Grief

Amelia stepped inside her home, the click of the door echoing through the quiet space. The night's events lingered in her mind how wonderful the evening had been, how the warmth of Grey's company had made her heart flutter in ways it hadn't in centuries. Yet, that warmth had been doused the moment Grey answered that phone call. She had sensed the shift in his mood instantly, and her heightened senses, a gift and a curse of her vampiric nature, had picked up every detail of the conversation.

The words she overheard were grim, hinting at something dark and violent, but she knew better than to interfere. Her heart yearned to reach out to Grey, to offer him comfort or even her help. But her mind, tempered by the wisdom of ages, reminded her of the boundaries that governed her existence. As one of the ancient originals, bound by universal laws that dictated how much she could meddle in the affairs of mortals, she was acutely aware of the consequences. Intervening in matters of mortal fate could set off a chain of events that would ripple disastrously across time and space.

Still, the conflict between her heart and her duty gnawed at her. She could feel herself sinking into the web of emotions that Grey had unknowingly spun around her. Love, concern, and an inexplicable longing to be part of his world clashed with the cold logic that told her to stay distant. She felt as though she was standing on the edge of a cliff, torn between stepping back or plunging into the unknown.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Clara, her daughter, appeared in the living room, a bag of chips in hand. The teen's playful grin and carefree demeanour were a sharp contrast to the heavy emotions weighing on Amelia.

"Mom! You're home early tonight," Clara said, plopping onto the couch and motioning for Amelia to join her.

Amelia shook herself from her reverie, forcing a smile as she took a seat next to Clara. "Yeah, I just needed some time to unwind. How was your evening?"

Clara shrugged. "Same old. Watched some anime, ate too many snacks… I might've made a mess in the kitchen, but I'll clean it up… eventually."

Amelia chuckled, thankful for the distraction. "You'd better, or I'll turn into one of those nagging moms who leave sticky notes everywhere."

Clara made a face. "Please, no sticky notes. I'll clean, I promise. Anyway, how was your date with Mr. Fancy Suit?"

Amelia's smile softened as she thought of Grey. "It was… nice. He's a good man, but something's troubling him. I just hope he's alright."

Clara raised an eyebrow, sensing her mother's unease. "You like him, don't you?"

Amelia hesitated, her emotions tangled. "It's complicated, Clara. But yes, I do. He's different. Special."

Clara nodded, understanding the weight behind those words. "Then you should trust him. He'll figure it out. And if not, well… you're scary when you're protective. Just saying."

Amelia laughed, pulling Clara into a hug. "Thanks, sweetheart. You always know how to make me feel better."

They spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing, but Amelia's mind never fully left the shadow of Grey's troubles. As the night wore on, she couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen or perhaps had already happened.

***

Meanwhile, Grey's world had turned into a blur of rage and grief. After leaving Amelia's home, he pushed his Ferrari to its limits, speeding through the city with reckless abandon. Traffic regulations were a distant memory as he tore through intersections, his mind consumed with one single thought: getting to the scene. The police who tried to tail him were left struggling, their sirens wailing uselessly in the distance.

When he finally arrived at the alley, the sight that greeted him was nothing short of a nightmare. Blood stained the cracked pavement, pooling beneath the bodies of men dressed in suits. Some were missing limbs, others had been mutilated beyond recognition. Eyes, fingers, and other body parts lay scattered like discarded trash. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of blood.

Grey's heart pounded as he moved through the carnage, his steps echoing with a grim determination. He knew many of the fallen men; they were part of his organization. Warriors, thugs, criminals but they were his men, and someone had torn through them with a level of brutality that sent a chill down his spine.

As he approached the centre of the chaos, the flashing lights of police cars and ambulances flickered ominously. Medics were checking the bodies for any signs of life, but it was clear that few, if any, had survived. Officers moved about, searching for evidence, questioning what few witnesses there were. But all activity ground to a halt the moment Grey arrived. A deathly silence fell over the scene as everyone turned to stare at him, paralyzed by the sheer force of his presence. His aura was like a black storm cloud, crackling with fury and barely restrained violence.

One officer, Emily Hart, stepped forward, attempting to maintain her composure. "Mr. Grey, you can't be here. This is a crime scene…"

Her words died in her throat as Grey's eyes met hers. The look he gave her promised death cold, calculated, and merciless. Emily involuntarily took a step back, her hand instinctively reaching for her sidearm, though she knew it would be useless. Her courage faltered, and she suddenly felt like a small, insignificant insect in the presence of a predator.

"I said step back, Grey! This is official police business…" she began again, trying to muster her authority, but her voice wavered.

Grey ignored her, brushing past with the air of a man who would not be denied. Desperation flickered in Emily's eyes as she grabbed his shoulder, trying to stop him. "I told you, you can't…"

Grey turned around on her, his gaze freezing her in place. The sheer intensity of his stare made her skin crawl, her instincts screaming at her to retreat. It was as if death itself had looked her in the eyes. The blood drained from her face, and she staggered back, collapsing onto the ground on her knees, her body trembling uncontrollably. She had faced hardened criminals, powerful pack leaders, and even supernatural beings before but nothing had prepared her for the terror that was Grey in this moment.

Grey turned away from her, dismissing her existence as if she were nothing more than an insect. His steps led him to the one body he had feared to find among the dead. And there she was Maria.

His breath hitched in his throat as he dropped to his knees beside her mangled form. Maria, one of his most loyal and capable subordinates no, more than that, she was family. Her once-bright eyes were dull, one of them gouged out, while the other remained open, tears frozen in death. Her torn clothes and battered body told a tale of unimaginable suffering and relentless resistance. Her right arm had been severed, her left arm twisted grotesquely, and her legs crushed beyond repair. But it was more than just the violence of her injuries that broke Grey; it was the look of pain and regret etched into her features.

Maria had been one of his most trusted subordinates, a warrior, a friend, someone who had stood by his side through thick and thin. She was strong, fierce, and capable of taking on a small army by herself. She had fought with everything she had, but in the end, she had been overwhelmed. For her to end up like this… it was unthinkable. Unforgivable.

Grey's vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. He reached out with trembling hands, gently cradling her broken form. "Maria…" he whispered, his voice cracking with sorrow.

He pulled her close, hugging her tightly, as if he could somehow bring her back by sheer force of will. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, dripping onto her lifeless skin. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I should've been there… I should've protected you…"

His words dissolved into a heart-wrenching cry, a roar of anguish that echoed through the alley. The sound was primal, filled with the grief of a man who had lost more than just a subordinate; he had lost a sister in arms, a friend who had always stood by him.

The officers and medics stood frozen, unsure of what to do. Grey's men, who had arrived moments earlier, bowed their heads in mourning, knowing better than to approach their boss in this moment of raw emotion.

Grey's tears mixed with the blood on Maria's face as he whispered promises of vengeance. Whoever had done this would pay. They would suffer in ways that would make them beg for death. But no amount of retribution would bring Maria back, and that knowledge tore at him like a wound that would never heal.

As he rocked back and forth, clutching her body, his thoughts swirled with dark resolutions. This wasn't just a random act of violence it was a message, a declaration of war. And Grey would respond in kind. No more holding back, no more mercy.

Through the haze of grief and rage, a singular thought solidified in his mind: those responsible had crossed a line they would regret. And he would see to it that they felt every ounce of the pain he now carried.

But even as he vowed revenge, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered something unsettling, a voice that hinted at a deeper game being played, one that involves powers that would rival his own The implications of that voice lingered, casting a shadow over what was to come.

But tonight, there was only room for grief. And so Grey stayed there, unmoving, holding onto the cold corpse.

***