Chapter Four
462 Words
Chapter Four
Nemesis POV
I look up from the book I’m reading when a new wave of supernatural energy courses through the room, and see that the man from earlier has returned.
He still looks like Adonis. Black hair, piercing eyes that seem to… Change color? I swear they were blue earlier… but now they’re green. I guess ghosts have weird abilities like that.
He’s standing in the middle of my room, casually, with his hands shoved in his jean pockets. He’s wearing a form fitting V-neck Tshirt that does little to hide his abs that could be used as a washboard.
I unintentionally lick my lips before snapping out of it.
“Great, now I’m attracted to a f*****g ghost” I mutter.
The man walks to the desk in the corner of my room where the poem rests, and reads it over before turning to me with raised eyebrows and concerned eyes. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, the door bursts open to display Austin, who has his lips locked with a blonde girl.
“Wrong room, Austin,” I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.
He looks up briefly, and I can tell that he’s piss drunk.
“Get the f**k out” I say sternly, and he stumbles out of the room, blonde in tow, without another word.
I look up at the man.
“Did you write that poem?”
Great, now I’m going to be conversing with dead people.
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
I snort. “No.”
I don’t see the point lying to a ghost because… well… who the f**k are they to judge? And who are they gonna tell?
The man approaches me and sits on my bed.
“What’s your name?” He asks.
“Nemesis. You?”
“Azrael.”
I smile. “Like the archangel of death?”
He keeps eye contact with me, staring deep into my soul. I gasp as wings suddenly protrude from his back.
“Yes, Nemesis. Exactly like him.”
“Yo- you- you’re a…”
“The angel of death, yes.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trembling. Why in the actual f**k is the archangel of death in my home?
“I’m here because you’re my soulmate, Nemesis. You belong to me.”
I would snort in any other situation, but his eyes are serious and staring at me point blank.
The soulmate to the archangel of death? Me? A mere girl? Granted, a girl who can feel spirits, but not anything super extraordinary.
Fuck no. I refuse to get caught up in this web of fate bullshit.
“No thanks” I say, finding my confidence. Azrael smiles at me, making a surge of irritation course through me.
“You don’t have a choice, love. You’re mine.”
He moves to me with lightning speed and I suddenly feel a pinch in my neck.
Did he just…?
He pulls back and I see an empty syringe in his hand, confirming my suspicion that I was just tranquilized.
“Motherfucker” I whisper, before everything goes black.
- Writer
