I know he’s remembering what I did to him. I bet even now he’s trying to figure out just how to slide that cock of his back between my lips and pick up where we left off. That’s the trouble with seduction; one person holds far more power than the other. And for all Death’s omnipotence, I’m the one in control.
“You left,” he accuses. It’s an echo of an earlier accusation—that right when he thinks he has me, I run. I can see his loneliness in his eyes, along with his frustration—he has built walls and makeshift prisons to hold me, yet still I slip through his fingers.
“I was tired,” I say.
A muscle in his jaw jumps, and his eyes keep returning to my mouth.
“I have been here for hours, replaying what we did—what you did,” he admits. “The sight of you in the candlelight, the feel of your mouth around me—” Death’s wings hitch a little, like he’s recalling it even now. “I didn’t know the human body could feel things like that.” He releases a ragged breath. “Why did you do that?”
I lift a shoulder. “I wanted to taste you.”
That muscle in Death’s cheek flutters again. “But then you ran.” His wings open and resettle.
I decide to go for a little truth. “I’m still not completely comfortable … with you.”
For an instant his features flicker, and I swear the horseman looks crushed. Then it’s gone again, his features wiped clean. “How do I make you comfortable?”
“That’s for you to figure out.” I’m not going to do the work for both of us. Seduction is hard enough as it is.
He takes a step forward. “Do all humans … do what you did?” he asks, his gaze back on my mouth.
I can feel a flush creeping up my cheeks.
“I mean, not all of them.” I mean, there must be some pious motherfuckers out there who wouldn’t dare. The rest of us, however, …
Death gives a slow nod, processing that.
“And does it go both ways?” he asks.
My brows come together. I don’t understand.
“But it must,” he says, more to himself than to me. “Can I make you feel the same sensations you made me feel?”
My eyes go wide. Oh.
“It’s a little different,” I begin, noticing how sharp his features are. He’s hanging onto every word. “I don’t have the same anatomy,” I gesture vaguely to my pelvis, “but generally speaking, yes.”
Death’s eyes light like an inferno. He takes a step forward, intention written into every solemn line of his body. “So you tasted me and gave me pleasure but didn’t stick around long enough for me to return it. I would’ve.” Another ominous step forward. “That I can swear to you.”
By the look in his eyes, I believe it.
He takes another step. “You must ache as I ached—as I still do ache. Let me ease it.”
Ease it?
The thought of my fingers in his fine hair as those supple lips stroke my core—the very ache he speaks of now blooms within me.
“What would you do if I said yes?” The words are out before I can stop them.
Why did I say that?
Now Thanatos prowls forward, his eyes blazing. “Let me show you.”
I nearly trip over my own feet I back up so fast.
I put an arm out. “Wait—wait!” I say.
Very, very reluctantly, he pauses.
My mind is racing. I didn’t mean for him to actually act on the question, though now that the thought is in my head, I can’t get it out.
Who knows what would’ve happened if, right then, two skeletons hadn’t cut across the room, hoisting a chest between them.
I’ve been so focused on the horseman that I forgot about the dead moving around us, but now that I look, I see signs of them everywhere, stacking dishes, carrying crates, wandering down the halls.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Thanatos doesn’t look like he wants to answer.
“Packing,” he bites out.
My eyes move over them again. “Why?”
“Are we not going to finish our previous conversation?” he demands.
“There’s nothing to finish,” I say.
“On the contrary, there is the matter of finishing your pleasure.”
More heat rises to my cheeks. He takes another step forward, as though to resume.
I put my hand up again. “Oh my God, Thanatos, stop. I don’t want that right now!” I say this even as my pussy throbs in protest.
“I disagree,” he says vehemently, as though he can sense it as well. “I think you’ll find that any experience I lack in this I will happily make up for with enthusiasm.”
He thinks I don’t want this because he’s inexperienced? I want to laugh. Being a giving lover far outstrips any inexperience. It’s his eagerness that has me backpedaling. I can feel the power I wrested from him last night now slipping through my fingers, and I’m unwilling to part with it.
“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” I say, throwing out the first excuse I can think of. “And your servants are packing—why are they packing? What’s going on?”
Death might not concede defeat all that easily, but I can see that my words have stopped him—for now.
His jaw clenches. “You have your instincts … and I have mine.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“I need to keep moving.” The confession comes out quiet.
