They call me Grim (COMPLETED)

Chapter 3: Hungry Hungry Reaper

"Mary's coming back."

Blake dropped the phone and before he knew it his skin was rolling, his bones breaking and gliding and he was a wolf.

Grim found out the hard way that when she transformed back into human form she was still hungry and tired, being a reaper didn't get rid of the human needs, just held them off.

So Grim found herself weak with hunger and exhausted at six am. She hated mortality.

She would've stayed in her reaper guise is she could, but right now she needed information and walking around in a heavy black cloak, with a scythe in hand just didn't send the right message. If only death had decided to stop in Halloween.

Grim ran a hand through blue hair and looked down the street. She was sitting on a bench and watching the world just start to wake up.

The bakers arrived the earliest, and Grim was close enough to smell the cakes and bread baking, making her empty stomach all the more obvious. Other restaurant owner filtered in, setting up tables and beginning to prepare the days dishes. By eight the entire street was thrumming with life.

It was a school day so the morning was filled with parents and children scrambling around. By nine fifteen the world was once again calm.

Grim was starving.

She cursed her teenage self for not having the courtesy of dying with money in her pockets.

It was then that she realised desperate times called for desperate measures. She stood, the world spinning slightly. She needed to eat and she needed to sleep, and soon.

Slowly she walked down an alleyway between to shops and when she came out on the other side she was a reaper. It felt better to be a reaper, she felt stronger. She sat in the shadows and waited.

The day got warmer but she didn't feel it. Grim waited for several hours, aware of every second, until it was midday. They should have had enough time to get a respectable amount of money.

She sighed and closed her eyes, when she opened them she was in front of a take away place, selling burgers and chips that would have made her mouth water if she was in human form.

Clenching the scythe in hand and making sure her hood covered nearly all her head Grim walked in.

When she came out she had two shopping bags filled with drinks, a dozen or so chocolate bars and packets of chips they also sold, and lots of containers of hot food. In her pockets was also around two hundred and fifty dollars. Grim cursed the invention of credit and debit cards.

She sat on a roof eating as she watched as police arrived. She felt bad about how the cashier and cooks were going to explain a woman in a death costume stealing from them. It had been easy brandishing her scythe, that was always sharp and shining, and they just handed her what she asked for. They had looked very confused when she demanded food.

Grim shrugged to herself and continued to eat.

It did feel good to eat if she was honest. Ten years of not drinking or eating had never bothered her until now, food was so amazing.

But she couldn't focus on food, she had to focus on what stopped death, thinking as she ate.

Did she know anything about necromancers? No. Though, from the evidence she had drawn the conclusion that necromancy was the art of death, or something to do with death.

She had no idea how to find a witch. How did the council even know there was a witch here? Why couldn't they find this witch by themselves?

It did not good to think about that. What she needed to do was look at the pack records. Werewolves were meticulous with their record keeping. They wrote reports if even a fly entered their territory.

Grim had more experience than most. Her father's best friend had been alpha Gregory. She'd grown up running down his halls and laughing as he gave her piggy back rides.

Of course!

She could go to alpha Gregory! He had to take her in, she was like the daughter he had never had and he loved her. He also had that giant pack house, where all the records were stored. This was perfect.

She knew something had to go her way sooner or later.

Grim finished her food, and neatly packed the garbage into one of the empty bag, teleporting to a bin just long enough to drop it off and for one of the cashiers to point to her. Grim waved at the police running towards her just before she disappeared.

The pack house was also different from her memories.

It was a mansion, no doubt about it, and was built hundreds of years ago, gifting it with beautiful architecture. It was two stories, but so wide Grim knew from experience it had around forty rooms. It was white, with marble columns and a balcony on the second level. The building was perfectly square, and Grim found it brought back nearly as many memories as her old home.

But just like her old home it was different.

Gregory in his spare time was an avid gardener, leaving his lawn almost glowing green and always being decorated with flowers in bloom. The spare time he had, after pack duties, was endless and he occupied himself. The house had been around so long that there were things that needed fixing or upgrading. Gregory had done all these, until he could have sold the home for several million.

Now, Grim wouldn't be surprised if it never sold.

The grass was knee high and dry, a dirt brown colour. There were long weeds growing where there were once flowers, the odd dandelion providing colour. Not only had the garden fallen into disarray, but also the home. The walls were a faded white from dirt, the windows smudged and in need of a clean, and everything simply looked old and washed away.

It made Grim wonder if Gregory was alright.

Gregory came from a line of alphas, but he had always been cautious. He had no siblings as his mother had difficulties during the birth, leaving him the only one to bear the burden. It also meant that there was no one to take up the mantel if he happened to die, so Gregory had lived an extraordinarily careful life. He wouldn't have had to be careful if he had a son or daughter to pass the title onto, but he refused to marry anyone except his mate, and ten years ago he still hadn't found her at forty.

Maybe he had finally found his mate and simply spent all his time with her. Or maybe they had a new baby and that required all their time. Suddenly Grim felt bad about approaching the door and asking for him to accept him.

But she needed to. She had only three months, which seemed so treacherously short when she thought about it, and she had to succeed. Grim wished her main thought was about the souls struggling to rip free and slowly dying and during dark, but really she was worried about herself. She did not want to be punished, did not want to be sent down.

Steeling her spine she walked forward, scythe and cloak fading away. She wanted to remove the dozen or so piercing on her face but didn't have the time. She wished she looked older and nicer and friendlier.

Grim pressed the doorbell but nothing happened and she was forced to knock loudly with the ancient brass knocker. Again Grim cursed human ears as she strained to listen if anyone was approaching.

She only heard him when he was turned the handle and opening the door.

Grim stumbled back, her mouth stretched in a silent scream of horror.

No. No .No. No. No. No. This couldn't be happening.

She had planned to stay away, hide from the rest of the werewolves, relying on the fact that they had no doubt forgotten the depressed little nobody who died a good decade ago. She hadn't even dared to think of him. She knew it would have made her dissolve into panic, so she focused on staying away.

Well, that plan just went up in smoke.

Because right now she was staring at Blake, at the man who was destined to be her soul mate, the one who would love her forever.

The man that, in the end, was the reason she'd jumped to her death.

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