Page 49 of Marked By His Hunger
Worse than bad.
This was unprecedented.
My body—my curse—was refusing all sustenance.
Except—
Her.
The realization settled cold and heavy in my chest.
Not preference.
Not desire.
Requirement.
A dangerous thing.
A deadly one.
Because I would not take from her.
I would not.
I stood now on the cliffs overlooking the docks, the jagged spine of Asgarheim cutting into a sky that churned with violent, restless energy. The sea below slammed itself against black rock, waves breaking like bone, like something desperate to reach the land and tear it apart.
Wind tore at my wings, snapping them wide, forcing me to brace against it.
Rain lashed my face, cold and relentless.
Lightning carved the heavens open again and again, illuminating the fractured world in bursts of white fire.
It did nothing.
Nothing to quiet the inferno inside me.
Nothing to ease the gnawing, relentless need.
My vision had already shifted.
Not metaphorically.
The world bled at the edges—colors dimming, sharpening, distorting—until all I could truly see was what mattered.
Veins beneath skin.
Heartbeats beneath ribs.
Warm blood beneath fragile flesh.
Every living thing reduced to what it could give me.
My curse stirred eagerly.
Alive.
Awake.
