Death's Obsession: A Paranormal Dark Romance
Avina St. Graves
Blurb
He’s coming for you.
Death is meant to come on a chariot of broken dreams or in the dark trenches of a storm, not in love letters and gifts.
He did not take my soul when I was meant to die. He did not want it all the other times that I’ve offered it to him on a silver platter. Yet, time and time again, he reminds me that I am his: His night monster, his dark love, his perfect other.
Death was the only thing keeping me alive. He watches me from his corner, taunts me with sweet messages, marks my body with his touch as I sleep.
He took the people that I love away from me. Still, no one believed me when I said that I saw the faceless man on the night of the accident.
No one can escape death.
Me? I’m chasing it.
Triggers
This book is considered dark and mature. It is not suitable for people under the age of 18. Triggers include (but are not limited to):
Stalking, death, dubcon, anal, double penetration, impact play, breath control, mental illness, emotionally and physically abusive romantic relationship (not with MMC), prescription drug use, alcohol and drug abuse, sibling death, parent death, cancer (off screen), PTSD, depression, anxiety, hallucinations, dissociation, traumatic events, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide (off screen), recording of sexual intercourse without consent, depiction of a violent car crash.
Author’s Note1Death's Obsession: A Paranormal Dark Romance
If you by chance know Greek mythology and are well versed in Latin, I sincerely apologize for this book. It won’t be accurate.
Playlist
Death's Obsession on Spotify, as curated by my biggest fan, V: It's Called: Freefall – Rainbow Kitten Surprise Snow White Queen – Evanescence Find You – Ruelle
Moondust (Stripped) – Jaymes Young Afterlife – Nothing But Thieves The Other Side – Ruelle Fear of the Water – SYML
No Time To Die – Billie Eilish I Found – Amber Run
Flawless – The Neighbourhood Heavenly – Cigarettes After Sex Mr. Sandman – SYML
Terrible Thing – AG
Paint It, Black – Ciara Gods & Monsters – Lana Del Rey Broken – Lund
Spiracle – Flower Face After Dark – Mr.Kitty
Dedication
To the girls who think that the grim reaper will fuck like a god.
Prologue
Birth. Life. Death.
Heaven. Hell. Purgatory.
Good or bad, I will find you. You will not escape me. For I am he. For I am it.
You will run. They all run. You run thinking I will never catch you. You run thinking if you hide well enough, I will never find you.
You pray to your god I will never take you. You beg I never find the ones you love. Each plea falls on deaf ears, because I am coming.
You may think I will chase you to the end of the earth on my chariot, press my lips to yours and let your body rest peacefully. Even when you come willingly, you scream and fight for life. Praying and pleading that it is not your time, that you have more to do, more to accomplish. You claim to need more years under the sun, but you will never be ready. For what is death, in the face of life?
You claim I want your soul, that your death is only in my hands. But I do not want it. Your soul is yours to keep until it is not.
I have never wanted a soul until her.
My Lilith. My night monster.
She is a storm on winter’s day, and I will be content with never seeing the sun again.
She offered me her soul, and I gave it back. Not because I did not want it. Oh, I wanted it like a flower wants the sun, like a river wants the sea. When I come to collect her soul, it will not be to take her to the afterlife. No, her soul will be mine to keep.
Chapter one
Lilith
You look beautiful when you sleep.
I read the note again, over and over. I’m not crazy. The letter is real.
The harsh glow of moonlight only just makes the words more visible. I have to hold the thick brown parchment with both hands to stop it from curling back together. Each swirl of black ink is another coil that winds tighter around my stomach. The letters taper at each end, as if it was written with a fountain pen.
He was here again. He was watching me sleep.
I wrote the note in my sleep, I tell myself, just like Dr. Mallory told me to.
It doesn’t matter how many times I say it or scream it into my pillow or write it down, I don’t believe my own words. The letters are real. I know they are, even though no one else believes me.
I told Dr. Mallory about the man who visited me on the day of the accident, face hidden under the shadows of his hood. Then the gifts started appearing. Then the letters. Then came the symbols. All from him. The Faceless Man.
I tried showing Dr. Mallory that the letters are real, that I’m not hallucinating like she claims. In fact, I tried to prove to everyone that someone was watching me and leaving me letters. No one believed me—they think it’s just the ramblings of a woman gone mad. I’d take pictures of the letters, only for them to disappear from my phone. Every time I put the letters in my bag, they become lost to the void, only to appear back in my bedroom with a note that says:
It’s our little secret.
I’m not crazy. I’m not.
The gifts he leaves are real. So are the symbols he draws on my body. I know they are.
“You bought yourself flowers, Lili, you just forgot about it,” Dr. Mallory said, even though I’ve never been fond of flowers. When I told her about the symbols, she explained, “You must have been sleepwalking and drew them on yourself.”
I thought she was right, because the man never visited when I stayed with Evan, either at his place or mine. I used to wake up in the morning or in the dead of the night with Evan by my side, and my body would be free from the marks the Faceless Man would leave. There would be no letters left on my pillow or on my bedside table. No flower atop my chest or my dresser. I’d be free from the nightmares of the Faceless Man, if only for a night. Although, I’m not sure if he is a nightmare or the sweetest of dreams.
Evan was my shield against the Faceless Man.
Until my stalker stopped caring about Evan’s presence.
Evan’s snore is the only sound to be heard in the small space of my room. It’s too early for the dog upstairs to start barking or for the kids downstairs to start watching their shows before school. All the neighbors say that, at night, I’m the only sound in the complex, wailing or whimpering when the night terrors hit. Evan says I don’t always have nightmares; sometimes I just talk in my sleep, but I don’t always remember what the dreams are about. The only dreams I do remember are of the accident, and that’s when the screaming starts.
That’s why Evan prefers that we live separately, because he needs to ‘stay sharp’ for his job. He says he can’t do that if I wake him from his sleep with my ‘ramblings.’
When I lay next to Evan once a week, I try not to sleep, worried I’ll wake him. I try so hard to stay awake, I swear I do. But Dr. Mallory’s medication always puts me to sleep, even for just a few hours.
Inching the blankets down my bare legs, I creep across the room, not daring to look down at my body until the wooden panels beneath my feet turn to cold tile and the dull luminescent light of the bathroom glares down on me. Slowly, my eyes drop from my disheveled dark brown hair, down to the symbol painted on my chest and the black hand prints around my ample thighs, not hidden under my singlet and shorts. I can’t see the twenty-centimeter scar along my stomach, or any of the other scars covering my body from the accident, but I know they're there.