Page 43

Story: When Death Whispers

42

My cheeks are damp when I stir, the cold stickiness of tears clinging to my skin.

That’s how I know I’ve been crying in my sleep.

The air is thick and damp, clinging to me like a second layer. Something rough digs into my back—roots, I realize, twisted together like a nest. A blanket is wrapped around me, heavy and scratchy, carrying the faint scent of ash, earth, and something sharper. The scent that always came with the shadows. The one I never had a name for until recently.

Steorfan.

The ceiling above me is rough and gnarled, lined with pulsing veins of light that beat slow and steady—like a heart buried inside the walls.

I blink through the dim amber glow and push myself upright. Roots curve beneath me—uneven, twisted together in a way that feels deliberate, like they were grown to hold something. To hold me.

As I shift, something brushes the back of my arm—cool, soft, sentient.

Not wind. Not wood.

A shadow.

Still here.

Still his.

He’s not here. Not yet. But his shadows are. One curls around my thigh, resting there like it belongs. Another lingers near my spine, a phantom exhale down the column of my back. The last wraps loosely around my wrist, featherlight and steady.

They don’t tighten. They don’t prod. They simply remain.

The panic from earlier lingers under my skin, a slow thrum in my veins. I remember the way it overtook me. The way I crumpled. The way he caught me—not as a predator, but something else. Something closer to steady.

He held me.

And now I’m here. In his realm. In what I can only assume is his home. Wrapped in his blanket. Guarded by his shadows. Surrounded by a silence that feels far too much like attention.

My fingers curl into the fabric on my lap.

Hudson’s face flickers in my mind. His voice. His hand in mine.

Safe.

He’s safe, at least. In the human realm. Away from all of this.

But Rad…

I don’t feel him. Not the tether or the usual pull between us. Just absence, sudden and sharp. Like a part of me had grown used to the weight of him in my blood and is only now realizing how comforting it had been.

I’m alone.

And I hate how much that matters.

It’s that loneliness that opens me up. It’s that loneliness that makes me say it.

A name slips past my lips like a secret. Like a confession.

“…Steorfan?”

The air stirs like it’s listening. Like I’ve just said something I can’t take back. Like I’ve just invited something in.

I don’t hear footsteps.

But something shifts.

And then he’s there in front of me like the shadows rearranged themselves into the shape of him. Like they don’t exist without him moving through them.

His eyes find me first. Glowing. Steady. Twin embers that watch without blinking, without flinching—like they’ve seen every version of me and are still waiting for the one that finally breaks.

Then the rest of him begins to take form, sharpening in the low light until he’s no longer suggestion or shadow.

He’s real .

He’s still cloaked, but his hood has fallen back, revealing unruly dark hair that curls at his temples like it’s never been tamed. It frames a face that walks the edge of human—sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, all wrapped in skin that’s nearly translucent, stretched over the ghost of a bone structure beneath.

He doesn’t look alive.

But he doesn’t look dead, either.

His features are delicate and defined, wrong in the way paintings become when you stare at them too long—like they’re breathing when they shouldn’t be.

And his eyes?—

Twin embers, glowing orange, locked on me.

They don’t flicker.

They burn.

His full lips part slightly, like I’ve interrupted a thought. Or started one.

He has a face.

Not a shadow. Not a blur. Not a mask of bone.

Him.

And it strikes me, all at once, how beautiful he is.

Not in the way Rad is—with danger and magnetic charm. Not like Hudson, either, with his softness and steadiness.

No. Steorfan’s beauty is the kind you don’t survive. The kind you can’t look away from even when it’s unraveling you from the inside out.

His expression is unreadable. Not blank. Not angry.

Just… watching.

“You said my name,” he murmurs. “You called for me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I reply.

The air hums.

The shadows don’t move, but something in the space around us does. Like the name shifted the shape of the room. Like it shifted him .

“You did,” he says simply. “And now it’s yours.”

I blink. “What is?”

