From the Lorekeepers of the First Blood
Translated by Bryanna Thorvold, Archivist of the Forsaken
He stands before the vessel. She is willing. Her heartbeat is steady. Her scent—lavender, honey, the sweetness of a life not yet dimmed—coats his tongue.
The others have fed. He feels it through the bond:
Thorne's brief satiation.
Ari's overfed haze.
Lucian's quiet relief.
They are balanced. Almost whole. For now.
But the Wolf cannot move.
His body screams. His fangs ache. His cock is hard with the need Hel branded into his flesh. Fuck and feed. Fuck and feed. It is the rhythm of his new existence.
And yet.
His feet will not carry him forward.
The vessel reaches for him. He steps back.
Through the bond, he feels Thorne's confusion. Ari's frustration. Lucian's careful silence.
But the Wolf turns away.
He does not know why his body rejects what it craves. He does not know why he alone cannot take what is offered.
He only knows: the hunger grows, dangerous and predatory.
And the others feel it, too.
________
These are only fragments. The full chronicle—their bonds, their hungers, their impossible choices—will be revealed when the Darkborn saga begins.
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The hunger is only beginning.
