Don’t you dare be moved by this, Lazarus. Don’t do it.
In spite of my brain’s very sage advice, I thaw—just a little.
“You do realize this is not how humans do things, don’t you?” I probe.
“I am not human,” he says.
I glance away from him, my eyes landing on the bed sitting against the adjacent wall. The wine red comforter screams of decadent sex, and my heart speeds up at the sight of it.
“I’m supposed to sleep there?” I ask.
“If you like,” Thanatos says, and again, his words wake my body up. And he’s probably thinking about how I chose to sleep outside last time he took me, but I’m thinking about the weight of him on me, and the task I’ve been given.
What if … ? What if I walked up to him right now and kissed him as I did before? What if he kissed me back? What if I pulled him onto that bed and stripped him bare and laid siege to his lethal body?
I think he’d want that. I know I would—I might hate myself for it, but I would.
And yet my pulse is thundering and I’m panicking at the thought of initiating something and it is wild that I can hurt this man over and over again but I am terrified of truly laying myself bare for him.
Later. I’ll make my move later.
I’m such a coward.
“Can I have—can I have a moment?” I say.
“I don’t know what that means,” Death says.
“I want to be alone,” I clarify.
“If you try to leave—”
I flash him an intense look. “The last thing I intend to do is leave.”
Those strange, beautiful eyes of his scour my face, and the longer he takes in my expression, the more heated his own gaze gets. This thing between us that has been building for a year now is raw and aching and set to erupt.
After a terse several seconds, Thanatos inclines his head, and without another word, he leaves me to my thoughts.
Chapter 39
Sugar Land, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I stare down at my hands.
I pinch my eyes shut. I have no answers. No way to understand what Death’s brothers want me to do, or what I want, or anything else.
All I know is that it would be so easy to fall into Death’s arms. He’s beautiful, and for all his killing, he’s not evil. That’s probably what hurts my head the worst. He’s taken my family, he almost took my son, he’s going to try to take everyone else, and yet his heart isn’t wicked.
I’ve seen wicked.
I scrub my face and take a deep breath, my stomach tumbling as my thoughts go round and round.
I’d like to say that resolve is what eventually draws me out of my new room, but the truth is, I catch a whiff of something delicious, and I’m painfully hungry.
Who is cooking? Surely it isn’t Death? That would be one surprise too many.
Also, where is this kitchen?
I leave my room only to lose my way … and then lose it again.
Who even needs this much space?
I still haven’t figured out where the kitchen is when I make it to the living room. I come to a stop when I see Death standing before a wide window, his gaze fixed on something outside.
I swallow at the sight of those massive shoulders and large, folded wings.
Right now, with his back to me and his posture so still, he looks like those stone angels I’ve sometimes seen in cemeteries. The ones that look painfully sad. The whole thing makes me shiver.
“I’m back,” I say by way of greeting.
Death’s wings hike up, just a little; that’s the only indication he gives that I surprised him. When he rotates around, his gaze is somehow both guarded and painfully exposed.
He takes me in for several seconds. “I am surprised you wanted to be alone,” he admits. “I have been alone for so long, I have come to detest it. I assumed the same was true for you.”
“It was,” I admit.
Before Ben, I thought I’d go insane somewhere along those deserted stretches of highway.
Thanatos’s jaw clenches with emotion. Or maybe he’s just unused to anyone relating to him. That’s another type of loneliness—when your deepest truths are locked away and no one but you can hear them.
“It was,” he echoes, letting that sink in. After a moment, he takes a step forward, and I can tell by the sheen in his eyes that Death is about to spill more secrets.
“The only thing that ever helped me was replaying our interactions,” he admits. “And when those ran out, I imagined your voice and a thousand different conversations I might have with you. I yearned to hear my name fall from your lips. I yearned to see your face. To touch your skin.”
My breath hitches at his words. While I spent the last year reminding myself of all the reasons why Death was awful, he’d been doing this.
He looks me over. “Now that you’re here, however, I have this deep, abiding fear that this isn’t real—that you’ll fade away in the night. And for all my power, I cannot shake the feeling.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I remind him.
Thanatos gives me another one of his long looks. I’m pretty sure he’d stand there all day staring at me if I let him.
But then he surprises me.
“You must be hungry,” he says, coming forward.
“I am,” I say warily.
The horseman reaches my side and takes my hand.
I close my eyes at the sensation. I don’t think either of us has truly been touched in a long, long time, which makes every bit of physical contact that much more potent. And with Death’s words still echoing in my mind, I know that this simple touch must mean a lot to him as well.
“Come, my fallen adversary,” he says softly, tugging on my hand. “I have a victory dinner to attend, and you are my guest of honor.”
I open my eyes to look at him, but he’s already moving ahead, leading me through this massive house he’s clearly familiar with.
How long has he been prepping this place for me?
