Liam’s mind was a blur, the world around him spinning as he sat on the cold, stone bench in the dark chamber. The walls seemed to close in, their oppressive weight pressing down on him. Every breath felt shallow, every movement heavier than the last. But it was the hunger that gnawed at him the most.

Two days. Two days without feeding.

His body was on fire. His throat burned with thirst. It had been so long since he’d fed, and now his instincts screamed at him to take anything—anything—just to make the ache stop. Blood. He could almost taste it in the air, fresh and sweet. But the hunger wasn’t just physical. It was deeper, sharper, more desperate. It tore at him from the inside out.

He tried to focus on anything other than the constant pull of his need. But the thoughts that haunted him wouldn’t go away.

Tessa.

He had heard the crash. The screech of tires. The sickening sound of metal grinding against metal. The blood-curdling howl of pain. Then—nothing. Everything had gone black.

His mind had spun in confusion, his vision blurry. But he remembered. He remembered the urgency in his steps as he tried to reach her, the panic that had gripped him when he heard the accident. But before he could get close enough, he'd been hit. Knocked out cold. His last thought was her—Tessa—lying somewhere in that wreck, but he hadn’t seen her body. Had she been hit? Was she still alive?

His gut twisted. He didn’t know. And the not knowing was killing him.

Two days without feeding. And still no word. No answer. Had she survived? Or was she—

He couldn’t think about it. The images flooded his mind, uninvited, as the hunger churned in his stomach. Her body. What if she was dead? What if he had failed her?

His breath came in shallow bursts, and he struggled to keep his composure. He had to think. He couldn’t lose control. But the thoughts were overwhelming. His sister. She was all that mattered. The hunger clawed at him, but his worry for her was worse. He had to know if she was alive. He needed to know.

He could feel the madness creeping in—the frustration, the confusion, the rage. The hunger was a physical pain now, gnawing at his insides, drowning out everything else.

His fingers dug into the rough stone, his nails scraping the surface as if he could tear the walls down with his bare hands. He needed to get out. He had to know.

“Tessa,” he whispered, the name like a prayer on his lips. “Please be okay...”

There was no answer, only the hollow sound of his own voice echoing in the small, empty space. He pressed his head into his hands, trying to steady himself, to focus on something, anything other than the gnawing emptiness inside him.

But he couldn’t.

He didn’t know if she was alive or dead. The not knowing was worse than the hunger.

Every second felt like an eternity.

He growled in frustration, slamming his fist into the stone wall. The sound of his knuckles cracking was like music to his ears, a reminder that he was still here—still breathing—still alive. But it didn’t matter. His mind raced, his thoughts spinning out of control.

He was going mad.

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I have to know.

He needed to find out. He needed to see her. To know if she was still alive.

The darkness of the room seemed to grow thicker, swallowing him whole, and for a moment, the walls felt like they were closing in.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

With a deep, guttural growl, he stood, pacing the small space, fighting the urge to let the hunger take over. The bloodlust was suffocating. The desperation to find her was worse.

I won’t let her die.

He hadn’t seen her body. He didn’t know if she had been hit. He didn’t know if she was alive. But he would find out. And if she was in danger...

There would be nothing left of this place when he was done.

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Tessa lay in her hospital bed, eyes closed as her thoughts churned. The room was quiet now, the only sound the soft beeping of the monitor beside her. Her parents were gone for a moment, giving her space to think. But as she drifted in and out of sleep, she felt something—or rather, someone—watching her.

In the distance, behind the veil of glass, a shadow lingered in the building across the street. A figure cloaked in darkness, hidden in the recesses of the night. He stood motionless, observing her through the window, his hollow eyes fixed on Tessa as though she were the last thing in the world that mattered.

The Grim Reaper had been there when the car came barreling toward her. He had been standing right there, a few feet away, waiting for her soul to slip away. It had been her time. Her moment of death, unspoken, but inevitable.

Yet, somehow... somehow she had survived. The wolf had interfered, sacrificing itself for her. The Reaper could still hear the screeching of the tires, the chaos, the sudden stop of a life that should have ended. But it didn’t. She didn’t die.

A cold fury welled up inside him. His pale hands clenched into fists, his bony fingers tightening in frustration. He had been at the scene, waiting for that precise moment. But fate had been twisted. The girl had been pulled from the edge of death, not by her own will, but by something unnatural.

And that something had cost him his prize.

He could feel his anger simmering, but he had no time to linger. He vanished from the spot in an instant, his form dissolving into the wind as he sped across the city. He moved through the shadows, unseen, unfelt, until he reached the heart of the woods. The place where death had always been at home.

There, in the darkness of the trees, he met the others—his companions, the ones who existed as part of the cycle of life and death, the ones who mocked him for his failure. Their voices cut through the stillness, taunting him, their echoes bouncing off the trees like cruel laughter.

“What happened?” one of them hissed. “You failed? A mortal escaped your grasp?”

Another voice joined in. “The girl wasn’t supposed to survive! She should be ours by now.”

The Reaper remained still, his face a mask of cold indifference. He let their words wash over him, unmoved by their jabs. They could mock him all they wanted. He had a far better understanding of the situation than they did.

“She already has a fate worse than death,” he muttered, his voice low and threatening. His tone was filled with a darkness that made the air itself grow colder. “And that fate isn’t mine to deliver. Not yet.”

There was a long silence, a sense of unease settling over the mocking group. They exchanged wary glances, sensing the weight of his words.

“What do you mean?” one of them asked cautiously, though it was clear they knew better than to push him too far.

The Reaper didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned, his shadowed figure retreating deeper into the woods. “She won’t escape forever. And when the time comes, I will be there. Her fate has already been sealed.”

With that, he disappeared into the darkness, leaving the others in stunned silence. They knew better than to challenge him. He was death itself, and his word was final.

But even so, the forest seemed to tremble in the wake of his promise.

Tessa’s soul might have evaded his grasp this time, but the Grim Reaper knew something they didn’t. He was patient. Fate would catch up with her soon enough, in ways that no one could anticipate.

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