After Death Short Stories & Novels

A rival pack invaded, plunging our pack into the worst crisis we had ever faced. The witch, Morgana Vale, said that only a blood sacrifice could save the entire pack. So despite my anemia, I was dragged onto the altar. Morgana slit my wrist, and the moment my blood dripped onto the totem, the ritual began. When the bleeding got to be more than I could take, I tried to call it off, but my mother stopped me cold. "Sweetheart, hold on a little longer. You're the Alpha's daughter. Making a small sacrifice for the pack is only right. It's just a little blood. It won't kill you." I gritted my teeth and held on, my heart pounding like it would burst. The ritual lasted from morning until dusk, and my blood never stopped flowing. "Mom, I really can't take it anymore." My face was ghost-white, and my vision was starting to blur. But she just gave my bloodless face a cold glance. "Sacrificing for the pack is an honor. Being the Alpha's daughter doesn't mean you get to shirk your duty. I did not raise you to be selfish." By midnight, everything went black, and I collapsed on the altar. I'm sorry. I failed to do my duty. I'm sorry, Mother. I let you down.

To help my husband, Julian Parker, pay off the debt from his stock-market losses, I agreed to sell one of my kidneys. But on the day of the surgery, our six-year-old daughter, Ella Parker, ran to the clinic all by herself and frantically called Julian for help. Julian sounded conflicted. "Mom's only having one kidney removed. It'll get Dad out of this mess for good. But if she doesn't do it, Dad's whole future is ruined." Ella kept begging him to stop the surgery, but Julian simply hung up. Then he hurried toward a private hospital suite nearby, his face filled with worry. Inside lay Claire Morgan, the woman he'd never gotten over. Her face was deathly pale. "Don't worry. We've got a kidney for you. You're going to be fine." He lowered his voice. "And don't feel guilty. I'm the one who chose to lie to her. She's still young. She can live just fine with one kidney." Claire's transplant was a success. Julian was in such a good mood afterward that, for once, he even suggested taking Ella and me on a trip, calling it a belated honeymoon. But he had no idea I was already dead. After my kidney was removed, I couldn't even afford $9.90 for the antibiotics I needed. The wound became infected, and I died. And Ella finally gave up on her father, too.

I died on my 18th birthday. The woman who sliced open my chest with a scalpel was my mother, Erika Buckley, one of the top cardiothoracic surgeons in the country. The man who pushed the anesthetic to keep me from struggling was my father, Marcus Buckley, a renowned chief anesthesiologist. They calmly removed my warm heart and transplanted it into my brother, Caleb Buckley, whose chest was already cut wide open. I had always been his blood bank and his spare organ bank. Little did they know, my soul was floating above them, watching as my heart began to rot inside Caleb's chest.

When I found Silas Pembroke, he was carefully untangling a strand of another woman’s hair from his tie clip. The two of them were wrapped around each other, far too close to pretend otherwise. He let out a mocking laugh. “Jenna, what exactly are you going to accuse Sienna and me of this time?” Sienna Vale smiled sweetly. “Mrs. Pembroke, you stayed away longer than usual this time.” I steadied myself and said, “I’m not Jenna. I’m her twin sister, Summer Sinclair.” Silas burst out laughing. “What is this, your latest stunt?” Then his expression hardened. “Keep pushing me, and I can’t promise you’ll stay Mrs. Pembroke forever.” I only looked at him and said quietly, “Silas, my sister left three keepsakes behind for you.”

The night Helen Kerr's first love proposes, I stand on the 33rd-floor terrace, holding my terminal stomach cancer diagnosis. Through the glass, I watch the man drop to one knee. They exchange rings, and she slides the ring meant for me onto his finger. I stay hidden outside in the excruciating pain, refusing to ruin their moment. Then Helen spots me. There is no panic or guilt, just pure disgust in her eyes. She sneers, gestures toward the ledge, and mouths through the window, "Jump, if you're gonna jump. Stop acting just to ruin my night. If you actually die, maybe I'll believe you." Right then, the last flicker of life in me goes dark. I look at the woman I've loved for a decade and finally smile. That's a smile of pure relief. I turn and climb over the railing. "You're free now, Helen. Enjoy the final gift."

