Page 117 of When Death Whispers

Wait. What?

It feels like my entire world is collapsing in on itself, my entire belief system exploding into a million pieces and leaving jagged fragments behind. Has everything I’ve ever believed been a lie? An assumption I had made based on my own fear? A justification to accept my own grief and lay blame on the only monster I knew?

“What about my roommate from five years ago? Or my neighbor last year? Or... or?—”

“All natural causes. All from fragile mortal bodies. Bodies as fragile as yours. Hence why you must stay here in the Gloom with me, where you can stay safe from being mauled by beastly demons or over-eager mortal golden boys.”

“What about Hudson? You’re going to say he was going to die from natural causes too?”

My anger surges now, hotter than ever before. Hudson almost died four times. That is not an assumption, I was there, I saw it. He was definitely trying to kill him.

“That human touched what is mine,” Steorfan says, his voice low but rough with irritation. “Tried to claim your desire and lust for himself. I couldnotlet him live. But I did not succeed. He is, unfortunately, still alive and well.”

And yet, despite everything—despite the way my world has been turned upside down by his cryptic answers—Ibelievehim. Because why would he lie to me? He’s not human. He doesn’t need to act like one. His words have weight, and I can feel it in my bones, in the way my pulse quickens and my body responds to his very presence.

Steorfan must see the conflict swirling inside me because, after a moment of watching me closely, he offers something else?—

“You grieve for things that are not gone,” he says at last, his voice quiet and even.

My chest tightens.

“They feel gone,” I whisper. “Hudson. Rad. It’s like… pieces of me went quiet. Like someone closed a door I didn’t know I’d left open.”

He doesn’t respond.

Not because he didn’t hear me.

Because he won’t let himself care.

Or maybe—because he wants me all to himself.

His eyes burn brighter—not with rage, but with something far more consuming. Focus. Hunger. A kind of reverence that doesn’t soothe, only unsettles.

And then?—

“You are not gone,” he says softly, like a truth that doesn’t require agreement. “You are here.”

He steps closer, and the shadows move with him, curling across the floor. They brush against the roots surrounding me, not intruding, just... claiming space.

“And you,” he continues, voice dipping lower, “are mine.”

The shadows shift again, slower now, wrapping the base of the nest like they’re weaving a perimeter. A barrier. A boundary no one else is allowed to cross.

He lowers himself beside me—not touching, not imposing. Just near. Steady. Certain.

Then, wordlessly, he extends his hand—palm open—waiting.

“This is all that matters now.”

He doesn’t move to touch me.

Doesn’t try to pull me closer.

But the way he looks at me… the way he watches me… it’s like the world hinges on the choice I haven’t made yet.

And maybe it does.

“I will not take what you do not offer,” he continues, his voice barely above a breath.

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