Black Fang didn't join the chatting. She was redirecting the flow upward through her core, through her chest, and into the channels surrounding her throat where the collar's binding magic was thickest. The venom hit the foreign mana and fed. The gnawing in her thigh stopped. The Hunger had something to eat.
One stream wasn't enough. The Hunger had a thousand mouths.
She found the next. The one dissolving the pathways in her left forearm. She grabbed it, wrenched it toward the collar, and the pain that shot through her arm was a razor drawn from wrist to shoulder, peeling nerve from bone. Her teeth pressed together until the enamel creaked.
