Memories of the last time Thanatos carried me into the air flash before my eyes. He had held me and then dropped me. I mean, I did stab him, so it’s not like he did it intentionally, but still … I shudder, remembering my fall and the collision, and then the agonizing days that followed.
I will escape you, I silently vow.
But for now … better for Death to think I’ve given up.
I force myself to relax against him. In response, the arm around me grips me more fiercely. From his touch alone the horseman seems to ooze victory.
The bastard.
Even once San Antonio is a distant memory, his horse doesn’t slow, and the chilly air cuts through my clothes. A shiver courses through me, then another and another. Death’s cold armor isn’t helping.
“If this trembling is another plan of yours to seek escape, then trust me, kismet, when I say that I am ready to take to the skies.”
“It’s not a plan,” I say testily. “This is just what happens when humans get cold.”
Behind me, Death is silent for a moment.
Suddenly, he stops his steed, his arm slipping from my waist. I glance over my shoulder to see him unfastening the straps to his armor. He removes a shoulder guard, tossing it to the ground, then a vambrace.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he casts off another piece of his silver armor.
“You’re cold,” he says, undoing the straps of his breastplate. He hauls the thing off, the metal hitting the road with a clang. “I intend to keep you warm.”
I frown, even as an uncomfortable emotion stirs in my belly.
Death removes every last bit of armor, then pulls me back against his chest.
Glorious heat. It’s coming off the man in waves.
“Better?” he whispers against my ear.
So much better.
“You know about body heat but not about shivering?” I say in lieu of thanking him. I can’t find it in me to be grateful to my supernatural kidnapper.
“I may not know the nuances of the human body, but I do know that living flesh is warm and metal can be cold.”
Without a further word, he clicks his tongue and his horse begins moving again. The chill wind whistles through my clothing once more, but pressed against Death, I’m warm.
“So you can raise the dead,” I say, as we pass by several orchards, irrigation canals dug out around the rows of trees. “Why were you given that power?”
“I have all of my brothers’ powers and then some,” he says.
His words chill me to my core.
“You mean to tell me that another horseman can also raise the dead?” I ask, terrified of the prospect.
“Could,” Death corrects me.
“Could?” I echo, trying to piece together what he isn’t saying. “So this other horseman is dead?”
“On the contrary, Lazarus, War is very much alive.” Thanatos says this with no little disdain.
War. War could raise the dead. I … cannot even fathom what that must’ve looked like.
But he doesn’t have these powers anymore? I’m burning with curiosity; there’s clearly so much more to Thanatos and the other riders. And for once, I’m in a position to learn it all, now that I’m stuck in the saddle with the horseman.
“What else can you do?” I ask.
“You will see in time,” Death promises, and wrapped in that promise is another that lingers unspoken between us—
You will be with me, always.
Chapter 22
Pleasanton, Texas
January, Year 27 of the Horsemen
We’ve ridden for several hours when Death turns off the highway and onto an ancient road, the asphalt cracked and pitted.
“Why are we getting off the highway?” I ask. Up until now I’d been able to relax. Now, however, my misgivings are back.
Death doesn’t answer, and my anxiety spikes. What is going on? There doesn’t appear to be any city center anywhere in sight, so I don’t think he’s taken me to wipe out another city.
So, what is he doing?
Eventually, Thanatos turns onto a dirt road that looks as though it was once graveled over; now, however, weeds have sprouted up all over the place, making it difficult to see the narrow pathway.
In the distance I notice a copse of trees. Peeking out from behind them is a derelict ranch house. It looks like a thousand other long abandoned homes I’ve passed before, yet for whatever reason, this is the one Death’s decided to stop at.
With the structure in sight, the horseman slows his steed, and aside from the clop of hooves, the world around us is quiet. This is a silence I’ve gotten used to in the wake of Death. The kind that gets under your skin and soaks into your bones. It can be either incredibly peaceful or frightening beyond belief—which I guess is what you can say about death itself.
We pass by the trees, and then I can clearly see the house. It looks as though it was once a pale blue, but sun and rot have now discolored it brown under the eaves and at its base, and white mostly everywhere else. The roof sags, the windows have been cut out and taken—probably to be installed in some newer home—there are rusted cars and old appliances in the driveway, and a low-lying, rotted wood fence encircles the home. Whatever once existed of the yard has given way to natural flora.
The place is a mess.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“This is a human dwelling, is it not?” Thanatos responds. “We are here to dwell.”
That … that gives me pause.
He can’t possibly be serious.
I glance over my shoulder him. Death’s face is as handsomely stoic as ever.
Shit, I think he is serious.
We ride all the way up the driveway, weaving around a rusted out dishwasher. Thanatos swings off of his steed. A second later, he pulls me down.
We’re really doing this. Dwelling in an abandoned house. Together. At least until I figure out how to escape him.
Thanatos’s hands are still on my waist. He’s either afraid of letting me go and chasing me down … or he’s getting comfortable with the idea of touching me.