Thanatos leads me into a grand dining room that I missed because it lays on the opposite end of this mansion. Like the rest of the house, it is ornately furnished, with another crystal chandelier and a gilded mirror hanging above a massive fireplace. The table itself is an enormous thing. I count twelve chairs tucked around it, the wood’s dark surface polished to a gleam.
Resting on it are several steaming dishes and two place settings—one at the end of the table and one adjacent to it.
Death releases my hand, letting me make my way into the room. My fingers drag along the table’s smooth surface. I glance back at the horseman, only to find him watching me, his eyes caressing me like a touch.
“How did you learn about cooking?” I ask, gesturing to the dishes set out. Technically, this is far more than just cooking. Every platter of food seems to be perfectly catered, and the table settings have been arranged with precise care.
Death lifts his chin. “Does it please you?” he asks curiously.
There’s that question again.
“Does it matter?” I whisper, afraid to tell him the truth—that this far surpasses any expectation I had.
“You already know the answer to that, Lazarus,” he says.
I can’t seem to look away from him. He’s mesmerizing.
He nods towards the table. “Go ahead,” he finally says.
I do. I make my way to the proffered seat, and after a moment’s hesitation, I pull the chair out and sit down.
Only then does Death move, silently making his way towards the remaining place setting at the end of the table. It’s only now that I notice his chair back has been cut away.
The horseman pulls the seat out, his wings lifting just the slightest so that he can situate himself into it comfortably.
A week ago I was beginning to look into traveling overseas with Ben. Two days ago I was sure my son would die. A day ago I bargained my life away for his. And today I was taken by the angel
of death for the second time in my life.
And now I’m sitting at a table with him, about to eat a meal like any of this is normal.
I look over the spread of food. There’s bread and cheese, but there’s also a tossed salad and a creamy pasta and stuffed peppers and breaded chicken.
“Who made this?” I ask.
Death’s eyes slide to a nearby door. It’s closed, but as I watch, the knob turns and a skeleton steps out, carrying an open bottle of wine.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say as the thing moves over to us. “A dead person made this food? Tell me I’m wrong.”
The horseman gives me a curious look. “You’re not.”
My gaze moves over the dishes. “How?” How did a mindless skeleton make all this?
As I speak, the skeleton pours wine into my glass. It then moves to Death and fills his glass before setting the bottle down on the table.
Thanatos lifts a hand and gestures to the creature. “I tell them what they must do, and they do it. But I don’t confess to understand how human food is prepared, or—” he grimaces at the dishes in question, “what you find particularly appealing about it.” As he speaks, the skeleton quietly retreats, exiting out of the door it entered.
“Well, normally, food is appealing because, you know, it keeps us alive,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“Says the woman who cannot die,” he interjects.
My attention returns to the dishes in front of me. I wish I had no appetite. I wish what Thanatos just admitted would make some sort of difference, but the truth is, I haven’t eaten much in the last several days, and right now, I’m willing to try corpse-made food.
“Is it going to taste normal?” I ask.
“I expect that it will taste exactly like food made by the living,” Thanatos says.
I let out a shaky breath.
Alright. I’m doing it.
I reach for the pasta first and place a little on my plate. After a second’s hesitation, I add a little to Death’s plate as well.
“What are you doing?” His curious eyes are fixed on me.
“Serving you,” I state. “You’re the one, after all, who invited me to your ‘victory dinner’.”
His eyes are hard, but he still somehow looks wickedly pleased, though I imagine it has more to do with the idea of this victory dinner than the actual food itself.
I end up putting a little of everything on both of our plates while the horseman leans back in his seat, watching me with a devious, calculating expression.
Once I’m done, I sit back down in my chair and survey the table. “So this is what mighty Thanatos is using his dark powers for—getting revenants to cook for him,” I say.
He gives me a dark smile. “Would you prefer I simply let the dead sack cities and kill the living?” he asks. “War made quite a name for himself doing just that.”
I feel my eyes widen with shock. The War I know—and I admit I don’t know him all that well—seems like a reasonable man, even if he did throw me under a horse cart by forcing me to agree to this situation. He definitely doesn’t seem like someone who’d do something so … gruesome and perverse.
“You didn’t know,” Death states, reading my expression. “I assure you, every one of my brothers has killed entire regions of the world. And unlike me, most of their actions were cruel and full of suffering.”
I search Thanatos’s face, looking for the lie. Instead I find an unsettling truth.
And I sent Ben with them.
“Is my son okay?”
Death’s brows pull together at the change of subject. Or maybe he’s simply confused by my question.
“He’s alive,” he states. “And healthy. I can sense no more than that.”
My body falls back heavily against my chair. Ben is not dying. Whether or not he’s okay is another matter entirely.
I force away my fears. I have met these men, and I learned their motives. Perhaps they were once monstrous, but I have to trust that they aren’t any longer. They have humanity’s best interests in mind. If they didn’t, they would’ve let my son die and Death and I continue on as enemies.
