Page 15 of Donovan

His voice. Familiar. Steady. The only thing in my world that had ever been constant. Hearing him again hurt. Because it was good to hear him. Too good.

And I knew, I knew this would be the last time. For a moment, my mind drifted, slipping through my grasp like sand.

The pain in my body, the ice in my veins, the unnatural hunger gnawing at my insides—it all faded as memories surfaced.

I saw us, years ago back when we were kids.

The day my parents died, their bodies lowered into the ground while I stood there, numb, unable to cry, unable to feel anything but the gaping emptiness inside me.

I remembered staring at their graves, my fingers clenched into fists, barely breathing.

And Donovan, eleven years old and stubborn as hell, had climbed a tree just to keep watch.

The two of us sneaking into the kitchen, laughing under our breath as we stole leftover cake. His hair had been messy, his eyes bright with mischief.

Frosting smeared on his cheek.

I had wanted to wipe it away. I had raised my hand to do just that, but I had stopped myself. Because I had felt it then, even though I hadn’t understood it yet.

That ache. That terrible, terrible ache. We could have been something, I thought. In another life, maybe. A better one.

The weight of it crushed me, dragging me back to the present. Focus, Declan. Focus.

I forced myself to breathe, but my chest burned, my ribs grinding together like broken glass. I could feel the change clawing through me, relentless and merciless.

My body wasn’t mine anymore. I had to do this now.

"Declan?" Donovan's voice came again, sharp with worry.

My throat closed up, emotion choking me, the sheer relief almost as unbearable as the pain. I tried to swallow it down. Tried to be strong.

But I wasn’t. Not anymore.

I tried to speak. Nothing came out at first.

"Donovan."

I barely recognized my own voice. Shaky. Weak. His breathing hitched.

“Declan, where the hell have you been?" Donovan demanded. "I swear if you don’t?—"

"Listen," I cut him off, my grip tightening around the phone.

There was no time. I had to do this. Now. I swallowed hard, my body trembling from the effort of staying human. I could feel it, the change creeping in, sinking its claws into me.

My ribs ached, but not like before. Not like something broken.

Like something rearranging. The hunger was creeping in. The kind I had spent my whole life hunting down.

"Donovan," I whispered again.

Silence.

His voice, softer. "Declan?"

I closed my eyes. Breathed in. And whispered the only thing I knew he would understand.

"End this. Please. Before it's too late."