Page 212 of Marked By His Hunger

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And I—I was not just seeing it.

I was touching it.

“Serena! Stop!” Bannerman shouted.

But I couldn’t.

Because I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I was angry.

They had taken me.

Hurt me.

Broken me.

And I—I was done.

I opened my mouth.

And called them.

Not begging.

Not pleading.

Commanding.

Deep purple magic exploded from me, not wild this time—directed.

Controlled.

A net.

Wide.

Precise.

It spread across realms, slipping between layers of existence, wrapping around the wandering dead, the restless, the forgotten.

I felt them.

All of them.

Thousands.

Waiting.

Hungry.

And they answered.

Not because I was loud.

Not because I was desperate.

Because I was theirs.

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