His sister had handed her over like a discarded toy, grinning, cruel, draped across her self-fashioned throne of gods and mortals she’d broken for her amusement. She had called her his pet, offered them as a symbol of favor or mockery, he wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. The moment Hunger’s eyes settled on them, something shifted.

They should have crumbled the moment he drew near, like the rest, like the angels who screamed when their wings withered in his presence, like the mortals who clawed at their skin just to feel something again as he drained their essence dry. But this one... this thing offered to him... stood tall.

Not untouched, no, he could sense the way his presence stirred her, how her body strained just slightly beneath the weight of him. But she endured. Defiant. Alive. Whole.

And that... that was intoxicating.

The hunger inside him twisted violently, aching not just for power or obedience, but for her. Her fire, their resistance. Hunger wanted to press into it, to watch it burn and smolder beneath him. He wanted to unravel her slowly, strip back the layers of composure and self control until they were nothing but breath, skin, and need. He would taste that strength, not with teeth alone, but with hands, with power, with the relentless desire that had begun to claw at him like something feral.