His mouth curves into a pitiless smile. “I can see your clever thoughts in your eyes, Lazarus, but you’re not getting away. That, I’ll make sure of.”
No sooner has he spoken than the earth around us seems to groan. It splits open and plants begin to rise around the perimeter of the property.
I suck in a gasp, watching them grow, shoots turning into stalks which turn into branches. Hundreds of leaves unfurl by the second.
“How are you doing this?” I ask, my gaze taking it all in.
This brambly foliage grows and grows until a makeshift hedge of sorts encircles us and the house, barricading us in.
“Killing is not the only thing I’m good at,” he says.
Eventually the plants’ growth slows, then stops altogether. All is quiet and still once more.
I step away from Death, his hands slipping off of my waist, and walk up to the thicket. My eyes scour the thing. I should feel afraid—this is just one more power the horseman has at his fingertips, one that he’s now willing to use against me. But I don’t feel afraid. Instead, I’m overcome by a sense of wonder.
I reach out and touch one of the thorny branches. “Is this … Famine’s power?” I ask. That’s the only rider I can think of who might deal with plants.
“It’s my power,” Death corrects from behind me, “but yes, I share it with him.”
“Isn’t Famine’s job to make food scarce?” I ask, my fingers tracing a leaf.
“His job is to kill crops.”
I turn from the thicket. “But these plants—you made them grow.”
“Famine can make things both grow and perish—as can I.”
Why would these horsemen be given anything but destructive powers? It … makes no sense. They are only here to destroy our world.
I glance back at the living wall Death’s created. It’s impenetrable, that much is clear.
My skin pricks at the familiar way he shortens my name.
I look over my shoulder at Death and hold his gaze. I’ll wait to run until you least expect it.
“Thanks, but I’m not a betting woman,” I say instead, heading back over to him.
“On the contrary, that seems to be entirely what you are,” Thanatos counters. “You bet that you’ll find me in the towns you travel to, you bet that you’ll kill me and save your precious countrymen—”
“I only ever did what I did because the other option was guaranteed annihilation,” I say, stopping near the horseman’s mount. I give the creature a pet on the neck.
“Kismet, all life is, is guaranteed annihilation.”
I raise my chin. “If it’s all guaranteed annihilation, then explain me.”
Death’s features seem to sharpen, and that heat is back in his eyes. He doesn’t answer, though I’m getting good at reading his expression.
You are mine, it seems to say.
I press my thighs together at the naked desire on his face. Desire that I’m not sure Thanatos is even aware of.
My gaze flicks to the structure behind him. “Are you going to show me this house or not?” I ask, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second.
After a moment, Thanatos steps aside, gesturing to the dilapidated structure. “Why don’t you show yourself in? The house is yours, after all.”
“It’s not mine,” I say.
“Fine, ours,” Death corrects.
That’s even worse.
I press my lips together and head to the front door. The knob is rusted over, and it dangles partway off the door. I grab it anyway. The hinges screech as I open the door, and the musty smell of wet animals and mildew waft out.
The laminate floorboards inside have bubbled and curled at their edges, the top layer flaking off in many places. Dingy lace curtains hang from some of the windows. There’s an ancient, stained recliner that came from the world before; its seams have burst in a few spots, exposing dirt-speckled stuffing.
The floor groans and creaks as I walk into the kitchen and flip through the cupboards. Nothing but dust and cobwebs and an old cookbook, its binding swollen and its pages curled.
Death follows me like a shadow, and I can feel his dark gaze on me, drinking in my every reaction. I don’t know what he wants from me.
I leave the kitchen, poking my head into a bathroom that has been updated since the end of the world, the toilet replaced with something that’s more akin to a fancy bucket with a toilet seat on top, and the sink replaced with a removable basin.
Now I notice the water stains along the walls, where once upon a time this house must’ve flooded. Maybe that’s why it was abandoned.
I move to the bedrooms next, expecting to see more furniture. Other than a warped particleboard dresser that’s mostly fallen apart, the three bedrooms are empty.
“Why did you choose this place?” I ask after I’ve finished taking in the master bedroom. A house that has no food, no beds—no amenities whatsoever—is hardly a destination worth stopping for. We might as well have set up camp off to the side of the road. We’re barely better off here—and even that is questionable.
“Does it matter?” Thanatos replies. “It is a home, it will meet your needs.”
Meet my needs?
I swivel around to face the horseman. He stands in the doorway, his attention fixed on me.
I give him a quizzical look. “Have you ever lived anywhere?” I ask.
“I have lived everywhere life is, kismet,” he responds smoothly.
“I mean,” I say slowly, “have you ever stayed in a house? Cooked yourself a meal? Slept in a bed?”
He stares back at me, his expression unreadable. Still, I read that motherfucker’s face all the same.
“You haven’t.”
Of course he hasn’t. I don’t know why it’s only dawning on me now. That very fact is what has made pursuing him so damn difficult. Death never stopped, never slept. He rode and rode and killed and rode and on and on forever, his travels only ever interrupted by me.
