And something?—
Somethinghitsme.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not subtle.
It’s a jolt straight through my chest, sharp enough to make me grip the window frame before I can stop myself. My pulse spikes, the second rhythm surging alongside it, and for a terrifying instant I think I’m under attack.
I’m not.
This isn’t fear.
This isn’t anger.
There’s no bloodlust in it, no hunger for violence, no familiar edge of danger that I’ve learned to recognize and manage.
This is?—
Gods.
This iswant.
Raw.
Immediate.
Absolute.
My breath comes shallow as I stare through the glass, unable to look away. Every instinct in me leans toward her, not as prey, not as threat, but as something… necessary. The need is physical, visceral, a pull that goes deeper than thought, deeper than reason.
I swallow hard.
“Easy,” I tell myself.
Because the first, most immediate thought is not a flattering one.
Is this the demon?
Is this the part of me that was rewritten, that now looks at a human woman and decides she is something to be taken, consumed, devoured in ways that have nothing to do with kindness or choice?
My hands tighten against the window frame.
No.
No, that’s not it.
I know what that feels like. I’ve stood close enough to Rhazek in his worst moments, seen the edge of that kind of hunger when it’s stripped of restraint. This is not sharp like a blade. It’s not cold. It doesn’t carry that violent inevitability.
This is heat.
This is pull.
This is?—
I exhale slowly, trying to steady the sudden chaos in my chest.
This feels like what Rhazek described.