Moving … and killing.
The thought chills my blood.
“Us horsemen were made to travel and destroy,” he continues. “I could snap my fingers and wipe out humanity in less than a day—”
Fear curdles in my chest.
“—but I won’t,” he continues. “That is not the task set before any of us horsemen. All four of us brothers must understand the creatures we are annihilating. That is why I visit each town. Only once I’ve truly come to understand humans can I make my ultimate decision on them.”
I stare at him aghast as it hits me all over again that he holds the power to destroy or save us all. And I am somehow supposed to change his mind.
“But you don’t know anything about us,” I say softly. “You kill a town before you even ride through it.”
“All the same, I must ride through them.” He glances at the walls around us. “And now, you will ride with me too, Lazarus.”
Outside the mansion, a procession of dead wait underneath the midday sun. Dozens more move about the courtyard, their brittle forms loading the final chests of clothing and crates of food and wine into wagons hitched to skeletal horses. All those sun-bleached bones—both human and equine—move as the living might, as though sinew and muscle and flesh held them together rather than magic alone. Some of the undead servants even seem to have their own particular gait, a trait that must’ve carried over from life into death.
They move with alarming efficiency, never tiring and never uttering a word—not that they could, but it makes the whole thing that much eerier.
I shudder as Thanatos comes for me, taking my hand and leading me to his horse. Neither of us speaks as he hoists me onto his dappled steed, though I suck in a breath when he joins me a moment later. The press of his thighs and chest feel equal parts intimate and imprisoning.
Death gives no order to his servants, he simply swings his horse around, then whistles. At the sound, his steed jolts forward, and then we’re charging down the long driveway, the horse’s hooves thundering against the asphalt road.
Ahead of us I can see the thick ring of monstrous foliage that encircles the property.
Thanatos doesn’t slow as we charge towards it, and I brace myself. At the last minute, the plants part like a knife through flesh, and then we’re on the other side.
I glance over my shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the skeletal procession that must be following us, but I can see nothing beyond the broad sweep of Death’s shoulder and folded wing.
It’s only once we’re on the open road that I hear the horseman breathe easy from where he si
ts behind me.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“West,” is his only reply.
That much I actually did know. Death spent the last six months chasing me and Ben through East Texas and a bit of Louisiana. I’m sure he’s more than a little eager to head towards new, untouched land.
The thought has me grimacing.
“Have you ever ridden into a city and simply not killed?” I ask curiously.
“I didn’t harm the city I found you in,” he says.
I’d almost forgotten. “Why didn’t you?”
“I was preoccupied.”
With me, he means.
Goosebumps prick along my skin. That was one of the few times I saw firsthand what sort of power I had over the horseman. Of course, it didn’t much matter to me then because he wouldn’t save Ben. But he did spare that city—if only for a day.
“What if you entered and left a town and didn’t kill all its inhabitants?” I ask.
It’s quiet for a long, drawn out moment. I realize belatedly it’s because Death is looking down at me. I glance up at him only to see his skeptical expression.
“What?” I say defensively.
“I must end life,” he responds. “That’s another one of my instincts.”
“You were the one who mentioned that you horsemen must experience humanity before you make your final decision on ending it,” I say. “Seems like you’re not going to be able to do that unless you let people live long enough to actually understand them.”
He’s still staring at me, but something flickers in his eyes. Is he … is he actually considering my words?
“I don’t always kill immediately,” he says.
“True,” I agree. “But do you actually talk to any humans? Interact with anyone?”
“I interact with you,” he says.
“I’m one person. I don’t think I’m a good example of humanity.”
“You’re wrong,” he says. “You are the best example.”
I swallow. I think he’s trying to give me a compliment.
“There’s so much more than me out there,” I say. But it’s clear that Death is too unbending to try to convince him to leave any town, no matter how small, unscathed.
“What if you let a city live long enough for you to experience more of humanity?” I continue, my words carefully light. I’m terrified that my own eagerness will sabotage even this concession.
“I have wings, Laz. I won’t just fit in,” Death says gruffly.
“That didn’t stop you that night in the hospital,” I say.
“I slipped into your room unseen,” he says.
I sigh. “No one is asking you to fit in,” I say. “You’re a messenger of God. People are aware of your existence.”
There’s a long pause.
“Lazarus,” he finally says, “what you’re proposing is madness.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?” I say. “Neither of us can be killed.”
