The past never dies; its echoes linger even if we want to forget.
As soon as I got home, I went straight to the kitchen and began cleaning up the remnants of the cookies. I couldn't allow myself to linger on the empty house, or worse, feel how quiet it was without Alex. I grabbed a few clothes from the closet, shoved them into a bag, and left for the bus stop.
The bus arrived just a few minutes later, and I made my way to an empty seat at the back. The ride was unusually sparse, with fewer passengers than usual. I stared out the window, lost in thought. Images of my childhood drifted through my mind, vivid and unwelcome.
That night… the night everything changed. I had been downstairs when I heard it—a woman's scream. My mother's scream. I ran, shivering, and found myself frozen in the kitchen doorway. The sight of my brother, Des, standing over a corpse, the blade gleaming red under the moonlight, is forever burned in my memory. Blood soaked the floor, and my mother, her side drenched, still held a dagger with a grip fierce enough to crush bone, standing defiantly between us and a dozen hunters.
Des's eyes met mine. Concern filled them, but he couldn't speak. He simply stood there, watching me, the weight of what was happening too much for words. Then, my mother saw me too.
"Run," she ordered.
Des snapped his head toward her. "What?!"
"Now!" she snapped again, more urgently this time.
Des hesitated, mouth open as if to argue, but then pressed his lips into a thin line, sheathed his sword, and grabbed me. Without another word, we fled, running out of the house and into the night. We found a hotel and took a room, our new life beginning there. We didn't speak for days, weeks maybe. I didn't know what to say, and Des remained silent.
Breakfasts and lunches passed without a word exchanged. At night, Des would vanish. Sometimes I would feel Alistair's distant gaze, but that was all. One day, Des didn't return. He left me alone.
I was stranded with nothing but a paid deposit for a week, and soon the hotel owner kicked me out. My belongings fit into a small box, a few scraps of clothing, and the remnants of a life that seemed to slip further away with every passing hour. For the first time, I found myself with nothing—nothing but the empty park bench where I spent my nights. I went three days without food, my body hollow with hunger. By the fourth day, the idea of stealing didn't seem so repulsive, and as it turned out, I was pretty good at it.
A week passed, then another, and another. Days blurred into each other, forming an endless, cruel stretch of darkness in my life. Time became irrelevant, a constant weight that pressed on my chest. Then, slowly, the rainy autumn came, and I found myself craving shelter from the elements. I retreated into the smokehouse of an abandoned, crumbling garden. The walls, cracked and worn, smelled of mildew and rot, and the place was covered in graffiti and scattered with garbage.
It was on one of those rainy days that I found him—a dog. Small, filthy, and frail, it seemed unlikely he'd survive another day. For reasons I couldn't explain, he reminded me of myself. I scooped him up, holding him close despite his matted fur, and laid him on my makeshift bed of newspaper and rags.
To my surprise, he survived the night. Then another. And another. Something shifted after that. For the first time in a long while, I wasn't just stealing to survive—I was stealing for him too. Life, somehow, became easier for the two of us. The nights weren't as cold when we huddled together for warmth.
Months drifted by in a monotonous haze of survival. As the dog grew, I began training him. He was smart, quick to learn, and within a month, we were stealing together.
I usually played the part of the distraction while he snuck into the market, grabbing what we needed from the freshly baked goods. He was loyal—never touching the snack loaves or cinnamon rolls until we were together. No matter how hungry he was, he always waited for me. We shared everything, even though it was rarely enough. Still, it was more than we had before.
A year passed, then another cruel day arrived, this time in winter. The sharp crack of the rifle shattered the stillness, but the snowflakes continued their slow, indifferent descent. My breath caught in my throat as I saw my little companion lying motionless on the ground. His tiny body was still, blood soaking into the snow in a deep crimson stain. I shoved my way through the crowd, my hands trembling as I carefully lifted him into my lap.
I needed to get him out of there. The sticky warmth of his blood seeped into my clothes as I cradled his cooling body. Without a second thought, I ran. I ran until I reached the smokehouse, the place that had been my refuge. There, I collapsed, the weight of everything crashing down on me, and I cried. I cried bitterly, feeling the sting of loss, then, slowly, I began to sing.