I glance around us again. “So now that you’ve captured your human, you want to keep me in a nice … home?” I might as well have said cage or sty. An enclosure meant for an animal. Not an equal. “Is that it?” I press.
“Would you prefer I slit your throat? Break your neck? Fight you until the memory of all things have faded away and only pain remains?” With each question, Thanatos takes a step forward, his wingtips making a soft noise as they drag across the rotted flooring. “Because I can do that. I don’t want to—but I can, if that is what you yearn for.”
I frown at him. “What I yearn for is for you to leave Earth and never return.”
Death laughs, his eyes flashing. “Kismet, that will never happen. Even once humans are banished from the earth, I will still remain. So long as there is life, I will always remain.
“But for now,” he continues, reaching out and lightly touching my cheek, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “I want to discover what more there is to you besides violence and strategy.”
A part of me is mesmerized by this entity whose eye I’ve caught. I get the strangest sense that there is so much more that he wants than death and destruction—he just has no idea what that might be or how to attain it—aside from, you know, capturing unwilling women.
I clear my throat, not liking the personal turn this moment has taken.
“So,” I raise my eyebrows, glancing around, “you have never lived in a house before, yet you not only expect to start doing so now, but you also intend to keep me captive while you’re at it?”
“I don’t plan on keeping you a captive.”
My eyes widen. That’s news to me. “So you’re planning on turning me loose at some point?”
“Never,” he vows.
“So what then?” I ask. “You think I’ll come to enjoy captivity?”
“Humans can get used to all manner of things,” Death says smoothly. “I’m sure you’ll get used to this.”
The gall.
I spin around. “Where are the beds?” I ask, looking at the empty room. “Where’s the food?” I gesture around me. “Where is the table, the chairs, the cups and dinnerware? Where are the books to read and the chopped firewood to warm our house on cold winter nights? Where are the fresh linens? The soft mattress and clean sheets?”
Thanatos keeps his face carefully controlled.
“You are a fool if you think I’ll just grow content in some empty, rotting house.”
He steps forward, his massive form looming over me, his beautiful face menacing in the shadowed light. “You’ll enjoy it or you won’t, but this is your fate, kismet.”
I ignore his words, because right now, I’m a hunter who’s caught the scent of my prey.
I’ve hit a nerve. I know I have.
I flash him a mocking smile. “Were you hoping to impress me?” I laugh at him the same way my sister Robin would laugh at me when she wanted me to feel small. I learned long ago how to wrap an insult into a sound. “This isn’t impressive. You’ve hurt me, you’ve killed me, and now you’ve kidnapped me and locked me away in a prison bare of any comforts. It’s pathetic.”
Across from me, Thanatos’s jaw clenches and unclenches.
There. I’ve found my mark.
All at once, his wings snap out, wrapping around us and forcing me to stumble closer to him. “I don’t care what the fuck you think,” he says, his eyes flashing. “Insult me all you want. It changes nothing.”
I stare up at his turbulent eyes. Ever-steady Death isn’t so steady after all. Not when it comes to me.
A malicious smile spreads across my lips. “We’ll see about that.”
I sit out on the sagging back porch of the house, watching the sun set. So far, the only perk of this place seems to be its bathroom, which I’ve discreetly used. Otherwise, this house blows. Not even the well I f
ound on the property worked. So I’m fated to go without food and water for as long as we’re here.
For the last hour, the horseman has given me some space. His horse, however, hasn’t. Every so often the dapple gray beast will plod up to me and snuffle my shoulder then nudge my hand, as if looking for treats. It’s actually pretty endearing.
I pet the creature’s neck. “If I ever do change my mind about this situation,” I say softly, “you’ll be the reason for it.”
I hear the back door squeak open, then the crunch of boots against the earth.
“That hedge is not going to part,” Thanatos says from behind me.
“I’m not trying to escape,” I say.
“It would be pointless.”
I only just manage to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
“I’m watching the sun set,” I say, not bothering to turn towards him.
He steps right up to my side, the wood creaking and bending beneath his weight. As though sensing the tension, Death’s horse plods away from us.
I glance up at Thanatos, craning my neck way back to see his face.
He’s looking down at me quizzically. “Why are you watching it? It’s a phenomena that happens every day.”
“So? Don’t you ever savor anything?”
He stares down at me, not responding.
After a moment, I sigh and pat the ground beside me. “Go ahead,” I say. “Join me.”
Death keeps staring at me and my God, have I grown a third eye?
Just when I think he’s going to turn away, he lowers himself.
I’d never realized it until now, but his wings are really awkward. He has to splay them out behind himself and lean forward a little to accommodate them. I feel the brush of his feathers against my side and part of me is so tempted to reach out and touch them. I run my hand over my hair instead.
“I don’t want to talk,” I say.
“Noted,” he says, his eyes on the sky above us.
So we sit like that as the sun slips below the horizon and the shadows lengthen and the cold bite to the air becomes more than just a little uncomfortable. The entire time, he makes good on his word and doesn’t talk. It’s actually … oddly peaceful.
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