Some nights he didn't dream. Thomas looked forward to those nights. For the longest time after Harry had died he was too messed up to dream about anything but the promises he'd made to his brother and the battles for his daughter.
Now that Harry was back and he knew he was safe the Hunger was back to whispering in his head while he slept. It had been reminded of how much it liked things and it wanted him to let it play.
The Hunger laughed as he reached out with a hand misshapen by the skinwalker's beating to grab the next victim. It didn't matter that every nerve in his hand and arm screamed as he forced his fingers to close on soft flesh. All that mattered was feeding. All that mattered was survival.
It didn't hurt them.
They begged for him to take them with desire so thick in their voice you could taste it.