Time dulls everything but my insatiable hunger.
Civilization rose from mud and blood, building cities where villages once begged for mercy. Humans grew smarter, faster, and harder to hunt. But I didn’t leave my family because of them, I left because of me.
The craving became a sickness, a constant whisper promising ruin if I didn’t control it. I saw what I’d become, what we all were, and for the first time in my long existence, I wanted something different. So, I walked away from the Coven of Crows.
Renounced my claim to their Eternal Night and built something new in its place.
A brotherhood of the supernatural.
A haven for monsters who want more than chaos.
The Eternal Sins MC.
Now, I feed only when I must, with blood sourced through quiet deals and medical hands. Sometimes from the wicked, when the world demands balance. But the hunger never truly dies, it waits, patient and familiar, like an old lover I can’t quite forget.
A melody stuck in my mind, repeating over and over.
A constant hum, plaguing me.
Slowly driving me mad.
“Motion to expand our territory into the eastern sectors. We’ve got three rival clubs operating there, but none of them know what they’re dealing with.”
Rogue’s voice pulls me back to the present. I blink, focusing on the table in front of me, the faces of my brothers gathered around it.
The clubhouse.
Right.
Church meeting.
Not a blood-soaked village square millennia in the past.
I lean back in my chair at the head of the table, the leather creaking under my weight. The room smells of motor oil, whiskey, and the faint musk of supernatural beings trying to coexist in close quarters. There’s nothing like the copper-sharp scent of fresh death.
Nothing like it used to be.
“Crave?” Rogue stares me down, concern flickering in those gold-tinged eyes. My vice president. My lycan guardian. The wolf who traded his freedom to walk beside darkness. “You with us, brother?”
I force myself to focus. “Yeah, eastern sectors. Rival clubs.” I wave a hand, dismissively. “Do whatever you think is necessary. You’re VP for a reason.”
Around the table, the others shift. They can feel it, that restlessness in me, the boredom that’s been eating at me for decades. Centuries. When you’ve lived as long as I have, time starts to blur.
Scorch catches my eye from his position to Rogue’s right. The dragon shifter looks perpetually annoyed, smoke literally curling from his nostrils. “We could always burn them out,” he offers, voice rough as gravel. “Faster that way.”
“Too much attention,” Hex cuts in, fingers flying over his laptop even during a meeting. The warlock’s eyes glow faintly blue, his technomancy active, probably monitoring six different surveillance feeds simultaneously. “We need to stay clean.Law of Silence, remember?”
Dread grunts from the end of the table. The not-so-human-but-we’re-not-sure-what-the-hell-he-is radiates low-level menace even when he’s sitting still. “Let them come at us. I’ll make them forget why they thought it was a good idea.” Whatever the hell he is, he instills the fear of God into anyone oranything.
“Lotta dead bodies,” Hades observes quietly, his necromancer’s calm never wavering. “I can handle cleanup, but I’d rather not.”
Grizz doesn’t speak. The bear shifter watches everything with those ancient, patient eyes. Beside him, Oracle studies me with an intensity that makes even my old bones uncomfortable.
The Phoenix sees too much.
Always has.
This is my club.
