Page 64 of Marked By His Hunger
The temperature in the tavern dropped several degrees.
The lantern flames flickered sideways.
And outside—thunder detonated.
A crack so violent the tavern windows rattled in their frames.
The storm had answered.
I felt it again then—that awareness.
Heavy.
Massive.
Alert.
The same presence I’d sensed earlier.
The same feeling that something enormous had caught my scent the moment I stepped into Asgarheim.
It pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath the world.
Hungry.
So damn hungry.
And listening.
Dietrich blinked at me.
“Okay, so you see dead people,” he repeated slowly.
Sapphire inhaled sharply.
“For the record, it’s not common,” she said.
And I realized it wasn’t fear I was feeling from them. It was surprise.
Fascination.
Ursula squeezed my wrist under the table, grounding me.
Emery’s amber eyes glowed brighter.
“You’re what my mother called a veil walker,” she murmured. “Or close to it.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing,” I said weakly.
“It’s very much a thing,” Emery replied. “And super freaking cool!”
Around us, tavern noise dimmed. Not silent—but aware.
Runevald students didn’t scare easily.
But apparently Necromancy wasn’t casual magic.
It was doctoral-level dangerous.