I sang a lullaby of sorts, a fae song for the dead. It was a song Alistair had once hummed, beautiful and achingly sorrowful. It spoke of warriors, of passing, of battles lost in the language of the fae. As I sang, time seemed to stretch, and I didn't know how long I had been weeping and singing when I heard a small sound.
My gaze snapped up. A boy stood at the edge of the doorway. His blond hair fell messily across his forehead, and his golden eyes, the color of sunlight, were wide with shock. He looked lost, unsure of what to do, then took a hesitant step forward. Another followed, but before he could take a third, a low growl rumbled from deep within me.
"Sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Leave," It was the only thing I could manage, my voice cold and raw. The boy turned and left.
I buried my small companion, the memory of him etched in my heart, and, inexplicably, the baker vanished that same day—never to be seen again.
I hadn't expected it, but the boy returned the following day. Perhaps he thought I wouldn't notice, but there he was, awkwardly hidden behind a tree while I washed my clothes. He crept closer, inch by inch, but when I growled a warning, he froze. He remained there, watching from his hiding place until I left. And then, on the third day, he returned. Day after day, he came closer, but he never spoke a word.
One day, I lay in the snow-covered garden of the smokehouse, wrapped in a blanket of cold. It was the first time he ventured within a meter of me. I could feel his presence—his scent lingered in the air—but I showed no sign of irritation. I simply stared at the sky, lost in my thoughts. Maybe it was the biting cold that made my heart ache, or maybe it was his scent, something faintly familiar.
"It's Alex," he said, breaking the silence.
"I didn't ask for your name," I growled, my voice laced with hostility.
"I'm curious to know yours," he replied, unbothered as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I didn't answer him, and after a few minutes, I walked away, leaving him to shiver in the biting cold. At the time, I thought he was a naive bastard with more courage than sense—and my opinion hasn't changed much since.
He came every day after that, asking for my name, but I left him unanswered.
The kid was stubborn, though. He didn't give up, no matter how much I shut him out. He would talk, and I would listen, either going about my business or simply relaxing. He told me all about his pack and its members—by the end of it, I knew them almost better than I knew myself.
Alistair also found me and visited from time to time. He would bring me food and clothes, and stay for a few hours. He always arrived when Alex wasn't around. Over those years, I learned a great deal from him.
One day, in a rare, careless moment, Alex wrapped a scarf around my neck. It was a soft, fluffy blue one, similar to his red one. It was warm and comforting.
"I'll give it to you if you tell me your name," he said with a triumphant grin, clearly proud, for he could see in my eyes that I liked it.
"Shaytan."
"What?" he asked, surprised.
"My name is Shaytan, idiot," I muttered, turning back to the twigs I was slowly igniting.
"Oh," he said, the confusion still lingering in his voice. "That's... an unusual name. And your last name?"
"Just Shaytan," I replied without looking at him.
Alex stared at me, those eyes of his—bright and golden like the sun—fixed on me with an intensity I hadn't expected. There was something about them that made my chest tighten, something that made my resolve falter. His gaze was pure, full of an unspoken curiosity, and for some reason, I found myself weak against it. Those same eyes that had once belonged to Goldie, who had looked at me with that same gaze.
I gritted my teeth, "Just leave already."
He just looked at me, the corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly as if he knew exactly what I was feeling.
"You're not so hard to figure out after all," he said, his voice warm but steady. "Shay."
I loved the time I spent with him. I loved teasing Alex — sometimes he could even bring a smile to my lips with his naivety. But I hated it when he let himself be followed to my hiding place.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," I growled, trying to hide the effect his presence was having on me.
He just shrugged, unfazed. "Maybe. But I'll figure you out eventually."
I could tell he wasn't going to give up, not with those eyes that held all the patience in the world. And I could also tell, in some twisted way, that I wasn't going to stop him.
"Gotcha!" she shouted, her finger jabbing in my direction as though she'd just caught me in some clever trap.
She was our age too, with short black hair that framed her face with an almost defiant sharpness.
"Elsie!" Alex's voice cracked with a hint of panic, clearly not expecting this confrontation.
"So this is the one you come to see every day!" she said, her tone dripping with a mix of surprise and barely concealed judgment.
"Listen..." Alex started, but Elsie was already cutting him off with a wave of her hand.
"Who are you?" she asked me bluntly, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. I gave her nothing but a cold, disdainful look in return, my silence speaking volumes.
