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The word echoed.

“My bloodline was punished. We carry hunger that does not fade. It sharpens with time. I have mastered it—mostly. But when I told you that you were my fated mate something changed.”

The confession cost him.

I could see it.

“The restraint fractured,” he continued. “The bond activated somehow. And I-I feel you constantly.”

My pulse kicked up.

“Feel what?”

“Your hunger. Your anger. Your desire. And your doubt.”

Heat crept up my neck.

“And you? What do you feel?” I asked softly.

His eyes burned.

“Hungry. For you. Always you. I fight the urge to claim you every moment.”

The words weren’t a threat.

They were honest.

“I do not trust myself,” he admitted. “Not with you.”

That hurt.

But it also made sense.

The matebond pulsed between us, undeniable.

“I feel you too,” I confessed.

His gaze sharpened.

“The hunger,” I said. “It’s not just mine.”

His nostrils flared.

“Weeks of distance have not weakened it.”

“No,” I whispered. “It’s worse.”

He stepped closer.

“So you see why I kept my distance.”

“And you see why I was angry.”

Silence stretched.

Fire crackled softly.

The castle beneath us thrummed faintly with ancient magic.