Page 118 of Marked By His Hunger
His expression shifted—something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.
I reached for him.
My fingers closed around his forearm.
And the world—snapped into focus.
Pure, unadulterated heat.
Not imagined.
Not subtle.
It sizzled.
I felt it—actual energy racing beneath my skin, surging up my arm like lightning looking for ground. It shot straight into my spine, exploding outward in a wave that made my breath hitch.
I gasped.
His eyes flared.
Purple fire.
Real.
Magical.
“Holy shit,” I swallowed hard. “Okay, that’s not normal.”
“Fuck, Serena,” he muttered, voice rougher now, strained like he was holding something back with both hands. “This will complicate things.”
Complicate?
My pulse was already racing out of control, my body thrumming like I’d been plugged into something bigger than me.
“How can it complicate things any more than they already are?” I asked, though the words came out breathless, unsteady.
Because nothing about this felt simple.
Or safe.
Or optional.
It felt inevitable.
Like standing at the edge of something massive and knowing I was already falling.
Something was happening to me.
My senses sharpened.
Everything became too much.
The hum of the wards in the walls—louder.
The storm outside—closer.
The air between us—charged, thick, almost visible.
