Page 97 of Marked By His Hunger

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“Get down and stay down!” the winged stranger barked.

I scrambled, grabbing the nearest thing—a loose stone from the parapet.

I hurled it.

It hit the closest Daemon square in the side of its head with a sickening thud.

“Fuck,” he growled as it pivoted toward me.

Oh.

Right.

Bad idea.

“Shit,” I whimpered.

I crawled backward.

My heel slipped on rain-slick rock and I went down hard again, landing squarely on my butt.

Thank God for curves.

The second Daemon lunged at him, its mouth closing over his shoulder.

He roared.

Not in fear.

In fury.

He didn’t let go of the first one.

He was fighting both.

For me.

Something inside me snapped into place.

No.

Not snapped.

Ignited.

My vision tunneled.

The world dimmed at the edges.

I wasn’t thinking about humiliation anymore.

I wasn’t thinking about Buckie’s.

I was thinking about him.

He cannot fall.

He cannot die.

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