"Elsie!" Alex growled, his voice laced with frustration. "Go home!"
"I'm not going home!" she shot back defiantly. "Everyone's worried about you!"
"You have to go home!" Alex's command was firm, but she simply ignored him, spinning on her heel and stepping directly into my path.
"Show me your face!" she ordered, pointing at the scarf I'd pulled up to cover my nose.
Before I could even react, her hands were already pulling the fabric away. Her eyes widened in shock the moment she saw me, her words faltering.
"You're..." she whispered, eyes flicking over my features, "you're beautiful."
I didn't know what to make of her statement, especially when she followed it up with, "Are you even a boy?"
My blood boiled. I snatched the scarf back from her hands with a speed that was almost too quick to follow, my fury threatening to spill over. I had to bite back the urge to lash out, to show her the full force of my anger.
"If you touch me again, I'll kill you," I said, my voice low, ice-cold with warning. My eyes burned with enough intensity to stop her in her tracks. Then, without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving both of them behind.
But the thing was, no matter how much I wished otherwise, Elsie just wouldn't stay away. When Alex couldn't keep her at home, she'd slip away, following him like some stubborn shadow, tracking him all the way to my house. And though I never actually hurt her—not more than a piercing glare or two—the annoyance in her persistence never quite faded.
I couldn't decide if I hated her more for testing my limits, or if I simply hated the fact that I let her.
Once, she braided my hair. The moment it was done, I cut it off—not because I hated it, but because I knew she'd try again, and I wasn't about to let her.
She invited me to play hide and seek. I hid, not because I was scared of being found, but because I didn't want to see her again that day.
When the game turned into one where I had to be the seeker, I simply didn't look for them. I didn't care to.
We played tag, but instead of chasing, I ran—and I didn't look back.
In the summer, they'd drag me into the river, soaking me to the bone until I had to spend half the day drying my clothes. Sometimes, she'd bring me food, trying to soften me with offerings. I ate it, but I didn't speak to her after that.
They visited me every day for a year. I drove Elsie crazy, and she did the same to Alex, so it worked out for all of us.
Then, one day, Alex came alone. He didn't say a word about what was wrong, but I saw the tears in his eyes. He cried quietly all day, and when dinner was ready, I pushed a bowl of rice under his nose—no meat, just rice. He took it, sniffling, and ate it all without a word.
That night, he refused to leave. I didn't chase him away. We huddled together on my tattered bed, by the fire. He pulled me close, trying to keep the cold away, and in his grief, he made everything a wet, tear-streaked mess.
Slowly, I traded my life of stealing for a job. Alex, ever resourceful, got me false documents from some unknown source. Eventually, we scraped together enough money to rent a small apartment. Alex, who'd been in primary school before the incident, insisted we both go to high school. Seeing that I had a sharp mind, he pushed me, and I let him.
It wasn't hard for him to convince me. With an education, I could make more money. So, I borrowed his old textbooks and started learning. I'd already acquired some basic knowledge as a hunter, so the academic stuff wasn't that difficult.
If Alex hadn't come into my life, I might still be in that dusty smokehouse, keeping company with the neighborhood spiders, alone. Maybe that's why I can't let him go. He saved me.
I stepped into the room and found myself face-to-face with a wolf. He must have been in his late thirties, his skin deeply tanned, his long, straight black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, and his beard twisted into two thin braids, each adorned with green beads. He wore only a black t-shirt, and a chain glinted at his side, nestled against the worn denim of his jeans.
I didn't need to ask his name. I knew immediately who he was. Viktor. The aura he exuded was dangerous—it permeated the room, thick and palpable, like a storm just waiting to break.
Without a second thought, I dropped my bag and lunged toward him, my hand reaching for his neck. He stopped me effortlessly, but his eyes didn't even flicker toward mine. He was as calm as a predator who'd seen it all before. Only after a long moment, did he slowly, almost lazily, meet my gaze.
"Someone's getting pretty wild, huh?" he said with a touch of amusement in his voice.
I bared my teeth, though it wasn't much of a threat, not coming from me — not compared to a real vampire. But Viktor's eyes lingered on my canines anyway.
"Get lost," I growled, my voice low and fierce. "I won't say it again."
