Chapter Eight
1185 Words
Chapter Eight
Nemesis POV
A moment of strange silence stretches as I study my parents, and they study me back. I wouldn’t call it awkward, exactly — but it isn’t comfortable either.
It’s just… strange.
“Well, damn,” I whisper, glancing between my real mom and dad.
Athena — my mom — has tears brimming in her eyes, and Hermes — my dad — is staring at me with open adoration, his head tilted to the side like he’s trying to memorize every detail.
“Oh, my heavens,” Mom breathes, voice breaking. “You turned out stunning.” Her gaze sweeps me up and down, brimming with pride.
“Thank you,” I murmur, unsure how to respond.
“Yeah, we did a good job,” Dad says with a grin, eyes shining.
Before I can form a reply, Athena steps forward and pulls me into her arms. The hug comes fast and full, and my body reacts before my brain can catch up. I wrap my arms around her, eyes stinging as tears threaten.
I’m hugging my mom for the first time.
Azrael POV
“He did what?” I snap, fists tightening at my sides. The thought of Ares laying a hand on Nemesis makes my blood boil.
Zeus meets my glare with calm patience. “He’s in a bad place, Azrael. He hates being on Olympus because so many of us are mated, and he’s not. He lashes out.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “That doesn’t give him the right to hurt Nemesis.”
“He didn’t intend to. He’s lonely, and his temper is short. Once he finds his mate, he’ll settle. Until then, I’m reassigning Nemesis to Artemis. She’ll handle her training from here.” Zeus’s tone leaves no room for argument, and with that he turns and strides out of my mansion.
I let out a sharp sigh.
Why would Ares think he could push Nemesis around? I understand loneliness — but that gives him no right to take it out on her.
My Nemesis.
Mine.
The word stirs something primal in me. I love claiming her, knowing she is mine by fate and choice both.
I stalk into my office, deciding to lose myself in work before I do something rash. Over the years, I’ve invested in several businesses on Earth to occupy my time. Olympus is fine, but my true dream is to live down there with her. To travel with her. To show her every corner of the world.
I need her.
Being away from her, even briefly, feels unbearable. I want her on my lap, in my arms, always near enough to touch.
Shaking my head, I pour myself a glass of scotch and sift through the files on my desk.
Who would’ve guessed the Angel of Death would be managing human companies from Greek heaven?
An hour passes before I hear the front door open and close. Immediately, I push my work aside.
My love is home.
Nemesis POV
Mom and Dad are surprisingly… normal. Cool, even. For gods as old as the world itself, they’re surprisingly modern, sharp, and very much in touch with the times. Talking with them was easier than I expected.
As I step back into the house, a sigh slips from my lips.
What has my life become?
I live on Mount Olympus. My soulmate is the Angel of Death. How did I end up here?
I rake a hand through my hair, and to my horror, a tear slides down my cheek. No. Not now. I don’t want Azrael to see me weak.
“Baby?” His voice echoes from the entryway, rich and steady.
I quickly wipe at my face, then turn to find him standing just inside the living room.
Before I can think, I close the distance between us and press my lips to his. Azrael stiffens in surprise, but only for a heartbeat before passion takes over. He sweeps me into his arms without breaking the kiss, carrying me toward the bedroom.
He lowers me onto the soft sheets, hovering above me with eyes that search and claim all at once.
“You’re so unbelievably gorgeous,” he whispers. His gaze burns through me before he tears my shirt down the middle.
I squeal softly — his dominance is a rush that makes my blood sing.
We strip each other in a flurry, skin meeting skin until nothing is left between us. My eyes fall to his thick length and my breath catches.
How am I supposed to fit all of him inside me?
Azrael doesn’t give me time to spiral. His mouth latches onto my breast, hot and insistent. A guttural moan escapes my throat before I can stop it. He sucks harder, nipping just enough to make my body arch toward him.
He shifts my wrists above my head, pinning them gently as his mouth moves to my other n****e.
“So perfect,” he mutters against my skin, worship and hunger laced in every word.
“Are you ready to take me, baby?” he asks, lifting his head.
I can’t form words. Breathless, dizzy with want, I nod.
His fingers slide between my folds, teasing, stroking, and I groan helplessly. He releases my hands, but an invisible force holds them fast against the mattress — his power shackling me in place.
It leaves him free to move lower, tongue flicking across my most sensitive place.
“Gods,” I tremble, clutching at the sheets.
“You taste incredible,” he growls, devouring me with ruthless focus. Pleasure builds fast, higher and higher — until he suddenly pulls back. I whimper in protest, only to cry out when he thrusts inside me in one smooth stroke.
The sharp pinch fades almost instantly into bliss, the kind that steals my breath and leaves me clinging to sensation alone.
He drives into me with relentless rhythm, filling me so deeply my body trembles with every movement.
“I can’t get you pregnant until we’re mated,” he groans, voice raw. “So I’m giving you all of me.”
His words blur into the background as my orgasm teeters close. He flips me onto my hands and knees, thrusting back into me hard, one arm circling around to stroke me exactly where I need him most.
“Don’t come until I say,” he growls against my ear. The command makes me clench around him, body begging for release.
“Azrael, please,” I moan. “I can’t—”
He doesn’t ease up. His thrusts pound deeper, his fingers faster, until the world is nothing but fire and need. His breath is hot against my ear when he finally gives the command:
“Come for me, Nemesis.”
I shatter, screaming as release crashes over me. Azrael follows, groaning my name as he spills inside me.
Spent, I collapse onto the bed, chest heaving. I can’t even move.
Azrael chuckles low, rolling me gently onto my back. He kisses me softly, reverently.
“Good girl.”
- Writer
