A City on the Edge

The molten scale slipped past his fangs, thick and viscous like honey, yet far heavier, dragging itself down his throat in a slow, searing descent.

It left no taste, no bitterness or sweetness, only a dense, liquid heat, clinging to his throat as it traveled. The warmth did not fade, did not settle into comfort. It remained, a core of smoldering power conserving its intensity as it reached his stomach, where it pooled like molten ore, refusing to be tamed.

A pulse.

Arthur's breath hitched, his claws flexing against the stone floor beneath him. The hunger had struck first, wild and undeniable, but now, now something else took hold.

His heart pounded, but it was not mere excitement. It was raw, electric energy surging through his veins, pressing against his ribs, flooding his limbs. It filled his temples, pounded in his throat, thrummed in his very bones. Every beat of his heart carried a charge, a force that refused to be contained.