A Hunger That Burns

The night had never felt so alive.

Anne's heartbeat thundered in her ears as she stumbled back, away from Rhael, away from the truth he had just unveiled. The hunger gnawed at her insides, clawing, whispering, demanding. It wasn't just thirst—it was a fire that scorched her veins, a call that had been waiting for her to listen.

And now, she could no longer ignore it.

"I won't become like you," she spat, forcing the tremor from her voice. Her fangs ached against her lips, the scent of the forest suddenly rich with a thousand possibilities. Every heartbeat, every shift of movement in the trees—she could feel them all.

Rhael smirked. "You think you have a choice?" He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. "You are both dragon and vampire, but make no mistake, Anne. You are not balanced. One side will always win. And the longer you fight it, the harder the fall will be."

Anne clenched her fists. Fire flickered at her fingertips, but even as the warmth spread through her, it could not mask the cold realization that settled deep in her bones.

She was starving.

"Do you know why your mother kept you hidden for so long?" Rhael's voice was soft now, almost mocking. "Because she knew what you would become. And she was afraid."

Anne's breath caught in her throat. Her mother had told her many things, had warned her of what she was. But fear? That was not something she had ever seen in Bela's eyes.

"You're lying," she said, but even as the words left her lips, they felt weak.

Rhael tilted his head. "Am I?"

The wind carried the scent of something warm, something alive. Anne's senses sharpened instantly. She turned her head, her pupils dilating as she caught sight of a lone deer just beyond the trees, its fragile form moving through the brush.

Her chest rose and fell heavily. The fire inside her wanted destruction. The hunger wanted blood.

Rhael took a step back, observing her like one might a caged beast. "Go on," he murmured. "Take what is yours."

Anne's breath hitched. The trees blurred at the edges of her vision. Her muscles tensed as instinct warred with reason. She was not an animal. She was not a monster.

But she was hungry.

She took a shaky step forward, her pulse hammering against her ribs. The deer lifted its head, its large eyes locking onto her.

Anne's fangs ached.

The hunger screamed.

And then—

She ran.

Not toward the deer, but away. Away from Rhael, away from the truth, away from the thing inside her that she was terrified to name. The night air rushed past her as she forced herself to move, to escape, to resist.

But the hunger would not let go.

It was only a matter of time.