Like every brutal, filthy thing he did was fine … until he had to pay for it.
Even as I peeled the flesh from his fingers, the moonlight glinting off raw bone, he only watched, his jaw tight and eyes burning with the bitter realization that this was the end. His helplessness made me shiver with delight as I moved on, working my way through him with a cruel deliberation.
Human bodies are absurdly brittle, just pathetic meat loosely wrapped in skin and bone. I made him watch as I consumed every part of him—inch by inch, limb by limb, organ by organ.
His screams rose into a symphony, a crescendo of terror, with yours truly as the sadistic conductor.
Every widening of his gaze, every strangled plea, stoked a slow satisfaction that bloomed beneath my skin.
Did he deserve to die?
Of course.
But that’s not why I took him apart.
I used to be indiscriminate, taking whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. Then someone showed me that evil isn’t just palatable. It’s exquisite.
The kind of thing you crave again. And again. And again.
Their agony seasons them, saturates their marrow with something richer, more intoxicating.
Now, I hunt the wicked.
Not out of some silly human moral obligation, but because they melt on my tongue in ways the innocent never could.
Now, full and restless, I glance at the hiker’s tattered backpack.
The river behind me will take care of that. No body, no lingering possessions. It’ll be as if he never existed.
I crouch, scattering dirt and leaves over the splattered blood, knowing it’ll vanish soon enough, like every other trace of violence in these woods. The locals will chalk up another missing hiker to “the Trail,” like some fickle god taking its due.
Towns along the Appalachian Trail know better than to ask questions. I’d call it lucky, but I didn’t pick this corner of dark, forgotten forest by accident.
As I work, a scent drifts through the air—sweet and strange, something that shouldn’t be here. It seeps in, curling through my lungs, richer with every breath. Heat unfurls behind my ribs, slowly at first, then sudden and sharp, like the last, furious flare of a collapsing sun. It licks at my spine, then sinks lower, coilingtightly in my gut. A slow, simmering pulse spreads through me, uninvited and infuriatingly insistent.
This doesn’t happen. Not to me. Not anymore.
And yet, my cock twitches, like it recognizes the uncanny scent before I do.
I freeze, scowling down at my traitorous body. It’s been centuries since I felt anything close to real desire. It never disappeared. It just became quieter, dulled by repetition and time.
But now?
Now my body’s awake, and it’s fucking starving. Not for blood, but for something sweet, star-kissed, and as wild as honeysuckle twisting through bones.
This maddening scent rolls over me in waves, painfully seeping into every cell, infecting me like an unholy contagion.
And I hate it. Almost as much as I hate myself.
“Settle down,frater. We don’t fuck with humanity anymore. They’re far too messy, even by my standards,” I mutter under my breath, though it does little to settle the heat simmering low in my stomach.
If I’m still hard as fuck after I clean up, I’ll take care of it the old-fashioned way. My hand, slick with this bastard’s blood, should be enough to work out whatever this fucked-up cocktail of lust and rage is.
Tossing the backpack into the river, I close my eyes and let my shadows curl around me, pulling me out of this skin and into something older.
Something faster.
To this day, I don’t know if I chose the Tesem or if they chose me.
