Page 68 of The Beautiful Dead

But I wanted it.

I needed it.

Drawing it wasn’t enough anymore. Not now that I’d felt it. Not now that I had touched death with my own hands. Not now that I had learned what it was like to take control.

To own the moment.

To spill blood and bathe in it.

The hunger clawed at me from the inside, tearing me apart.

I needed to do it again.

And deep down, I knew—Domino would give me exactly what I wanted.

The city’s steel and smog clung to my skin as I stepped off the bus, but the moment my feet hit the ground, the atmosphere changed. The road ahead stretched long and quiet, a tunnel of looming oaks weaving shadows and fractured light over the blacktop. The air felt different here—cleaner, quieter, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Deveraux was breathtaking. Gothic spires clawed at the sky, black limestone towering, sharp-edged and severe. Stained glass glowed with the memory of sunlight, intricate depictions of saints and monsters bleeding color onto the stone floors. The entire campus was a living relic, steeped in history, whispering secrets through every weathered archway and iron-wrought gate.

Normally, I’d lose myself in it. Skip a lecture and disappear into the sprawling grounds; let my mind wander through pencil and paper. But today—today, my skin felt too tight. The air pressed too heavily against my ribs.

Inside the classroom, the fluorescent lights burned me like a bug under a magnifying glass. I sat stiff-backed in the wooden chair, trying to pretend that I could be normal, that I could listen to a lecture on Renaissance art—an elective—without feeling Domino’s grip still seared into my wrist, without my fingers twitching against my thigh, without the phantom vibration of my phone pulling me under.

I told myself I wouldn’t check.

I told myself I didn’t care.

I checked anyway—Nothing.

A sharp exhale passed my lips. A hollow pit expanded in my chest. My phone disappeared into my pocket, and my fingers curled into fists until my knuckles ached.

I didn’t need him. I didn’t.

So why did I feel like I was bleeding out in his absence?

I moved through the crowd of students like a ghost. Their voices blurred into static, their laughter rang hollow. Faces passed in waves, but I felt untethered, unseen. This place had once been a sanctuary, a world apart from everything else. Now it was foreign. It was an echo of something I barely recognized.

My hoodie was pulled tight around me, the collar abraded against my throat, hiding the evidence. The bruises, the teeth marks, the ownership burned into my skin. Imprinted into my soul. My body ached with it. And yet, I craved more.

The wind cut through me as I stepped outside, climbing the stone steps leading to the library. I sat down in a quiet corner, rubbing my wrist absentmindedly where his fingers had wrapped too tight the night before. My hand twitched toward my phone.

I wasn’t going to check.

I wasn’t.

A shadow fell over me before I even sensed someone was there.

Kyran.

He didn’t speak right away, just dropped down beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. He exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully, like he already knew I wouldn’t want to hear them.

I stiffened, my body on edge. “What?”

His gaze pinned me in place, sharp and suffocating. “You look like shit.”

I huffed out a humorless laugh. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious.”

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