Page 9 of Marked By His Hunger
Because no matter how many covenants I sign…
No matter how many centuries I endure…
There is one truth I cannot escape.
I am a Monster.
And Monsters don’t get happy endings.
They only get… obsession.
One week later.
“You’ve summoned me, Professor Kenna.”
I approached her desk.
The chamber was a cathedral of scholarship and restraint.
Shelves of vellum-bound dissertations lined the curved walls.
Iron braziers burned with smokeless blue flame.
The air carried the scent of ink, aged parchment, and something faintly metallic that stirred unpleasant instincts in my throat.
Power lived here.
Measured power.
Disciplined power.
Not the wild frenzy of Bloodlust.
Professor Kenna tapped the contract on her desk before sliding it toward me.
The parchment was thick and rune-pressed, veined faintly with silver sigils that pulsed once as I reached for it.
“It has been one moon since the contract has been renewed. The lab reports your stabilization has improved,” she observed.
“I endure,” I replied.
She nodded once.
At Runevald, endurance was expected.
Mastery was demanded.
“Leave your mark and the reports will be recorded,” she instructed as if I did not know the way of it.
I called upon my DeathFace.
The transformation no longer shattered bone or tore muscle as it once had.
Now it unfolded with deliberate control.
My skin darkened to polished obsidian. Horns curved from my skull like a crown forged from night. My fangs descended with silent precision.
I bit into my palm.
