Page 160 of Marked By His Hunger
Something that had recognized something it needed.
And now—it wouldn’t stop asking for it.
I dropped the taco back onto the plate, appetite gone—not because I wasn’t hungry, but because nothing in front of me could touch what I actually needed.
The hollow inside me stretched wider.
Deeper.
Painful now.
A slow, insistent ache that built and built, like pressure behind a dam that wasn’t meant to hold.
I curled forward slightly, breath catching as the sensation sharpened again—low, twisting, almost unbearable.
“Why does it feel like I’m starving,” I muttered, voice thin, “when I’m literally eating?”
Because I wasn’t starving for food.
That realization hit me like a punch.
I was starving for something else.
Something my body had already chosen.
Something it was waiting for.
The air shifted.
Subtle.
But immediate.
The awareness hit me again—harder this time, slamming straight into my chest like a second heartbeat that didn’t belong to me.
My spine went rigid.
My breath caught.
Because suddenly—the hunger, the thirst, the craving focused.
All that chaotic, gnawing need snapped into something precise.
Directed.
Sharp.
Like a compass locking onto true north.
My head turned before I could stop it.
My body already moving.
Already responding.
And then—a sound.
A growl.