Despite my own reassurances I still have to take a few steadying breaths.
Thanatos studies my expression, and I swear he’s noticing every little tick as though they were words on a page.
“Where are my brothers taking your son?” Thanatos eventually asks.
In response, I press my lips together.
Death continues to study my features. “Do you think I want to hurt him? That I seek to cause you pain? I seek to cause no one pain. I am the end of it, kismet.”
He has yet to realize that you don’t have to cut someone to make them bleed. Take away the most precious thing they have, and they will suffer.
Death settles back in his chair. “So, my brothers scheme. I cannot fathom what it is they hope to gain by having you surrender to me.”
War’s words ring out in my head.
Seduce Death.
I keep my thoughts to myself. But then the seconds stretch on, and the only thing punctuating them is a distant shuffling sound that must be Death’s skeletal servants. The entire time, the horseman stares at me.
“It’s rude to stare,” I eventually say.
“I don’t care about your silly human taboos,” he replies. And he continues staring. And staring.
I want to look everywhere but him, but if he’s not going to follow social etiquette, then fuck it, neither am I. So … I decide to look my fill.
Almost instantly, I realize my mistake. He’s utterly perfect. Like something crafted out of my deepest yearnings. That black hair is beckoning me to run my fingers through it, and those sad, solemn eyes are begging for connection that only I can give. And those lips … how I ache to taste them again.
The longer I look, the more my blood seems to heat. I can’t help it. I’m not made to withstand men this pretty.
But it’s not just his beauty. My attention returns to those ancient eyes, which hold all sorts of secrets. The longer I look, the more I seem to fall into their depths. And the longer he looks at me, the more heated his gaze becomes. Fuck me, but my pulse is hammering away and this cavernous dining room suddenly feels too small.
I lean back and sigh as I look at him. It’s supposed to sound one hundred percent annoyed, but it comes out sounding breathless and wistful, damnit.
Thanatos’s gaze flicks over my face. “What?” he demands.
“I’m just now realizing that I’m going to have to get to know you,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow as he watches me.
“And you’re inevitably going to get to know me,” I add.
Death’s eyes further heat, though his expression remains unreadable.
I continue. “I’m going to learn all your little habits—”
“I don’t have habits,” he cuts in.
“Oh, you have habits. I have a map marked up with those habits,” I say.
He frowns. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Thanatos doesn’t like the idea that he has human tendencies. Poor fool. He’s got some unpleasant revelations coming his way once he realizes this whole taking-me-captive thing is one giant human experience.
“And,” I continue, “you’re going to learn about all the annoying little things that I do. And we’re going to drive each other mad.”
He steeples his fingers. “Do you really think I have searched for you this long to be scared off by a few ‘annoying little things’? I was driven mad looking for you. I doubt I’ll be driven mad savoring you.”
How badly I want to make him regret those words, and yet at the same time, they make me feel breathless, off-balance.
“All the same,” I say, “we’ve been awful to each other … and now we’re supposed to live together. So,” I take a breath, “I think we should air all our grievances.”
“Grievances?” He raises his eyebrows.
“You tell me all the things you hate abou
t me,” I say, “and I’ll tell you all the things I hate about you.”
He frowns. “This is ridiculous, Lazarus. I don’t hate anything about you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really.” Call me a skeptic, but I’m not buying it.
Death watches me closely. “This is your game, Lazarus. So play it and get this over with.”
I stare him down. “I hate your very existence.”
Those words have been sitting there, at the back of my throat, ever since I first met him.
Thanatos’s eyes flash. “You don’t even realize what you’re saying. There is no life without death,” he says hotly. “So unless you’d prefer to be a rock, or some other inanimate thing, I think my existence suits you just fine.”
After he finishes speaking, silence stretches on between us.
“It’s your turn,” I say.
He glares at me. “I don’t hate you.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“Unlike you, kismet, I really don’t,” he says, and now he sounds weary.
I search his face. After a moment I say, “It’s still your turn.”
He gives a long-winded sigh. “Fine, Lazarus. I dislike it when you hurt me.”
I pick up my glass of wine, and I take a long drink of it. I can’t say whether his words are immensely satisfying or painful. Both, I guess.
I set my glass in front of me. “I’m sorry,” I say.
Death doesn’t say anything, though I can feel his confusion.
“For hurting you,” I clarify.
His gaze searches mine, and he takes a deep breath.
“What else do you hate about me?” he asks after a moment.
“I hate that you’ve taken my family from me. I hate that you’ve taken my son from me—”
“He still lives,” Death interrupts.
Perhaps, but the fact remains that he’s no longer with me.
“I hate that you’ve killed so many people—that I had to see it all. I hate that I felt compelled to stop you. I hate that in order to stop you, I’ve had to rob corpses, convince skeptics, and force myself to endure being injured and killed over and over again. I hate that my life has become one long list of sacrifices.”
Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4) Page 20