Page 35 of Marked By His Hunger
Something extraordinary.
Something that did not run from the dark… but answered it.
Recognition flickered through me—violent and unwanted.
No.
Not recognition.
Something worse.
Something older.
Destiny.
The sensation slammed into me so hard my body staggered, claws scraping against the stone of the watchtower as lightning split the sky above Asgarheim.
The auroras twisted, colors warping as if even the heavens reacted to the shift.
Rain lashed harder, turning the black stone slick beneath my grip.
My claws carved grooves into it anyway.
The hunger rose—but it was wrong.
Different.
I heard it then.
Not a sound.
Not truly.
A voice.
Inside of me. In my head.
Low.
Ancient.
Awake.
It spoke.
I flinched, a rare fracture in my control.
Impossible.
The Norns do not grant mercy.
The Draugr does not receive gifts.
Love does not live here.
My father’s voice echoed through memory like a curse of its own.
And yet—the hunger twisted again.
