The Mourning of a Doomed Romance

Chapter 1

The party was okay so far.

It's not like I wanted to come anyway. "Come on Ronnie, it'll be fun, don't be such a stick in the mud!" was all Anya had to say to get my insecure ass to head to the party with her. How was I supposed to assume she would leave me to go make out with some hot chick she met 30 minutes after arriving?

So I was alone. Alone at a big party with shitty music blasting through the apartment and lights flashing neon colors so bright I thought I might have a stroke. Worst of all, I was stuck holding Anya's drink for her. She'd left it with me when she went off with that girl, and I wasn't just gonna pass it off to someone who might drug it or something. Besides, I was already a little tipsy by that point; I didn't have the brain power to think that she could get another fucking drink when she came back. If she came back.

I pushed past bodies of people to a corner, trying to avoid the sight of a couple devouring each other right next to me. Didn't last long before I tried moving to somewhere else, to get away from the canoodling next to me. That was where it went wrong.

Sweaty and glittered forms of Demons, Exanīmī, Spirits, and everything in between shoved against my body as I desperately tried to escape the mosh pits all around me. Slick bodies grinding on each other, dancing to the blaring music that seemed to be shaking the apartment itself.

Wonder how many damn noise complaints he gets.

In the scuffle of it all, someone hit my arm and caused Anya's drink to spill all over the nearest person. As I quickly attempted to apologize to the poor soul I drenched in absinthe, my gaze met with none other than the pale gray eyes of the host of the party; the God of Death himself. Letum.

Fuck.

"What the hell?" The tall God snapped, looking down at the green liquid that soaked his white shirt and pants.

"I'm, I'm so sorry!" I made an attempt at a recovery, but, by the way he grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall (kinky).. he wasn't having it.

"The hell do you mean sorry?" He slurred out, his alcohol-ridden breath fanning my face as he spoke. "You just fucked up everything, stupid bastard!"

As he spoke, party guests crowded around us, bright phone cameras flashing as they recorded the encounter. My heart pounded in my chest, like it would rip through my rib cage right into the face of the man standing over me. My breathing came fast and shallow, eyes squinting in the bright lights.

Just as quickly as he had pinned me, Letum stood back straight, slicking back his shoulder-length black hair with a calloused hand as he turned and addressed the party guests.

"Nothing to see here, friends. Go on, enjoy the party. Don't let me spoil your fun." He flashed the crowd a charming smile, and they quickly dispersed back into an obnoxious mix of future DUI charges. (Or, what would be DUI charges. Stinkin' underworld "laws.")

It was like he had a power over them somehow.

Letum didn't say anything else to me. He flashed a stern, threatening glance in my direction, before his approachable gaze shifted back and he returned to the party as if he hadn't tried to body slam me against the wall seconds ago.

I didn't remember much about the rest of that night. More drinks, more clouds of smoke, the sounds of spirits banging in the bathroom, all became a blur. Anya came back at some point, stumbling over with hickeys on her neck. I didn't tell her about what happened with Letum; I didn't want to worry her or anything while she was on top of the world like this.

Thinking back, I should have told her. Maybe then I wouldn't have blacked out and woken up shirtless on the cum-stained couch of the apartment, with barely any memory of thr night before, with the sexiest God of Death alive standing over me with a glare that said "Hey gorgeous, get out of my fucking house."

Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Fates change and all that bullshit. So I was laying on the couch, looking up into the eyes of the most terrifying God in the Multiverse, half-naked and freaked out. I was so dead.

At least I'll die to a pleasant sight.

Thankfully he didn't murder me on the spot. But dammit, if looks could kill? I'd've been six feet under in a millisecond.

"Get out." He commanded, grey eyes piercing mine as he spoke. He had his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for me to get up. Slowly, I did, glancing around the trashed apartment and grabbing my discarded shirt as I stood. He didn't say goodbye or anything as he followed me to the door, just punctuating my exit with a sharp glare and a slam to the door.

Damn.

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