.
