Page 178 of Marked By His Hunger
“To stop what?”
I let out a slow breath.
“To stop being what I am.”
That truth stripped me bare more than any confession of hunger ever could.
The room seemed to still around us, the ancient stones of the tower holding the weight of the moment like they recognized it.
Her hand lifted, tentative, then settled against my chest—right over the glowing runes.
The contact sent a jolt through me.
Not hunger.
Something deeper.
“Your heart is racing,” she murmured.
“So is yours.”
We stood there, needy, lustful, breathing hard, filled with yearning—both of us balanced on the edge of something dangerous and inevitable.
The hunger hadn’t disappeared.
It never would.
But it had shifted.
Changed shape.
No longer just a force that demanded.
Now it waited.
Watched.
Focused entirely on her.
“You almost lost control,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t.”
Not completely.
Not yet.
I covered her hand with mine, pressing it more firmly against my chest.
“Do you understand what that means?” I asked.
Her gaze lifted to meet mine.
“Tell me.”
“It means,” I said, voice rough with the weight of it, “that you are the only thing standing between me and becoming exactly what they all believe I am.”
