Page 10 of Marked By His Hunger
Blood welled hot and thick.
The scent struck me immediately—rich, intoxicating, dangerous.
The hunger stirred.
I swallowed it.
I dipped the quill into my own blood and signed.
Draugr.
Not Raven.
Never Raven.
The runes flared briefly as my name sealed itself to the covenant.
I followed with black ink, binding myself once more to the Institute.
To discipline.
To restraint.
“Now, as you know, to remain enrolled at Asgarheim Runevald Institute,” Professor Kenna said smoothly, “you agree to continued monitoring, blood-ration compliance, and participation in advanced arcane regulation seminars.”
“I am aware.”
She leaned back slightly.
“Then let us review. What do you recall of your arrival here? And how have you changed?”
I lowered myself into the velvet-backed settee opposite her desk.
The fabric was deep green, soft beneath claws that had once torn through stone.
“I recall the pain,” I said after a moment.
Her gaze sharpened.
“And the darkness.”
It all started a decade ago.
The North had already begun to reject me.
The Clan whispered.
The donors avoided my eyes.
The warriors watched my hands too closely.
I had always known I would inherit the curse.
Every male in my line had.
But knowing is not the same as enduring.
The transformation began slowly.