The year Chelsea Shelton, a Hawthorne Bay heiress, hated me more than ever, she brought home one guy after another. And after she was done with them, she made me pay them off. I'd cursed, fought, even landed in the hospital after throwing hands with escorts. Eventually, I stopped caring and signed one million-dollar check after another. All so she'd keep paying Dad's medical bills. Then Dad went into cardiac arrest again. He was critical. Hands shaking, I called Chelsea. She told the hospital to kick him out of the ICU. "Rowyn Reynaud, that's not how you beg. I don't like it." I tore home through the rain and begged her to let him stay. She made me stand outside all night and listen to her hook up with another guy. By morning, I signed another check and handed it over. Before I could ask her to spare Dad, a fist cracked across my face. Chelsea's college-age boy toy glared at me, pissed. "Chelsea, does this freeloader seriously think I'm some escort? We love each other. Who the hell does he think he is, throwing money at me?" Chelsea frowned. "Rowyn, apologize. Or do you want Frederick dead?" But the hospital had just texted me. Dad was already gone. Sometime during the night, he'd bitten through his oxygen line and ended his life. With the last of his strength, he'd left me one final note in blood. [Rowyn, I can't keep being a burden to you.]

My younger brother bullied me at school until my liver ruptured. When I was carried into the nurse's office, I begged my mother to save me. She was the school nurse. But instead of looking at me, she rushed to my brother because he had a scrape on his wrist. "Mom, please. I'm dying." She slapped me across the face. "If you're so desperate to die, then die already! How did I end up with a heartless animal like you? What if your brother scars?" So I did exactly what she told me to do. I died. By the next night, my mother had lost her mind.

When my family found out I was depressed because of a lack of love, they were all very regretful. Dad made my older sister, Rhea, give up her south-facing bedroom, the largest in the apartment. Mom gave me the new clothes she bought for Rhea. Even my younger brother, Caleb, who had always hated me, made me a birthday cake himself. They all hoped that I would get better, even though they forgot my actual birthday. So as not to disappoint them, I forced a smile. However, the next instant, Caleb threw the cake in my face. “I told you she was faking! If she really was depressed, how could she smile so easily?” Rhea rushed in from outside, her eyes red-rimmed. “You can just tell us what you want, Finley. Why did you have to fake your illness and worry Mom and Dad?” I saw Mom’s and Dad’s disappointed faces and tried to explain myself in a panic. However, the second I opened my mouth, I was choked by the sticky, creamy cake and could only look at them. They threw my hole-ridden blankets from the biggest bedroom back into the smallest one. They gave Rhea’s clothes back to her. Eventually, my vision went blurry. I could only hear Mom’s and Dad’s voices in my ear. “You’re so young but so sneaky as to fake depression to get a leg up on your sister. Do you want to drive us mad? “If we had known you would turn out so mean, we should never have had you!” I swallowed the cake, which had gone bitter in my mouth. I made the first wish ever in my life. “I hope Mom and Dad will be happy after I die.”

In the seventh year of my illness, I was finally so broke that I couldn't even scrape together enough money for my medication the next day. To raise the money, my best friend went back to the nightclub and started taking clients. By the time I found out and rushed over, I could already hear her suppressed, trembling voice coming from the private room. "Duncan, we can't do this! "Wendy will be devastated if she finds out!" The next second, I heard my boyfriend's low, ragged moan. "How else are you going to counteract the drug's effects?" My fingernails dug into my palms. The pain made my vision turn black. What hurt even more was that after it was over, Katie came to my bedside with tear-filled eyes and shoved a crumpled stack of bills into my hand. "Wendy, I made enough money working the club tonight to cover your medical expenses tomorrow." Duncan looked at Katie's scraped knees and bruised wrists. His eyes instantly turned bloodshot. The next second, he turned to face me. Those eyes that had once been filled with affection now held nothing but exhaustion and resentment. "Wendy, why won't you just die? "How much longer are you going to drag us down?" Right after cursing at me, he still used the money he'd earned by selling his blood to buy me hot oatmeal and painkillers. On the other hand, he could afford to gnaw on only half of a cold, hardened slice of bread. I watched as he carefully pulled a blanket over Katie. His movements were gentle as he tried not to wake her. An aching sensation spread from my chest through my entire body. It felt like countless knives slowly scraping away at me from the inside. Silent tears slipped onto my pillow. It didn't matter. I was going to die soon. Soon enough, I would stop being a burden to them.

