Page 76 of Marked By His Hunger
But she was not death.
I followed at a distance.
Every male who stepped too close drew a low growl from my chest.
They couldn’t see me.
But they felt it.
Even fledgling Monsters understand when apex predators stalk.
Inside the tavern, the atmosphere was thick with old wood, ale, and rune-laced lantern light.
Asgarheim’s ancient stone hummed faintly beneath the floorboards—wards woven through architecture.
I doubled my cloaking magic and settled at a table two down from hers.
And then I felt it.
The dead.
They were moving.
Not toward me.
Toward her.
Spirits gathered like moths.
Poltergeists pressed closer.
Her violet aura pulsed instinctively pushing back magic that brushed against her.
She didn’t even realize she was shielding herself.
Curiosity dragged me nearer.
And then—she said it.
“I see dead people.”
The tavern froze.
Whispers.
“Dark magic.”
“Necromancy.”
She gave them more. Spoke of her past.
And still they reacted predictably—the small-minded fools.
Fear.
Revulsion.
The sadness in her eyes struck deeper than any blade.
