MoboReader> Fantasy > Nephilim (Angels, Gods & Demons series 1)

   Chapter 4 NO.4

Nephilim (Angels, Gods & Demons series 1) By Julie Summer Characters: 7111

Updated: 2018-01-31 19:04


"Oh my god, are you being serious right now?" Her eyes widened, staring at me utterly shocked, after all I've told her about my weird encounter with that officer Azrael guy.

We were currently sitting on our favourite bench, eating our lunch, under the old, huge oak tree, shielding our small frames from the burning summer sun.

I nodded, taking another bite from my delicious chicken sandwich, my empty stomach silently thanking Rosie for stuffing it in my bag this morning.

"Let me get this straight; he simply ran away, just like that, no other questions no nothing?" She raised one eyebrow, taking a sip from her soda can, looking at me expectantly.

"Yeah. But I'm glad he did. And you know why." I answered, earning a quick nod from her, actually thinking how lucky I was that he did, that way I wasn't forced to invent more lies and excuses.

God knows how much I hate it...

I hate lying! But still, I have no other choice. I have to. Even if my brother does what he does, I have to protect him. He is the only one I've got.

"Still, I don't get it. Why would he act like that? You just barely touched the guy, right?" She then asked, briefly pulling me out of my thoughts, pensively raising one eyebrow.

"Right. I even apologised, ya know?

And he was staring at me like he just witnessed the freakin' 8th wonder of the world!" I incredously shouted, earning a small chuckle from her.

"Well, who knows, maybe he hasn't even been touched by a girl before!" She joked, laughing at her own words, slightly bending forward, almost falling off the bench due to her yoga position.

"With a body and a face like that? I seriously doubt it." I shook my head, remembering those piercing deep blue orbs, boring deeply into mine, those chiseled masculine features, devoid of any emotions, and his carefully sculpted body, seeming like God himself took his time to carve him to perfection.

"Ooh, looks like someone has a little crush!" She jokingly spoke in a baby voice, wiggling her eyebrows at me, her hazel orbs twinkling in amusement.

"Crush? Really, Leila? I just barely interacted with the guy for like, five seconds." I rolled my eyes at her childish presumption, earning an amused giggle from her.

"What? A girl can hope, for your non-existent love life to take a sudden turn!" She beamed, looking at me with a slight trace of hope glinting in her eyes.

She always says that, everytime a guy tries to approach me...

"Yeah, not gonna happen...Not under my brother's watch..." I sighed, lowering my gaze down at the green, freshly cut grass.

I've already lost my hope on that...I don't care anymore.

Plus, I couldn't afford to risk anyone's life just so that I could discover the feels.

**

All set. Just a little bit mascara and it's all done. I mentally noted, carefully checking myself in the mirror, while straightening the last strands of wavy hair, after all this time still marvelling at the unusual crimson natural shades in my light brown hair.

I still don't know from whom I inherited this unnatural color...dad had a dirty blonde, just like Ricky, while mom was a brunette. Not that I remember anything about that, in fact, I don't even remember how they looked like, the fire set on our childhood house that horrible night carefully erasing every single evidence of their memory, so this leaves Ricky and their tombstones my only reminder of their existence.

A soft knock on my door suddenly pulled me out of my thoughts, and I mumbled a "come in" for the intruder, looking at the d

oor through the mirror revealing my big bro clad in a black business suit, casually approaching my make-up table.

"You're late." I mumbled, looking up at him through the mirror.

"Yeah, I had some things to handle. I'm sure Gio won't mind expecting us a bit longer." He replied, totally careless, snatching the straightening iron from my hands, then carefully took a strand of hair and continued from where I left off, knowing too damn well that I would let him, since he was the one fixing and braiding my hair since kindergarden.

Yes, I had a brother who could do both, efortlessly shooting people and braiding my hair as well. . .Lucky me.

"I envy you sometimes, you know?" I quietly said, my gaze fixed on a random make-up kit on the small white table, still thinking about that fateful night, when we forcefully became orphans.

"Why?" He curiously replied, feeling his eyes trained down on my face through the mirror.

"You...remember how they looked like..." I silently stated, knowing that he will understand what I meant, feeling a single tear threatening to spill over my cheek, not daring to look up to face him.

He didn't say anything, instead, he gently placed the straightening iron on the table, then grabbed my bare shoulders and lifted me up, spinning me around to face him, crushing me in a tight, protective warm hug, my face burried in his hard chest.

I wound my arms around his waist, allowing my tears to run free, enjoying the soothing warmth provided by his strong, muscular body, his lips gently placing caring kisses on the top of my head.

We stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, his hands slowly rubbing circles on my back, allowing me to take my time, like he always did when I needed comfort.

"You're ruining my make-up, and your shirt." I mumbled sniffing, still burried in his chest, earning a small chuckle from him, and he pulled back, now looking down at me.

"Right, " He replied, escaping another small chuckle, fixing his once immaculate white shirt now stained with my dark burgundy lipstick, while I frowned, looking unsatisfied at the small, but visible stain.

"See? You've ruined it." I pouted, and he shook his head, lightly laughing at my childish grimace, wiping the wetness on my cheeks with his thumbs.

"Yeah, whatever.

Now how about you tell me how was school while I finish fixing your hair?" He suggested and I nodded, taking a seat at the the make-up table, allowing him to do the job.

"Mitch is dead." I muttered in a deadly serious tone, intently watching him through the mirror, knowing what this meant for him.

Another period of laying low, in order to avoid any unwanted attention that would lead to his "friendship" with the victim.

"I know." Came his answer shortly after my statement, still focusing on my wavy strands, and before I could say anything else, came his usual first question.

"Did anyone asked you anything about him?"

"No." I shook my head, lowering my gaze back at the table, choosing to avoid telling him about my encounter with that weird officer. He didn't asked anything about Mitch after all.

"Good." He lightly nodded, placing the straightener back on the table once he finished, followed by the sound of his phone ringing, and I watched him retrieving it from his dress pants pocket, glancing at the screen, before he turned to walk away.

"Get ready. We have to go.

We'll talk about this later."

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