Page 25 of Ghoul Me, Maybe

ELIAS

I t starts with pressure.

Heavy.

Dense.

Like I’ve been buried under the sea again—but this time, the weight is different.

Not cold. Not numb.

Just real.

My chest rises on its own. Air forces itself in— actual air. Salt-laced and sharp. It cuts down my throat, and I cough like a man who forgot how to be human.

Pain follows.

Not phantom pain, not the dull ache of spectral drift.

This is flesh pain.

Burning. Pulling. Screaming through every inch of me like I’m being stitched back together from broken glass and bad memories.

I jolt.

Gasp.

The world explodes into color.

Blue sky. Golden light. The smell of scorched sand and brine.

And her face.

Sienna.

Kneeling above me, hair sticking to her cheeks, her eyes wide and glassy and so desperately alive.

I try to sit up.

My arms shake.

My ribs howl.

Her hands grab mine, holding firm. “Don’t push it. You’ve got, like, five minutes of human under your belt. You’re still... rebooting.”

I collapse back, breathing hard.

Sweat beads on my forehead. My pulse is thunderous in my ears.

Pulse.

I have a pulse.

I raise my hand to my chest. Press in.

Thud-thud.

Thud-thud.

“Oh, gods,” I whisper.

“I know,” she says, eyes shining. “You’re alive. ”

Mira and Lyle show up an hour later like the weirdest welcoming committee ever.

She’s covered in blood and ritual chalk. He’s got a busted backpack and wild eyes.

“Holy shit,” Lyle blurts when he sees me sitting up. “You’ve got a shadow.”

Mira kneels next to me, snapping her fingers in front of my face like she’s testing for possession. “Any vomiting black ichor? Glossed-over eyes? Unnatural hunger for the souls of sailors?”

“Only mildly irritated,” I mutter.

“Sounds about right,” she says.

Sienna’s sitting with her back to my shoulder. Every once in a while, I feel her reach behind just to touch my arm. Like she’s making sure I don’t disappear again.

“You’re not tethered to the wreck anymore,” Lyle says, running a scanner-stone over me.

“No,” I answer, my voice gravel and sand.

He looks at Sienna.

Then back at me.

“You’re tethered to her. ”

I don’t even flinch.

Neither does she.

“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”

They build a fire as dusk creeps over the horizon.

We sit around it wrapped in threadbare blankets Mira pulled from the van. The wreck looms behind us—no longer cursed, no longer glowing. Just an old ship stripped bare by time.

“What happens now?” Sienna asks quietly.

Mira and Lyle exchange a look.

“Technically?” Lyle says. “You two are bound by an energy link older than most written magic. That’s probably going to get messy.”

“Define messy,” she says.

“Emotions. Thoughts. Physical feedback. You might dream each other’s memories. Might feel phantom pain. Might, you know, die if the other dies.”

Sienna winces. “Cool, cool. Casual soul marriage. Got it.”

“You did this willingly,” Mira adds. “That makes it stronger. And harder to reverse. If you even can. ”

I stay quiet.

Let them talk.

Let them guess .

Because while they’re tossing around arcane theories and metaphysical diagrams, I’m just watching the firelight flicker across her skin and thinking, I’ve never been so fucking grateful to hurt.

To feel.

To ache in ways that prove I’m real again.

Later, when they leave—exhausted, buzzing with leftover magic—we’re alone.

Just me, her, and the stars.

Sienna leans her head against my shoulder.

“You feel different,” she murmurs.

“I am different.”

Her hand trails down my arm. “No cold spots. No flickering. You’re all here.”

“I don’t think I know how to be here yet,” I admit.

She’s quiet for a long moment.

Then: “You don’t have to know. Just... stay.”

“I didn’t ask you to do this,” I say softly.

“I didn’t ask for permission,” she shoots back, fierce and raw.

My throat tightens.

“You tied your life to mine,” I whisper. “That’s more than magic. That’s... devotion.”

“It’s love , dumbass.”

She turns to look at me.

Eyes burning.

“You’re mine now,” she says. “So don’t try to leave again. Ever.”

I lean in, slow.

My lips brush hers.

And in that one second—nothing hurts.

No anchors.

No chains.

Just breath.

And her.

We don’t sleep at the beach.

Too many eyes. Too many variables.

And something about the way the wind shifts after midnight makes Sienna’s shoulders tense.

So we drive.

Her truck—rebuilt and half-charred—rattles like a dragon with asthma, but it gets us off the shoreline before sunrise peeks over the dunes.

We hole up in a crumbling motel two towns over. No names, no questions. Just peeling wallpaper and a flickering sign that reads VAC NCY.

I pace while she locks the door.

“Someone’s gonna feel it,” I mutter. “Whatever ritual you used, it wasn’t subtle.”

Sienna tosses the keys on the nightstand. “Yeah. That’s why we’re not exactly putting out a press release.”

I pause by the window.

Outside, mist curls across the parking lot like it hasn’t realized I’m not part of it anymore.

“They’ll come, won’t they?” I ask.

“The magical oversight boards? Probably. Eventually. If anyone caught the energy signature... yeah.”

I turn to her. “And when they do?”

She crosses the room.

Stops right in front of me.

“We lie. We hide. We live. ” Her hand finds mine. “That’s the deal, right?”

I don’t answer right away.

Because I don’t want to taint her hope with the weight I’ve always carried.

But she sees it anyway.

“Screw ‘em,” she says. “They didn’t bleed to save you. They didn’t scream your name into the void.”

“Sienna—”

“We make a life,” she cuts in. “Quiet. Careful. Ours. If we’re smart, if we don’t light up like a beacon every time you breathe... they won’t find us.”

I stare at her.

This woman who fought death, magic, fate—and won.

“New life, huh?”

She grins. “I’m great at pretending to be normal.”

I raise a brow. “You have three knives in your boot right now.”

She winks. “Exactly.”

And just like that—beneath fluorescent lights and water-stained ceilings—I start to believe her.