Death's Mistress Series Novels & Stories

Death's tone still lacked emotion. "Luce we have another gu-" Peter's voice got muffled. Lucifer went to run out but stopped when a woman came through the tavern's doors. Death turned around, emotion returning to his face in full force. He couldn't hide his astonishment. The woman stood 6'2" with long white hair that went down to her shoulder blades. Her brown irises had a cut of white in them. Her sleeveless red shirt and red shorts wrapped tightly around her body revealing a clear muscular figure. Her pale skin matched Death's, causing Kahvis to shift his gaze between the two. Her expression looked like someone who had just been woken up.

“And you lived. Wow. You may be on your way to being a master yourself.” “Heard she has a heart of stone,” Janice said. “I am not sure about that,” I said. “She doesn’t feel fear.” “Susan!” Vivian called. “Masters inflict fear. And they do so quite skillfully. They are the very things fear can’t describe. And do you know she’s the very master of death itself? At least, she rules it. She serves one who is higher above all the masters. No one knows this being. But Mercy is the only one of her kind, and it is told she is well respected among the masters.”

She simply instructed her assistant to inform Rebecca, who was at the psychiatric hospital. That very night, Rebecca committed suicide, following their parents in death.

The door closed behind me with a heavy thud. I paced around the room as my hands shook with rage. I smashed the decanter against the wall. Glass shattered. Whiskey sprayed across the stone. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill. I had killed my mistress last night. In the hidden room. She had started asking questions. Started talking about Sara. Started threatening to speak. I had taken her there one last time, strangled her with my bare hands, then covered the body with stone. Built a wall over the door. Made it disappear. No one knew. No one would ever know.

"It’s been three hours, and he’s still not dead? This old Scrooge is really clinging on just to scam money from Orion. What a rotten family, every last one of them!" As the obscene words continued to play, reporters in attendance began murmuring among themselves. Vera suddenly rushed onto the stage, screaming that I was a witch. "All of these videos are fake! She framed me and Orion! "She must have tampered with the will and the footage! She planned all of this! From the day she married Orion, she’s been plotting to swallow up the Hale family’s assets! "Orion, say something! Didn’t you say it yourself? You said Lyra only married you for your money! She’s vicious! Who knows, maybe even Mrs. H

she asked, her voice now barely a whisper, “knew that secret?” The shadow swallowed hard. “Her.” The word fell into the air like a drop of poison. Her head turned slightly, her expression unreadable. “She’s not alive anymore,” the Mistress said, her tone sharp, clipped. “So how could he have known?” No one answered. Her jaw tightened. She began to pace again, her long dress brushing over the cold stone floor. The shadows trembled with every step she took, the sound of her heels echoing like distant thunder. Then she stopped suddenly.

Still transfixed, it took me a long while to assemble my spiraling thoughts into one piece. Heaven’s way of punishing me was quite peculiar. Cause how the hell did my wife get murdered by my mistress? And now, I was being haunted by her dead ghost. Given that my mom was at my neck and my fake girlfriend– whom i stole a quick look at– was a complete psycho. Yes, I had committed murder a few times– not actually a few, but sometimes it hanuted me too. Yet she was… Ohh God… Cleaning after myself, I walked back into the room, not caring about the blood trails my footprints left behind from being pierced with the shattered mirror.

“It doesn’t.” She turned and walked towards the garden, touching the plant, touching them with such tenderness. “There was once someone who wanted to control her own fate,” the Sage said. “Her name was Elyxia, the Mistress of Death.” I blinked. “Mistress of Death?” I repeated slowly. “Like… actual death? The one that kills people and takes them to the afterlife? Or is that, like, a nickname?” The Sage gave me a look that made it clear she wasn’t joking. “Yes. Actual death.”

Tears streak down her face, her voice raw and breaking, but unyielding. And me? I stand frozen, torn between triumph and devastation. Every scream tears me apart, but I don’t stop it , I can’t. If this is what it takes to keep her, then let her hate me. Let her curse me. As long as she doesn’t leave. Her final words before the darkness claims her are not pleas, not surrender, they’re a curse. “I’ll never be yours, not yours, Raphael. Not theirs either, never.” Then silence, she loses consciousness.

She did everything to ensure their survival. She was grateful to have found a decent job. She took pride in being a casino dealer at a well-known hotel in Angeles City, where she had also met her friend, Cassia Lopez. She vividly remembered the first time she met Cassia. Sofia was rushing to work when she accidentally bumped into a woman in the hotel lobby. Sofia’s white polo uniform and black slacks were part of her casino attire. She wore two-inch heels that clicked against the floor. The collision spilled liquid onto her chest.