The air leaves my lungs in a rush.
“That’s not—”
“Possible? Real?”
He huffs a breath. Might be a laugh.
“Tell me, Wes—when was the last time you felt full? Actually full?”
I say nothing. Because I haven’t.
Not since the crown. Maybe not ever.
“We don’t take,” Stellan says. “Not the in way you think. We feel. We amplify. We get drunk on emotion if we’re not careful.”
“I don’t want this.”
The words tear out of me. Raw.
“I don’t want to feed off people.”
“You already are.”
He says it without cruelty. Without softness. Just fact.
“You’re just doing it wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“You’re fighting it. Starving yourself into being human.”
He steps closer. The air shifts.
“I’ve seen our kind shatter from the inside trying to pretend they’re normal.”
Something in his voice makes me look up.
“You think I liked it?” he says, quieter now. “Waking up starving in a world that didn’t believe in what I was? Needing something everyone else was afraid to name?”
I don’t answer.
Because he’s not wrong.
“You’re lucky,” he murmurs. “You’ve got her. You’ve got them. The Ether won’t let you rot in denial. But itwillhurt you if you keep trying to resist it.”
He steps even closer—not threatening. Not seductive. Just... present.
Close enough that I feel it.
The weight of him. The stillness. The hum of shared hunger.
My pulse spikes.
The hunger... eases. Not gone. But acknowledged. Like it exhaled.
Stellan smiles faintly.
Not cruel. Not kind. Just knowing.
