Unknown POV:
That...
What is it?
The wind tonight is feral, wild in its unpredictability. A full moon peers down on the forest, its light pale and cold, but even that doesn't explain the storm that rages around me. The trees creak under the assault, their branches whipping and cracking in defiance.
And still, there's that scent.
It clings to the air, so thick and tangible it feels as though I could reach out and grasp it, yet it remains maddeningly elusive.
What is it? And why in all the hells is it unraveling me like this?
In all my long, endless years, I've crossed paths with things—people, creatures, moments—that were intoxicating. Scents that stirred something primal, something ungovernable, something that left me standing amidst the wreckage of my own doing.
I'd call them sins, but let's not pretend I care enough to tally them. If I ever tried to make a list, I'd run out of paper before I even got to the worst of it.
But this? This isn't just another fleeting indulgence.
This scent doesn't linger in the air around me—it commands it. It doesn't just draw me; it drives me. It brought me out here, into this storm, on a night when even the moon feels too watchful.
And that was a stupid thing to do.
Yet here I am.
Out in the wild, chasing the source of this irresistible force, knowing full well it's going to cost me. This scent is a slow, burning intoxication, the kind that will leave me hollowed out and aching by morning.
The wind roars, and the sheer power of it doesn't weaken the scent's grip on me. If anything, it makes it stronger, sharper. And the closer I get, the worse it becomes, its intensity crawling under my skin, coiling in my gut, dragging me forward.
I don't even know where I'm heading. I just know I have to find it.
But as I push deeper into the forest, a bitter thought crosses my mind: is this what I've been reduced to? Chasing a scent like a rabid animal?
Has my life become so devoid of meaning that I'm now tearing through the woods after what's probably some desperate woman drowning herself in cheap perfume?
Pathetic.
I could've taken Chase up on his offer. A night out, a few drinks, a few fleeting distractions, back before dawn. That's how it used to be. That's how it should be. But no, I'm here instead, chasing shadows in the dark.
The trees thin out suddenly, and I realize I'm nearing the edge of the forest. The scent sharpens, almost electric in the air, buzzing at the edges of my mind.
And then, just like that, I burst through the last barrier of trees and onto the road.
The forest spits me out, as if even it doesn't want me.
My momentum is reckless, wild, and it takes a monumental effort to stop myself. By the time I manage it, I'm standing dead center in the middle of the road.
This is it. The scent is overwhelming here, almost suffocating in its power. It's no longer something I'm following—it's something I'm consumed by.
And now, with the world holding its breath, I realize something I hadn't before. This isn't just a scent. It's alive.
It's controlling. It's seductive. It's... beautiful.
For the first time in centuries, I feel genuinely unnerved.
And then, I see it.
A flicker of light to my right. A pair of headlights slicing through the darkness.
A car.
The wind rips through me again, carrying the scent at full force, like a drug injected straight into my veins. It's coming from inside that car.
I don't even think as I step forward.
It's her.
Some unlucky fool who has no idea what she's gotten herself into. A woman, probably—perfumed and oblivious, hurtling toward the worst mistake of her life.
As the car barrels toward me, I don't move. She doesn't slow down. Maybe she's suicidal. It wouldn't be the first time someone like that crossed my path.
Well, at least I wouldn't have to wrestle with a guilty conscience. Not that I've ever had one.
The distance closes, and the headlights burn brighter. The car is coming fast, far too fast to stop.
But then, something shatters through the storm, something that freezes me in place.
A voice.
Her voice.
It's just one word, simple and sharp, but it cuts through the air and pierces straight into me.
"Shit."
That's it. Just one word, and it's more intoxicating than the scent itself. It slides through my senses like smoke, curling in places I'd long thought dead.
Who knew profanity could do this to me?
I barely notice the car swerve sharply to the right, its tires screeching against the pavement.
And now it's hurtling toward the massive tree at the edge of the road—the one that stands like a sentinel, marking the boundary between this town and the wild beyond.
If it hits, she won't survive. No one would.
But I can't let this end here.
She's pulled me too far, too deep, and I'm not about to let her slip away now. Not when she's already stripped me bare of reason.
Now it's my turn.
My turn to strip her bare—bare of every scrap of cheer, every memory she holds dear, every fragile hope she clings to. Piece by piece, I'll peel it all away until she's reduced to the level where I dwell.
She dared to command me with her existence. She dared to exert a pull that no one—nothing—ever has before.
And for that, she will pay.
Oh, she will pay in full.
When her spirit is broken, when her laughter is nothing but a distant echo, and when every shred of light within her is snuffed out, she will stand as nothing more than a mirror of me. Empty. Dark.
Only then, when she is as hollow and unfeeling as I am, will I feast on her. Properly.
Not just on her scent, her voice, or her essence—but on the very life she once dared to call her own.