Kisses From Death | Book 1

F O U R

F O U R
Brothers of Four

THE SENSE OF dread was something I was heavily used to. I felt it long ago when Lucius and I were first starting to drift apart. The break up was sudden but I was merely too blind to see the clues that were set up all over. It was as plain as day that there was something bothering Lucius as the days bled closer and closer towards my twenty-first birthday.

On another note, I had also felt a rush of foreboding when I was in the hospital room awaiting the verdict for my grandfather's health many years ago. He had been sick for a long time and when it finally got curious enough for him to be needed to be admitted to a hospital, it was too late to save.

If you are curious to know, the news that was given to us after his checkup wasn't exactly a wonderful one. But grandfather died with a smile on his face and his loved ones by his side. We stood there as a complete family, watching the monitors that kept a note of his heartbeat slowed down to a dead straight line. He was, however, very fortunate in a sense. If I were to die, I would want to be in the arms of the person I loved with all my heart, hopefully, surrounded by some more friends and family.

Dread, in my opinion, was the most alarming of emotions. But what was it exactly that made everything so painful? Perhaps it was because the suspense was worse than the outcome. It was like a wound on a dying man. The pain would always be more prominent. The man would die knowing that death was about to meet him and vice versa. An instant death would not be as impactful and would be considered as an act of mercy to some. It one was left in a writhing pile of agony, the suspense and knowledge that death would eventually consume you, and yet not dying just yet, would be tenfold the trauma.

And there it was, the emotional trauma that could drive me absolutely insane.

Shaking off the sense of foreboding, I made my way towards the bar, instantly drawn in by the impressive array of drinks, both alcoholic and not. Along the line of alcohols on display, there was a particular shelf dedicated to photographs of random people, along with miscellaneous ornaments that glowed in the black light. There were three bartenders that were on duty, each entertaining a crowd with fancy shakes and delectable concoctions. Finding an empty stool, I slid on with a flick of my long honey blonde hair, eyes trained after the bartender closest to me.

"Can I have a drink, please?"

A pair of flame red eyes met mine, turning over almost instantaneously as he finished the drink on hand. He smiled at me, one that was sinisterly handsome before wiping his hands clean on a white cloth that hung on his beltline.

"Just a moment," he said. When he was done with the current duty on hand, the bartender turned towards me, dimples etching in his cheeks as he flashed his pearly white teeth.

As he walked closer, I realized that there was a hint of gold in the man's eyes, perfectly complimenting his blood red hair and equally scarlet irises. He was a man quite literally made of red and gold, the colors of royalty.

"And what would the lady have tonight?" He asked, voice slick and smooth as he shot me a lopsided – but heart-stopping nevertheless – smirk.

"Think you can manage an apple martini?" My voice dropped lower, batting my long eyelashes just the slightest as the man winked.

"Anything is possible for a beautiful lady. Just ask and it shall be presented." There was a slow alluring drawl in his tone, a low hint of seduction before he carefully whipped out the ingredients needed for the drink, concocting a brilliant masterpiece before assembling it in a martini glass.