He tilts his head. “My name.”

The words settle in my gut like something alive.

“You don’t understand what that means,” he adds. “But I do.”

I glance down—his shadows still linger at my wrist, loose and patient, like they’re waiting to be called upon, like I’m the one with all the control. My heart squeezes at the shift in reality, at such a small gesture that means so much more in this moment than any words he may have spoken.

He watches me notice. His gaze doesn’t soften, but it sharpens. Like something unspoken is thriving in the quiet between us. Something that I had only hoped for most of my life, and now seems to hang in the air, waiting to be claimed. Did I only need to come to the Evergloom to conquer my greatest fear?

“You wept,” he says. “While you slept.”

Heat climbs my neck. I don’t know if it’s from embarrassment or something else.

“I stayed,” he murmurs. “Correction. My shadows stayed. I watched.”

The breath catches in my throat. “Why?”

His voice is lower now. Almost a whisper.

“Because I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

My breath stutters in my chest.

He steps closer.

Just a little.

Enough that I feel the cold shift in the air around him.

“I could take,” he says softly. “You know this.”

I nod while my stomach drops at the memory of the past few days. The conflicting fear and desire that always comes with a simple brush of his shadows.

I realize I’m hating that I nod. I’m fully aware he could take what he wants. But he hasn’t. Why? What’s changed?

“But I won’t,” he finishes, and that lands heavier than anything else.

“Why?” The question slips out before I can stop it, curiosity winning when I’m sitting here, face to face with my personal nightmare, having a civil conversation. I don’t have time to process how absurd it all feels before he speaks again.

His voice turns almost hollow. “Because I want you to give.”

“To give what?” I whisper, though I already know.

He smiles—but it’s not cruel. It’s devastating.

“Everything.”

The word settles into the space between us like a promise—or a threat. Maybe both.

I don’t speak. I don’t move. I just… sit there, staring at him, heart pounding in a rhythm that doesn’t feel like mine.

He could touch me now. He could take everything he says he wants. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stands there, impossibly still, like he’s giving me the space to bolt, even knowing I won’t. Not again. Not when I know what’s outside this place. Not when a part of me is curious…

I don’t understand it.

I don’t understand him .

“Why haven’t you?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Claimed me, I mean.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in the room tightens. The shadows tense—just slightly. Almost like they’ve been waiting for that question, too.

“Because you are not ready,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “And I want you willing.”

My throat tightens. “You keep saying that, but I’m not sure I believe it. Not after running from you my whole life, not after what you took with your shadows, the last time.”

“That was a mistake,” he replies. “I had to learn, to find out. Your desire feeds me more than your fear ever did. But it has to be yours. Not coaxed. Not stolen. Given.”

I look down at the place where his shadow still coils lightly around my wrist. It hasn’t moved. It’s just… waiting.

“Then why does it feel like you’re waiting for me to break?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly, “I’m waiting for you to choose. ”

And god, that terrifies me more than anything else. Because some fractured part of me wants to—wants to lean into him. Into the quiet. Into the stillness of being held by something I should run from. Somehow it feels like finally accepting my fate, facing my fears, my monster. It feels like surrendering to what was inevitable.

I glance back up at him, eyes stinging.

“I miss the tether,” I murmur. “To Rad. I didn’t realize how much it grounded me now that it’s gone.”

Something flickers across Steorfan’s face—barely more than a twitch, but his jaw tightens.

“It is not gone, exactly,” he says, voice low. “It is severed here. ”

I blink. “You mean?—?”

“I silenced it.”

There’s no apology in his tone. No pride either.

“You let him inside you. Inside us. That won’t happen again.”

The shadows around his feet curl tighter. He’s angry, but there’s no outburst, no flash of violence. Just that deep, icy steadiness that somehow feels more dangerous.

“You’re jealous,” I whisper, stunned by the realization.

“I’m careful, ” he corrects.

