Page 114 of Marked By His Hunger
He was the male who had thrown himself between me and those things. The Daemons.
The one who had taken claws meant for my throat.
The one who had roared for my flesh like it wanted to eat me and not in a fun way.
So no. Fear didn’t feel like the right response to that.
Gratitude didn’t feel like enough, either.
When the nurse finally left, the door clicking shut behind her, the room seemed to exhale.
The wards lining the stone walls hummed faintly—low, constant, like a heartbeat I couldn’t quite sync with. Soft blue runes glowed at intervals, pulsing gently, layered protection woven into the infirmary itself.
Outside the tall, narrow windows, storm light flickered against the ancient towers of the Institute. Lightning traced the edges of spires that looked older than time, shadows stretching and shifting like the building itself was alive.
Asgarheim didn’t feel like a school at night.
It felt sentient. Like it was watching.
Waiting.
And in the middle of it was him.
Raven.
He was pacing.
Back and forth, back and forth, like stillness wasn’t an option for him. Like if he stopped moving, something inside him would catch up.
He filled the space too easily.
Too completely.
Massive shoulders. Long strides.
Wings tucked tight against his back, but not relaxed—never relaxed.
Every line of him held tension, like a storm coiled into flesh.
The runes across his muscled chest glowed faintly beneath his dark skin, reacting to something I couldn’t see but definitely felt.
They pulsed in uneven rhythms, almost like they were responding to him or maybe trying to contain him.
I swallowed.
He was holding something back.
I didn’t need to understand magic to know that.
I could feel it.
It hung in the air between us, thick and electric, like the moment right before lightning splits the sky.
And worse?
It wasn’t one-sided.
The connection between us?