My father was a hero cop, but I was a blemish to his shining resume as I was a delinquent who smoked, drank, and got into fights. Every time I tried to visit him at the precinct, he would slap me and tell me to leave in front of his colleagues. His fatherly love was all meant for Nana Smith, the daughter of his fallen comrade who was a paragon of good character and academic excellence. When Nana was kidnapped, he sent the entire city's officers after the kidnappers. When I was stabbed three times by some thugs and called him for help, he snapped at me, "Quit being a bother. The death of vermin like you is simply good riddance anyway." Even as I suffocated in agony, I lay in a pool of my own blood and sent him one last text. [Father, would you finally look at me twice if I end up a corpse?] He never replied. Then, three days later, the cops destroyed a major cartel hideout when my father found me, still holding on to evidence I had gathered against the cartel. That was when the madness started…

In my third year as a blind massage therapist, Henry Young took his employees on a company retreat. By sheer coincidence, he ended up booking me. When he saw me, he remained perfectly composed, so much so that even his breathing did not falter. I served him the same way I treated every other client. Then his phone rang. My hands paused for a moment as my own voice, young and girlish, came through his phone speaker. His employees immediately started teasing him. Henry simply explained in a gentle voice, “My wife recorded that when she was young and didn’t know any better.” Just as he was leaving, Henry suddenly turned around. “Anya Walt, I’ve never forgotten you. “Are you really going to keep living this hard life, with my child by your side?” I rubbed my fingertips again and again, but said nothing. It seemed he still had no idea. Back then, I kept our child and delivered the baby. But the baby was stillborn.

On the day of my coming-of-age ceremony, the two men who cherish me above all else are absent. One is Vittorio Luciano, the only son of the Luciano family from the east, while the other is Carlos Gambino, the heir to the Gambino family from the south. This is a matter that could easily be settled with a few words, yet they try to think up all sorts of excuses to brush me off. "Anna, a gunfight has broken out at the port to the north, so I really can't step away." "I have to hold a family meeting with the elders. I can't skip it." However, the two men have barely hung up on me when I see them appear beside my adopted younger sister, Liliana Siciliano, at her coming-of-age ceremony. The two men stand guard, one on either side of Liliana, and anyone can tell that they're treating her like the most precious thing in the world. I look down at my phone, tears dripping onto the screen as I read the coldly indifferent excuses they sent me once again. How very ironic. The protection they once promised me is now all hers. However, what they don't know is that I won't make it past this winter.

From a young age, I've known I was born to be a substitute for my deceased sister, Leah. On my 6th birthday, my parents take me to the market to choose a cloak for cubs. I excitedly spend ages choosing, then point at a silver one. However, Mom's expression shifts drastically, and she grabs me by the ear and screams like a madwoman, "Who told you to choose silver? Leah's favorite color can only be red!" When Dad sees Mom act up, he roughly yanks me away. I fall to the ground, hitting my head, and blood streams down my face. From then on, I desperately try to become more like Leah. No matter what I choose, I only choose something in red, the color she loved most. But one day, I break the pack's record and awaken my wolf ahead of time. Mom tears up my recommendation letter for the Werewolf Warrior selection in front of everyone and forces me to give up. "Leah didn't get chosen back then, so you can't get chosen either!" The surrounding werewolves try to stop her, but she viciously scolds them in return. "If Leah hadn't died, she wouldn't even have been born! What right does she have to become a warrior?" When I see the hatred in her eyes, I feel like I am at rock bottom. But Mom… Since you really want me to live like Leah, doesn't that mean I should also die in a fire like she did when she was 18?