But the way his eyes burn—it isn’t careful at all. They trap me in their inferno, heating me from the inside out, spreading flames that are at odds with the cold of this place. And whereas before I would’ve feared that burn, now I’m ensnared by it, even if I have more questions that need answers.

“And Hudson?”

He pauses. “Alive. Intact. You left him behind for his safety. You were right.”

I exhale. It should bring me relief. It only makes me ache more.

“I don’t want to lose them.”

Steorfan doesn’t speak.

“I don’t want to lose them like the others.” Like my dad. Like my roommate and neighbor when they got too close to me. But I can’t seem to speak their names out loud, the heartbreak and fear all leading to this very moment, where I confront my mortality once and for all.

For a second, I think maybe he didn’t hear me. That the Evergloom absorbed it before it could reach him, swallowing my words the same way it swallows light.

But then he tilts his head—slowly, deliberately—like he’s listening to something else entirely. Not me. Not the room.

Something deeper.

“Those two insignificant mortals at the bakery? They were simply a means to an end. I required their essence to open a portal strong enough to combat the light and bring you here, Snow Pea.”

Guilt slams into me like a punch to the chest. Fuck. I’d almost forgotten about them—Jenna and Donovan.

I didn’t like Jenna, but she didn’t deserve that. Donovan—he was a simple, honest man, someone with a family who’ll be left wondering where he went. A family that will miss him, mourn him.

Shit. Will the police think Hudson had anything to do with it?

My heart starts racing, my breath coming faster as panic creeps up my throat, blurring the edges of my vision. Why didn’t I think of that until now? How the hell do I keep dragging innocent people into this nightmare?

I feel, more than see, his shadows react to my sudden change in emotion, creeping closer but still keeping just out of range, waiting, hovering.

“Do not fret, my sweet,” Steorfan says, his voice as soft as if he’s trying to calm a scared animal. “Their deaths were already foretold. I simply advanced their timeline by a few days.”

His words hang in the air, and I focus on the rythmic pulsing of his shadows, still just hovering around him like extensions of himself, steadying me as I try to breathe. In. Out. It’s the only thing I can focus on—this slow, steady pace.

But then his words sink in.

“What do you mean ‘advanced their timeline’? How did you know?”

“I know death, Parker. I am death. And thus, I can taste when death is looming, when their essence is tainted with their impending end.”

My mind struggles to keep up with what he’s saying. It’s like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands. I have far too many questions and suddenly, my head feels like it’s too small to hold them all.

“So… you knew they were going to die soon?”

Steorfan nods, like this is simple. “Yes.”

“How were they going to die? In what way?”

“Both were going to die in an accident. A swift death was awaiting them, and so a swift death is what I gave them.”

The weight of that revelation sinks into me, the truth of it like a blanket enveloping me. My heart accepts it as a fact before my brain manages to catch up.

But then, what about?—

“My father. You killed my father ten years ago.”

Anger and hatred flare from a lifetime of blaming my shadow monster for all of my grief, not just of losing my loved ones, but also the grief of a life I could’ve had, if only I hadn’t been afraid of the darkness.

My hands tighten into fists, my outrage causing my skin to flush, which causes Steorfan’s head to tilt in curiosity again.

I’m still trying to piece together all the deaths that have followed me. My father. My friends. All of it. I can’t forget—he is still, within his essence, death .

“No, Snow Pea,” Steorfan responds softly. “Your father died of a weak heart. His mortal body failed him. I do not particularly enjoy scaring or hunting the frail.”

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 could not let 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—I believe him. 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.

My own catches.

“But if you reach for me…”

I don’t know why I do it.

Maybe it’s the ache. The quiet. The need to not be alone.

I’ve spent a majority of my life alone, yearning for a place where fear didn’t rule my every decision, my every thought. Now I know that place exists. And it wasn’t at all where I thought it would be.

My hand moves before I can think and I place it in his.

His fingers close around mine—gentle. Steady.

Like a vow.

“I will always answer.”