The First Death Is In The Heart Novels & Stories

I couldn't move from where I knelt, and my hands couldn't move away from his chest, just the drops of my bitter tears wetting my clothes with my eyes glued to the corpse without blinking. On that spot, I became dead to the outside world, the world around me. I didn't know what was happening. I didn't even hear anything. The thoughts in my head refused to change from the fact that someone prominent just died in my hands. That was the first of it from the day I became a doctor, I had never lost a patient, and the first one had to be the pack's number one man, the old alpha. Someone who had been given another chance to live.

The scream caught in her throat. Her eyes widened—more shocked than afraid—as I pulled her heart from her body and let it beat once, twice, in my palm. Then… silence. Her knees buckled, body folding in on itself as she dropped at my feet, a crumpled thing that once thought itself useful. I stared at the heart for a moment, then let it fall beside her. She was dead before she hit the ground. Fast. Merciless. Necessary. I didn’t feel anything. Only the steady hum of rage building beneath my ribs.

The boy I’m in love with is dead, but it’s not the ghastly crash that killed him. There’s a hole in his chest. His heart is missing.

“You are not dying for his sin, you are dying for his honor. This is a noble death, one that will be remembered for generations to come.” I watched the two dogs fight. “Are you guys done fighting?” I asked, getting impatient. “If yes, die.” In a flash of light, I dig out Lucas’s heart. I held the heart in my hands, feeling the warmth of Lucas’s life fading away. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction as I watched the life drain away from the heart. “Ha,” Elena screams, moving backward. She screams, knowing it is her turn to die. “Please, Sophia. I don’t want to die. Please don’t kill me. Remember, I am your best friend.”

There are only ten minutes left in the college entrance exam when the back door of the classroom bursts open. My best friend, Isaac Powell, kicks it in. He grabs me by the back of my collar, drags me out of the hall, and shoves me into a black SUV idling at the curb. "Are you insane? That was the college entrance exam!" I yell. "Is an exam more important than your life? The students in that room… are probably all dead by now!" Before I can respond, my phone starts buzzing like crazy. Notifications flood the class group chat. "@Trevon, the proctor is looking for you." "@Trevon, did you forget about the party after the test?" "@Trevon, where the hell did you go?" My stomach drops as I

Theodore mumbles. I feel a sharp pain cut through my heart, one I haven’t felt in years. Along with my pain comes my anger. It’s no coincidence that my father died the same day as Ronan his best friend. The Inner Circle has something to do with this. I hear the small voice growl in my head and I flinch. I might have hated the man, Theodore King, but no one has the right to take his life from him, except me! “There might be hope after all.” Alex continues, watching me cautiously as he speaks. I feel my hands visibly shaking from the anger I’m feeling.

But the night air suddenly felt colder. And somewhere deep inside, the echo of my first death stirred not in fear, but in warning. Because rebirth never comes without a price.

I collapse to my knees beside the ruined corpse, blood pouring from a hundred torn seams in my body, the shard clutched tight against my chest. Kael drags himself to my side, breathing hard, blood soaking his fists, his arms, his throat. The prisoner slumps beside us, laughing weakly, cracked, and wild. The Pit trembles. The stones groan. The blood pooled around us shivers— then begins to drain away, pulled into the cracks, vanishing down into the earth like it’s being drunk dry by the bones of the world. We’re not safe yet. But the Heart is dead. The gate ahead— the final gate— cracks open on its own, a yawning maw of frozen wind and black stars beyond.

The second death lands differently. I notice this immediately—the difference in how it settles into my body, into my understanding of what is happening around me. The first death, Claude Moreau, arrived like a punch I didn't see coming. I felt it in my chest as shock, as the animal surprise of something unexpected and violent, even though it had been officially nothing of the kind. But this time—this time I was looking for it. I have been looking for it for six weeks.

My chest tightened as he placed it in front of me. “…This is it?” “This is what exists.” I opened it slowly. Page by page. Careful. Focused. Photos. Reports. Statements. My fingers paused slightly at the images. I forced myself to keep going. “…Cause of death…” I whispered under my breath. My eyes scanned quickly. Then slowed. Then stopped. “…Cardiac failure?” My brows furrowed. That didn’t make sense. I flipped another page. “…Organ shutdown?” I looked up sharply.