Hungerstone

The Book That Sank Its Fangs Into My Soul and Didn't Let Go

You ever read something that doesn’t just stick with you — it claws its way into your bones and sets up camp in your ribcage?

That was Hungerstone for me.

Don’t be fooled by the “oh look, sapphic vampire fun” setup. Yes, Carmilla is here. Mysterious. Alluring. Dripping with that gothic seduction energy we eat for breakfast. But this book? It’s not here to flirt. It’s here to wreck.

This isn’t just a vampire story.

It’s a reckoning.

This is womanhood as hunger.

Feminine rage, dressed in lace and shadow.

Loneliness that rots slowly beneath your skin until one day… it bites back.

Lenore is one of the most painfully real protagonists I’ve read in a long time. Her life? Drained. Her voice? Buried. Her world? Cold, steel-pressed, and built entirely on rules she didn’t get to write. She’s the echo of a woman — until Carmilla arrives.

Not as some sexy little gothic fling (though let’s be real, the vibes are immaculate), but as a spark. A threat. A disruption. A whisper in the dark that says, you were never meant to be tame.

Suddenly, everything Lenore was told to silence starts clawing its way out.

The writing?

Gorgeous. Sharp. Purposeful. Thick with dread and dripping in atmosphere. You don’t just read Hungerstone — you descend into it. Like stepping into a mist-covered forest where something is always just behind you… watching. Waiting.

And let me tell you — as someone who’s read the original Carmilla?

This is one of the most powerful, emotionally brutal retellings I’ve ever experienced. It honors the source material while dragging it into the depths of raw, unfiltered femininity. It’s not polished. Not gentle. Not romanticized.

It’s bloody. Guttural. Unforgiving.

Yes, it’s sapphic.

But no, it’s not a romance.

It’s a story about agency. About choosing yourself. About walking away from safety, from comfort, from the life built for you and stepping into the unknown because it finally feels like yours.

Do I wish we got more of Carmilla’s intensity? More lingering glances and breathless tension? Maybe. But that ache, that restraint, that delicious sense of danger — it’s all there. And the point was never just the seduction. The point was the liberation.

By the end, I didn’t just feel like I’d read a book.

I felt like I’d survived something.

Like I’d screamed through the page.

So I’ll leave you with this:

What do you hunger for?

Be honest.

And then watch what happens when you finally taste it.

5 bloody, glorious stars.

Recommended for: Anyone who’s ever felt silenced. Anyone who’s ever wanted to burn it all down. Anyone who’s ready to be haunted.

Affiliate Disclaimer:

This post may contain affiliate links, which means if you grab this gorgeous, gut-punching book through my link, I might earn a tiny commission — at no extra cost to you. You’ll be feeding my vampire book addiction, and honestly? Thank you for that.

Hungerstone