Page 109 of Marked By His Hunger
I hated myself for causing it.
But she needed to understand.
She was temptation embodied.
She was blood and hope, and salvation wrapped in soft curves and violet magic.
And I was starving.
Not just for blood.
For her.
For what she represented.
For release from a curse older than memory.
I leaned closer before I could stop myself.
Brushed her hair back from her shoulder.
Her skin was silk beneath my fingers.
Her breath warmed my jaw.
The world narrowed to her mouth.
Her lips parted slightly.
Invitation.
Or imagination.
It did not matter.
Every instinct screamed to kiss her.
To mark her.
To bind her.
To claim what fate had offered.
But beneath that hunger was something steadier.
A vow forming.
Serena was hope.
Hope is fragile.
Hope can be broken.
But I would break the world before I let that happen.
Her fingers slid from my forearm to my chest—over the runes.
They flared faintly beneath her touch.
