Page 158 of Marked By His Hunger

---

I picked up my fork.

Paused.

Put it back down.

My stomach twisted—not the simple, hollow ache of missing a meal.

No.

This was deeper.

Colder.

A gnawing sensation that didn’t stay in one place—it moved. Crawled. Scraped along the inside of me like something searching for an exit.

Or an entrance.

I grabbed the smoothie instead, taking a long sip.

Mango.

Sweet.

Cold.

Refreshing.

It should have helped.

It didn’t.

It tasted wrong.

Not spoiled.

Not bad.

Just empty.

Like my body rejected it on principle.

I swallowed anyway.

Took another sip.

Forced it.

The hunger didn’t dull.

It sharpened.

A sharp, jagged edge forming where there had only been discomfort before.

My breath hitched.

“What the hell…”

I pressed a hand to my stomach again, but it didn’t help.

---