Colson

Hunger Is a Habit

Colson POV

Amaris had been very clear.

North of the river. Below the old rail line. Not where power gathers—where it’s forgotten.

Which, frankly, described about ninety percent of my life choices up until this point.

I sat on the edge of the bed in my apartment, the mattress dipping under my weight like it always had.

I spread the map Amaris had sketched across the table and leaned over it, tracing the route again with one finger. Her handwriting was precise—tight lines, no wasted motion. Very her. Even when she was breaking reality, she did it neatly.

“This is where you ripped time apart for me,” I muttered. “No pressure.”

The route wasn’t complicated. That should’ve worried me. Things that mattered never announced themselves with fireworks. They hid. Waited. Let idiots walk past them for centuries.

Like Ezra.

I stood to grab my coat—

And the burn hit.

Not pain.

Not agony.

Just that dry, crawling heat in my throat that said you’ve been ignoring me, asshole.

I swallowed hard, jaw tightening as hunger spread like wildfire down my spine.

“Oh come on,” I growled. “Now?”

Of course now.

I’d been running on adrenaline, purpose, and spite for hours. Future Colson could stretch things longer—different rules, different balance, different body.

This version of me?

Still very much bound by biology and bad habits.

Old me wouldn’t have hesitated. He would’ve laughed, grabbed his coat, and headed straight for a feeder bar—or worse, the human quarter. The part of the city where desperation was currency and blood paid debts no one ever finished paying.

And gods help me, Ezra expected that of me.

If I suddenly went saintly—stopped feeding, stopped indulging, stopped being exactly who I’d always been—it would light alarms brighter than a witch on fire.

I stared at myself in the cracked mirror.

Same red eyes.

Same sharp smile.

Same mouth that had said too many cruel things and bitten too many people who never really had a choice.

“I hate this version of me,” I told the reflection.

The reflection smirked back like it didn’t care.

I grabbed my coat, scooped a handful of coins from the drawer—blood money, hush money, morality tokens—and shoved them into my pocket.

“One stop,” I muttered. “Then I’m done.”

The feeder bar squatted between two failing businesses, its windows dimmed and its wards subtle. No glamour. No illusion of choice. Just transactions dressed up as survival.

The moment I stepped inside, the air shifted.

Eyes turned.

Of course they did.

A few vampires looked up—Ezra’s people. Familiar faces I’d once called allies. Back when I’d mistaken proximity for loyalty and cruelty for strength.

“Well I’ll be f****d,” one of them said with a grin. “If it isn’t Ezra’s favorite errand boy.”

I slid onto a stool, posture loose, voice lazy. “Busy night. Thought I’d reward myself for not dying.”

They laughed.

Good.

Normal.

Expected.

I placed the coins on the counter.

A young woman approached—human, adult, eyes tired in a way that had nothing to do with age. She didn’t flinch when she saw me.

That was worse than fear.

“How much?” she asked quietly.

No bargaining.

No hesitation.

No hope.

I slid the coins forward. “Enough.”

She nodded and sat beside me, offering her wrist with practiced calm.

This was the moment I almost walked away.

Just a fraction of a second where I thought, f**k Ezra. f**k appearances. Let the hunger hurt.

But Ezra’s people were watching.

And survival sometimes meant being exactly who monsters expected you to be.

I leaned in.

The bite was controlled. Precise. No tearing. No cruelty. Vampire venom flowed, turning pain into warmth, fear into hazy bliss. Around us, the bar hummed—vampires watching, some entertained, some nostalgic.

Old Colson would’ve enjoyed this.

Old Colson would’ve soaked in the attention like sunlight.

I forced my face into something convincing—relaxed, satisfied, detached.

Inside, something twisted.

I fed just enough. Counted heartbeats. Focused on restraint instead of indulgence.

When I pulled back, she swayed slightly. I caught her, steadying her like I gave a damn.

I slipped another coin into her palm.

“For your trouble,” I murmured.

Her eyes were unfocused, but she nodded and moved away.

One of the vampires chuckled. “Didn’t think you were the gentle type.”

I wiped my mouth. “Don’t worry. I hate myself enough for both of us.”

They laughed.

The act held.

I left before hunger turned into something uglier. Before guilt had time to sink its teeth in. Before the past version of me got too comfortable wearing my skin again.

Outside, the night air hit me like a slap.

“Gods,” I muttered. “I used to think that was living.”

I crossed the city boundary, leaving neon and rot behind. The farther I went, the quieter the world became. Pavement gave way to gravel. Gravel to dirt choked with weeds.

Then the pull started.

Subtle. Persistent. Like something tugging at the center of my chest.

The hidden piece.

Amaris’s magic lingered on the path, faint but unmistakable. I followed it until the ground beneath my boots changed and the old rail line came into view—rusted, forgotten, barely holding itself together.

Below it, a shallow ravine.

Nothing special.

Which meant everything.

I crouched near a cluster of half-buried stones, heart pounding—not with fear, but anticipation.

“Well,” I murmured. “If I were an ancient, world-ending spell fragment, this is exactly where I’d hide.”

I pressed my palm to the ground.

Warmth stirred beneath my skin.

Not hunger.

Not blood.

Something deeper.

The Earth Crystal responded, subtle but present—like the land itself recognized me.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I feel you too.”

I pulled back.

Not yet.

I wasn’t taking it tonight. Not without planning. Not without making damn sure Ezra stayed distracted long enough for me to do this right.

I stood and looked back toward the city, lights faint on the horizon.

Sage was there.

Zane.

And somewhere ahead—far beyond this time—Amaris waited.

I clenched my fists.

“Just a little longer,” I said. “Then I’m done playing this part.”

Hunger quieted.

For now.

I turned away from the ravine and headed back toward the road, already plotting my return.

Because finding the book wasn’t the hard part.

Surviving long enough to keep it away from Ezra?

That was going to be a real pain in the ass.