Page 17 of Mortis

But today had been different.

The hikers were a father and son. A man, and a boy no older than seven if I had to guess. The child’s laughter drifted through the trees like birdsong, bright and carefree as he giggled at something his father had said.

At the sound, I felt His touch brush against my thoughts. Gentle at first, then sharper. Tighter. More possessive. The moment I refused to yield, I felt Him coil around my consciousness like a serpent, tightening with every breath of my defiance. His voice reverberated through my skull, the velvet softness of it at odds with the threat beneath.

And still, I refused to step aside.

Instead, I made Him an offer.

An ultimatum of sorts.

Give me time, I begged. Let me find something else to satisfy you. Another mortal. One we don’t have to kill with our own hands.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then I felt His curiosity stir.

It was a dangerous thing.

If I fail, I continued, desperate to sweeten the bargain. If you remain unsatisfied, I’ll step aside. My body will become your vessel, and my essence will be yours to consume.

The wait for His answer felt endless, and I was almost ready to abandon hope.

Then my cheek tingled. Not a true touch, but the sensation of one. As though something unseen had lovingly traced my skin. Heat bloomed across my forehead, and I felt the phantom press of a mouth against my brow. A tender kiss. A mark of His possession, and a seal upon our bargain.

You have until dawn, He whispered, and relief rushed through me.

But it didn’t last.

When you fail, He continued, the weight of His presence tightening around my throat like a noose. Your body is mine.

It was those words that had led me beyond the treeline. Beyond the borders of my dominion for the first time in sixty years.

Barrowfell Woods belonged to me.

The world beyond belonged to the mortals.

Despite the ticking clock, I waited for nightfall before leaving the safety of the trees. Darkness concealed my unnatural form as I stalked through the village like a shadow. Judging by the moon’s position, I had less than six hours before dawn arrived. The streets were quiet. Empty. The mortals were tucked away in their homes, sleeping peacefully beneath warm blankets.

Good.

The fewer I encountered, the less temptation there would be to distract me from my task.

I had promised Him flesh, and I intended to provide it.

I merely preferred the source to already be dead.

If the soul remained attached, all the better. I could offer it to Mammon, my master, as recompense for my prolonged absence from Hell. Though whether he would consider such an offering sufficient after years of disobedience remained to be seen.

The thought made my stomach twist.

Where, however, was I supposed to find such a specific kind of prey? One that would please both my inner beast and a Prince of Hell?

Two days earlier, I’d overheard voices near the edge of the woods. A pair of young men had been strolling along the path, speaking of someone they repeatedly referred to as Corpse Boy. I’d assumed it was an insult. The tone certainly suggested as much. Yet from what I gathered, this Corpse Boy worked with the dead. He received the recently deceased into his care and prepared them for their final rest.

The moment I understood, hope had blossomed within me.

Perfect.