To shield my sister from a street thug's iron bar after she cut class, my right leg was shattered. The infection that followed left the doctors no choice but to amputate. From that day on, I spent ten years in a wheelchair. Consumed with guilt, my sister massaged my stump every single day. My parents wiped their reddened eyes and promised that everything they owned would go to me someday, to make up for what I had lost. Then my sister won the highest international ballet award, and the whole family wept with joy. Before the ceremony, she looked at my wheelchair. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "This is the greatest moment of my life. If a cripple tags along, what will the press write about me? "Dad, Mom, just this once, let the three of us go together, looking our best. Please?" My parents caved in the end. Before they left, Mom was afraid I might fall, so she lashed me to the wheelchair with hemp rope. "Be good, Audrey. I put all the knives and scissors away. Don't move around. We'll bring you back egg tarts from Belem." I sat obediently in the middle of the living room and watched the front door close, then heard the lock turn from outside. That night, the old electric blanket in the bedroom short-circuited and caught fire. The flames burned their way from the bedroom into the living room. I could not break free of the ropes. I could not reach the door handle. I could not find a single thing sharp enough to cut myself loose. The fire licked up my one remaining leg. The pain was beyond anything I had ever known. I sobbed through the smoke, begging my family to save me. They hung up. On the television, my sister stood in the spotlight, her smile radiant and dazzling.

After learning the silver poison had sunk deep into my heart with no cure left, I secretly returned to the pack I'd left five years ago. I just wanted to see Leon Frost one last time. The one who was now their Alpha. Instead, I walked right into news that he was about to mate with his new chosen, Shelly Davis. Worse—they caught me. My mother had me in a wheelchair. Leon's eyes flickered with something unreadable when he saw me. He didn't speak. But Shelly sure did. "Well. Look who finally crawled back. Five years and you look like hell. Can't even walk anymore?" Her voice dripped with mockery. I held back the tears and tugged at my sleeve, hiding the decay spreading across my arms. "It's nothing. Just tripped and hurt my leg." Shelly's laugh cut through the air again. "Since Leon and I are holding our bonding ceremony, you should come witness it. Ten days from now. Full moon night." I kept my face calm and forced a smile. "Can't make it. I'm heading somewhere far away." Then I glanced at Leon—his face still empty, still silent—and signaled my mother to wheel me home. The further he got, the harder the tears fell. Leon, I wasn't lying. I have less than ten days. Before your ceremony even starts, I'll be gone.

Being locked away by my parents as a child left me with severe claustrophobia. Every time it flared up, I not only lost my voice but also lost my ability to use the mind-link with anyone in the pack. In my parents' eyes, a strong werewolf should have gotten over something that happened so long ago. Each time I lost my voice, only Alpha Caius Thorne stayed by my side. He kept notepads and pens throughout the estate and kept our conversation pinned to the top of his messages. He even learned sign language just for me. When another episode struck, I signed to him with trembling hands. "Does this ever make you tired of me?" My mate's scent enveloped me, calming my restless wolf. "Never. If anything, I'm glad we have a language that's just ours." Then Sage Mercer returned. She was a human healer and one of my closest friends. She tricked me into entering an underground stone chamber and locked me inside. The sealed space triggered another episode. I couldn't call for Caius, even though he was standing right outside the door. All I could do was sign frantically. But he acted like he didn't understand and stood there as Sage sealed the heavy stone door. Panic took over. I shifted into my wolf form and threw myself against the door with everything I had. Again and again, I slammed into it until my body was drenched in blood, yet not a single cry for help escaped my throat. Then I heard Sage speaking to Caius on the other side of the door. "Elara has to face her trauma head-on. Protecting her every time this happens won't help her get better. "A Luna represents her pack. With a condition like hers, she'll only hold you back. "Once she can call out for help on her own, we'll let her out." Caius said nothing. I understood his silence for what it was: agreement. So that was how Caius really saw me. A burden. But they had forgotten this underground chamber was designed to hold untamable beasts. Once the heavy door was sealed, almost no fresh air could get inside. No matter

