Page 83 of Marked By His Hunger

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And still—she did not run.

She was terrified.

But she did not flee.

That fact struck deeper than the Daemon’s claws.

The third Algea lunged for me while I was distracted. It’s greedy intentions pushed into my mind.

And they were focused on harming Serena.

Rage tore through me like wildfire.

I heard her scream as the beast launched itself at me.

“Help him!”

And for a moment I wondered if someone else had arrived.

Then I felt it. A sort of energy wave and I moved again, counter attacking faster than thought.

My claws caught its throat mid-air and slammed it into the stone parapet.

Cracks spidered through rune-carved granite.

The wards embedded there flared briefly, reacting to the Daemon’s intrusion.

The Algea spat black mist at my face. I inhaled it by accident—and for half a second—despair.

Raw.

Ancient.

Unfiltered.

The Daemon’s domain flooded my senses.

Misery. Loneliness. Abandonment.

The psychic taste of every human tear shed in forgotten corners of Asgarheim.

It was intoxicating.

My DeathFace surged forward greedily.

Yes.

Drink this instead.

Feed on despair.

Feed on her fear.

No!

I crushed the thought and tightened my grip until the Daemon’s neck snapped like brittle reeds.

It dissolved into foul vapor.

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