CHAPTER 27: THE NEED TO HUNT

The first sign of her impending hunger was small.

A flicker behind her eyes, a pulse in the base of her throat that didn’t match her heartbeat. It came while she was brushing her teeth, something so simple, routine, and harmless. But the second the bristles touched her gums, she tasted blood.

And it wasn’t her own.

She spat into the sink, staring at the faint pink swirl in the basin, and blinked once. Her face in the mirror didn’t change. It was still calm, unbothered. But her grip on the toothbrush had tightened without her noticing.

She set it down carefully and didn’t look at the mirror again.

------

By the third day, her runs back to the cabin got longer.

She took the path behind the library, cutting through the dense strip of forest that separated the west wing of campus from the public access road. No one ever went there. In fact, most people were told not to walk there. There were no lights, and the breeze coming off the ocean made it a few degrees colder than the rest of campus. Not to mention all the stories about coyotes and bears roaming the woods.

But to Seraphina, it was everything she could ever want and more.

Normally, she was able to breathe deeper there. Slower. It was the only time away from her cabin that the pressure inside of her eased.

But that wasn’t the case right now. Because now, the quiet didn’t soothe her—it c

alled to her.

Something in the stillness was familiar. Too familiar. And her hunger was only getting worse. It was lucky that she didn’t have to attend class during the winter break, because otherwise, the need for flesh and blood wouldn’t be as easy to ignore.

By Friday, she stopped returning calls.

Jodie had texted twice, cheerful as ever—sending memes, asking if she wanted to come into the city for a post-holiday get-together. Seraphina stared at the messages until the screen dimmed. She never answered.

She skipped the optional training session at the gym, not wanting to fight someone else just in case she started to lose her grip on her control.

She didn’t bother to go out and get groceries. Not only because it brought her in closer contact with people, but because every time she tried to eat some normal food, she threw it back up again. The more days that passed since her rebirth, the less she was able to tolerate human food.

Even coffee, her go to drink turned her stomach, making her more cranky than it should have.

Instead, she packed her duffel with water, a knife, a small plastic pouch of beef jerky she would never eat. She made her way back to the cabin, every step looser than the last.

The farther she got from people, the quieter the noise in her head became.

But something else got louder.

It wasn’t pain.

The hunger wasn’t like starvation, not really. It didn’t gnaw at her belly or make her weak. It was in her skin—a crawling tension, a low hum under her ribs, like her bones were vibrating out of sync with the rest of her body.

It built slowly.

It started with pressure behind her eyes, her jaw clenching without thought. Next came the twitches in her shoulder when something rustled too close until she was worried she was going to pounce first and never bother with questions.

Even Lachlan, during her shifts, wasn’t safe anymore. She might not be dreaming of shredding him, but the creature inside of her definitely wanted to bite him, to taste his blood and give him some of her own.

By the time she reached the cabin, the light of the day had already faded. The wind had turned sharp, bringing with it the scent of cold earth and something smaller. Something warm.

Rabbit. Fox. Squirrel.

She didn’t even flinch as her pupils dilated. The creature was waking, and she was no longer fighting it.

Instead, she stripped off her coat, not caring about the fact that she was just wearing black leggings and a thin black shirt. Grabbing the scrunchie from her wrist, she tied her hair back in a messy bun. Her movements were slow. Precise. A kind of reverence in every move that she made.

Then she slipped into the woods, absolutely soundless.

She didn’t need a flashlight.

She didn’t need a weapon to kill her prey.

All she needed was herself and the zombie creature inside of her.

The trees opened for her like they remembered the last time she was hunting here. The ground welcomed her weight like an old companion. And when she stepped off the trail, the last trace of the girl she had been disappeared.

She moved through the forest like it was a part of her, leaping over fallen trees, not caring about actually hunting down a prey, but just enjoying the freedom of the run.

The moment her foot crunched over a half-buried branch, she felt it. A shift in the air. The stillness fractured. Something ancient and angry stirred between the trees.

A low grunt echoed across the clearing.

She froze, her head turned slowly...deliberately.

A black bear stood forty feet away, half-emerged from a collapsed den, steam rising from its nostrils in heavy puffs. Its fur was matted with old leaves and dirt. Its eyes were wild. Starving. Confused. Wide awake when it shouldn’t be.

Its stare locked onto her like it recognized something that didn’t belong.

Predator. A threat.

The bear huffed and stepped forward.

So did she.

She dropped her human facade—let her knees bend, her fingers flex. The thing inside her stretched in approval. Her eyes narrowed, breath slowing to a crawl.

The bear charged.

It thundered through the snow, jaws wide, front claws raking the ground as it gained momentum. Most people would have run. Most people would have scream.

But Sera? She simply smiled.

She darted left at the last second, the bear’s paw missing her shoulder by inches. Its breath was hot and rancid as it turned, muscles bunching for another strike. She ducked under its next swipe and slammed her palm against its ribcage—not to hurt, just to anchor herself—and spun to its blind side.

The bear reared, rising onto hind legs.

Sera didn’t hesitate. She launched forward, inhumanly fast, and drove her body low into its side. It toppled sideways, stunned. She pounced, knees landing in the snow beside its head.

Its growl never became a roar.

She pressed her hand over its muzzle and whispered, "You shouldn’t be awake." Before snapping its neck.

The bear went still beneath her, body twitching once. Then twice. Its eyes clouded over as its breath ceased.

She crouched in silence, the dark purple veins coiling just under her skin, the hunger easing for the first time in days.

Not because she’d fed...but because she had won.