Five years after my parents' divorce, I met my mother at school. She had just finished a parent-teacher meeting for her stepdaughter, who was the top student in the grade, and was beaming with joy. The moment she saw me, her expression darkened. "Do you always come to school dressed like this? This is how your father is raising you?" She handed me a business card and said in a condescending tone, "Take this. Tell your father that I'll enroll you in the international program right away if he's willing to admit his mistake. It's better than staying in the regular program and struggling." I did not take it and took a few steps back. "No thanks, Ms. Stroll." She frowned, her eyes filled with disgust. "You're utterly hopeless, just like your father. Don't ever tell anyone you're my son." I clenched the paper in my hand and calmly watched her leave. She had no idea it was not a report card. It was my withdrawal application from school after my father's death, because I had no one else to pay my tuition for me.

The night Justin Lane proposed to his first love, I stood on the terrace of the thirty-third floor, holding a report that diagnosed me with late-stage stomach cancer. Through the windows, I watched him kneel and slide the pink diamond ring that had once belonged to me onto another woman's finger. I endured the excruciating pain and stayed out on the terrace beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows so I wouldn't disturb their beautiful moment. Then Justin saw me. There was no panic or guilt in his eyes. There was only disgust. From the other side of the glass, he sneered and pointed toward the edge of the terrace. Then, he mouthed the words to me. "If you want to jump, then jump. Enough with the disgusting act already. "If you really have the nerve to die, I'll believe that you weren't lying." At that moment, the last spark of my will to live was finally extinguished. I looked at him, at the man I had loved for a decade… And I finally smiled. It was the smile of someone who had finally found peace. I turned around and climbed onto the railing. You're free, my dear Justin. Get ready to accept this last gift of mine.

Mom had taken me to a psychological examination for depression. When I filled out the questionnaire, I checked the option saying I felt down and hopeless nearly every day. She frowned and reached out to correct my choice. "How could you possibly feel down and hopeless? Aren't you happy with your life?" The furrow between her brows deepened when she noticed I described myself as having trouble establishing connections with other people. "You've been an outgoing child since you were young, don't you remember? Come on, you need to consider each statement more carefully." If she said so, I would not argue with her. Next, she reminded me that I had never experienced negative thoughts about myself, and I obeyed her. Following that, she told me that I slept like a log at night, so my answer on the questionnaire was that I had no trouble falling asleep at all. I filled out the questionnaire. Almost every answer had easily matched her wishes. Mom picked up the papers to review them. Finally, she nodded in satisfaction. "That's more like it. You should fill it out with more care from the beginning. You don't want to confuse them and have them diagnose you as unhealthy, don't you?" Lastly, I came out as having minimal depression. Mom breathed a sigh of relief. On our way home, I could not help but keep touching the scars hidden under my sleeve. All I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears. My vision blurred, and everything began to fade from my consciousness. Everything had gone blank in my mind. And all that remained was a dead, suffocating silence.

In the second year after I died, the psychopath who killed me was finally caught. The courtroom was packed on the day of the trial. Leo Mercer stood at the defense table in his orange jail uniform, humming to himself as if he didn't have a care in the world. The families of his seven known victims, grief-stricken and furious, demanded that prosecutors pursue an exception that would allow a death sentence. Leo's defense attorney, Nathan Reese, spoke evenly. "The purpose of the law is rehabilitation. Forgiveness is more powerful than killing. I oppose a death sentence for my client." Nathan's wife, Ada Reese, was also a prominent attorney. From the gallery, she declared, "Even criminals have human rights. How can we take someone's life just because he made a mistake? Besides, weren't the victims at least partly to blame? If they were decent women, why would he have chosen them?" Leo suddenly clapped his hands and burst out laughing. "Couldn't have said it better! To thank you, let me confess something. I didn't kill seven people. I killed eight." His eyes gleamed with excitement as he looked at the Reeses, his voice thick with amusement. "The eighth victim was your daughter. So remember what you just said, both of you. No death penalty for me."