Walten Files Mortality Novels & Stories

"All I will do is sort through them so they are separated into where the wolves are." "Fine." His word is groaned, and he calls in William. Sitting, I go through the file while listening to them talk. I have separated most of the paper into piles: one for the wolves that have died, one for the wolves stored, another for sold, and then one that says tester. I don't know what that means. "Kellan is back." I jump up and walk to the door. "Xenia, don't push him, or he will just walk out again."

She looks back at the file. “W-17 walked out.” Marcus’s expression changes then. A small tightening around the mouth. The first real crack. “We left.” “Through a door?” “A service gate. Backup power failure. Ninety minutes.” “Convenient.” “Planned.” “By you?” “Yes.” Maya holds his gaze. “How many walked?” “Thirty.” “How many made it past the second week?” His answer comes flat. “Twenty-nine.” She does not say she is sorry. The apology rises automatically, soft and useless. She stops it at her teeth.

"Tell me it's fake. The death certificate—it's fake, right? He's not dead!" Danny exhaled hard, eyes already heavy with the answer. He pulled out a stack of papers and slid them over. "I'm sorry, Dr. Foster. It's real." On top—plain and brutal: [William Wright. Date of Death: March 17, 2020. Cause: hemorrhagic shock.] Delia jerked her hand back like it burned, then snatched the page again, her fingers shaking. A tear hit the corner, smearing the ink. "No... this isn't possible..."

I know what will happen next, I already know. "Name: Watanabe Hikaru." It was then that memory began to enter into my mind everything he had done in the world. Things I have prepared but my mind still can not handle. "Age: 45 years old." The man I am picking up now owns a hostel in Osaka. But behind that hostel covers the sale of paid women, making hentai videos and all sorts of other acts of coercion and threatening murder. "C-Cause Of Death: Accidental Death." I forced myself to finish reading even though I was trembling and could barely cope with the received memories. I took a deep breath before reading the last. "Time of Death: 9:45 am." It was there that the ground finally swallowed th

The game was mine. Two days later, I walked into the mortuary with two of my men behind me. The air was thick, the stench of chemicals burning my nose. I tapped my fingers against the counter. “I came for Rachel Williams and Dave Collins. I want their bodies for burial.” The attendant looked nervous. “Yes, sir. But… there’s a problem.” My jaw tightened. “Problem?” “The bodies… they decayed faster than normal. We had to burn them to preserve what was left. You can’t recognize them anymore.”

The kind of exhaustion that came from carrying responsibility for deaths you could not prevent. I handed Elena to Maren and went to him. He pulled me close and just held on. “Two dead,” he said against my hair. “Marcus lost eight. The counter-alliance lost twenty-three. Thirty-three wolves are dead because we are raising a child who threatens the existing power structure.” “Thirty-three wolves dead because some packs chose violence over adaptation. That is not the same thing.” “It feels the same.” “I know.” We stood together in the quiet medical cabin while Elena played contentedly with Maren and the compound settled into exhausted watchfulness outside.

Lady Wolferly and Lord Haymitch both succumbed to their illness before they turned twenty-seven. The next section detailed their illness in bold bullet points. Hysteria. Weakness. Rage. Pneumonia. Delusions. I swallowed thickly. None of that seemed pleasant in any way. I flipped the next page of the book and came across another name. Widen Lunerly. He must’ve been a relative of Valentin’s. His fate was the same as Ellis’s. One fated mate and another that made itself known later in life. He was twenty when he died. The same symptoms were bulleted below his outcome.

I cringed, flipping the pages. "I did more extensive research with the information prince Elliot had given to you." I flipped the page and a bold number was written on it. "3,471? What's that's?" I read further down, and all the blood in my face drained out. "3471 wolves have died from the plague?! Already?!" Leon nodded.

The second bears a plain title: Northwood Archive. I click to open it. It holds scanned documents: vintage photographs, police reports, medical files, clippings from old newspapers. The earliest records date back fifteen years. The first file is an autopsy report for a teenage girl named Margaret Chan. Cause of death: drowning. Location: Northwood Hotel swimming pool. Date: August 2009. The official ruling: accidental death. Yet tucked in the attachments is a photograph. A ring of bruising encircles Margaret’s neck, half concealed by the collar of her swimsuit. A coroner’s annotation reads: High concentrations of alcohol and sedatives detected in the decedent’s bloodstream.

A soft quiet moan left my lips as I woke up tangled in Death's soft silk sheets. Death comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and water droplets glistening off his hair and abs. He has a fricken 8 pack! "Yes, I do," he replies smugly after hearing my thoughts "You also like cuddling," I turn my back to him "I didn't know you would climb into my bed in the middle of the night," he replies nonchalantly