Viktor turned his gaze back to Alex, and it was only then I realized my friend had woken up and was sitting up in his bed.
"I see you don't need me here anymore..." Viktor began, but I cut him off sharply.
"You see it right!" I snapped.
Viktor didn't look at me, but his grip on my wrist tightened slightly. He sent a small, knowing grin toward Alex.
"You've already found your companion, haven't you?"
Alex nodded slowly.
"I hope you made the right choice," Viktor said, then released my wrist and turned to leave.
I looked out into the hallway, but there was no sign of him, I slammed the door behind me in frustration, and in an uncharacteristically rough motion, pushed Alex back onto the cushions.
"What do you think you're doing, you lunatic?" I demanded. "Rest."
Alex just smiled at me, that familiar, infuriating smile.
"Okay," he said, his voice soft and warm.
Once I was sure Alex was sound asleep, I slipped out of his room and checked the corridor. It was clear of any wolves, so I allowed myself the small indulgence of grabbing a coffee from the vending machine. It was tasteless and too hot, but it helped calm my nerves. I sighed deeply, my mind still racing. When I saw Viktor earlier, I thought my heart might actually stop.
"Is that worry on your face?" A nostalgic voice broke my thoughts. "I didn't think you actually had feelings."
I turned to face the black-clad girl, forcing a fake smile onto my lips. "What was your name again?"
Her lips twitched, just barely, a sign that I'd hit a nerve. Her smile, though, stayed firmly in place.
"Elsie," she replied with a shrug. "Not that I expected you to remember, asshole."
"Oh, that was a bit rude for a girl," I said, feigning horror, before shifting to seriousness. "What are you here for, bitch?"
Elsie blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback. She flinched, likely expecting me to still be the gloomy, quiet kid she'd met all those years ago. Well, she was wrong. I'd changed—for the worse, and I was damn proud of it.
"That wasn't very nice either!" she snapped, regaining her composure.
"Don't expect an apology," I grimaced. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd stop wasting my time."
"I want you to give Alex back!" she demanded, her voice rising.
"Give him back?" I echoed absently. "Last time I checked, I didn't steal him. You threw him away. Besides, when he was half-digested in the stomach of a homunculus, it didn't look like you were fighting to get him back."
Elsie's face flushed with shame. My words had hit their mark—I was good at that, too.
"I... I can't accept this!" she shouted, slapping her chest with one hand. "Me. I should've been Alex's companion! We promised each other as kids! I would've even let Viktor take my place so he could return to the pack... But I'll never accept this! I will not accept you as Alex's companion."
Her voice wavered with frustration and desperation but I just sighed deeply.
"I don't know much about this whole 'companion' or 'pack' business," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "But hear me clearly, because this is the only warning you'll get." I took a step closer, my eyes narrowing as the air between us grew heavy. "If you ever put Alex in danger again, Viktor will be the first to feel my wrath, and then I'll come for the rest of you, one by one. Do you understand me?"
I let the silence linger, watching her every breath, making sure she knew the weight of my words. "The only reason I haven't already buried you all is because of your past with him. But don't mistake that for mercy."
I fixed Elsie with a glare that was so intense, it made her flinch and take an involuntary step back. She clenched her fists, gathering her resolve, and opened her mouth to argue again.
"Alex..." she started.
The hand that fell on her shoulder silenced her, a quiet but firm gesture. Viktor had appeared behind her, like a shadow.
"I know," I said, my lips curling into a bitter smile. "Alex needs a pack."
I shot him a hostile look, making sure he knew I meant every word of my threat. Viktor, however, didn't seem fazed.
"Come on, Elsie, let's go," he said gently, guiding the girl, who was still frozen in front of me, toward the stairs.
"But we can't just leave Alex like this!" she protested, her voice rising with frustration.
Viktor glanced at me, his eyes unreadable. "He's the heart of the pack, Elsie. You saw him yesterday, didn't you? We have no business here anymore."
"You're right," I said, cutting in with a snap. "So you might as well get out of here. As soon as possible."
Viktor nodded, a calm, measured gesture, and led the still-reluctant Elsie away, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
I didn't return to Alex's room until I was certain they had left the hospital. I kept watching through the window, my eyes tracking their retreating figures until they disappeared. Only then did I allow myself to breathe again.