“No good will come of this,” Death says, his voice solemn.
“Is that a yes?” It sounds like a yes.
He glowers at me, but after a moment he inclines his head.
My heart skips a beat.
This plan of mine might actually work.
Chapter 44
Rosenberg, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
Death not only makes good on his decision, he extends it a step further. The travelers we cross paths with on the road are spared. They stare at the two of us with wide, petrified eyes as we pass.
Wait until you see the procession of dead behind us.
I reach down and thread my fingers through the hand that holds me fast, giving it a squeeze. I hadn’t realized how much this small compromise actually meant to me until now.
Behind me, I feel Death lean in, his lips brushing my ear.
“You like my mercy?” he says softly as, ahead of us, a man turns on his heel and sprints back the way he came.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I say.
He says nothing to that, though his hand squeezes mine back.
We ride in silence until, up ahead, buildings come into view.
A city.
I tense, though I don’t know why I do so. Thanatos isn’t going to destroy anyone. Maybe it’s simply that I haven’t actually hashed out what I should show Death, now that I’ve gotten him to agree to leave this city alive for a time.
We pass more and more people—people who scream, people who run, and people whose fear roots them in place. The only thing they all have in common is their palpable fear.
“Tell me again how this is a good idea?” Death says as he steers his steed off the highway.
“It’ll be fine,” I reassure him.
Now, what human experience should I introduce him to? A restaurant? A shop? A place of worship?
I don’t know.
Once we’re on city streets, we see even more frightened people. Alarmingly, I notice several who are armed. More than one of them places a hand over their sheathed weapons.
“Kismet,” Death says, “if this is what you wanted me to see, I could’ve saved you some trouble. I know this is how humans react to me.”
I exhale. Of course he’s right. People aren’t exactly known for being friendly towards things they don’t understand—things that have already destroyed much of their world—I just assumed that once they saw Death and realized he wasn’t actively trying to hurt them, they’d lose their fear. And to be fair, some people do look curious rather than scared, though they are definitely the minority.
Despite the chilly response, I swing a leg over the saddle.
“What are you doing,” Thanatos demands, his hold tightening around my midsection.
“Getting off your horse—if you’ll let me go.” As I speak, I pry at the horseman’s hand. It doesn’t budge. “You cannot experience humanity atop a horse.”
I sense more than see Death’s grimace. “This is a bad idea, Laz,” he says, his voice low. But he lets me go, and I slip off the horse. Seconds later he’s dismounting as well.
“Now what, kism—?”
“Stop!” someone shouts from behind us.
The sound has me swiveling around.
A line of individuals streams out from behind a faded strip mall down the road. Each of them clutch a bow and a nocked arrow in their hands.
“Don’t move or we’ll shoot!” This comes from the same voice that called out the first time.
Death moves in front of me. “I will do as I please,” he says, his voice carrying down the street.
Bystanders are pinned in place, fearful yet transfixed by the scene unfolding before them.
And this is why my plan was too good to be true. I assumed the best parts of humanity would be at work, but in that assumption was the belief that best meant bloodless and empathetic, when clearly right now it means brave and protective. These people are willing to defend the lives of their community, even against a supernatural entity that cannot be stopped.
“Turn back the way you came,” one of the men instructs, raising his bow in warning.
Unfortunately, turning back is the one thing Death won’t do.
He prowls forward, and with every step he takes, I see my plan slipping further and further from my grasp.
“This is your last warning!” the man shouts.
The line of archers are now poised across the street, their arrows nocked and ready.
I jog forward. “He’s not here to hurt you!” I call out as I catch up to Death.
Well, he’s not planning on hurting anyone yet.
My words fall on deaf ears. I see the lead archer’s hand move, and then he releases the arrow.
I don’t know what I’m thinking. Maybe I’m not. All I have eyes for is that arrow arcing through the air, headed straight for Thanatos. That’s literally it. The sum total of my thoughts.
I lunge for the horseman, crashing into him. He staggers a step, caught by surpri
se.
I hear the soft hiss of the projectile slicing through the wind a split second before it slams into my chest with agonizing force. It rips through flesh as it pierces my breast.
“Lazarus!” Death’s bellow sounds far away as I stagger, choking on my own breath. I stare down at the arrow shaft protruding from my chest.
Forgot … how bad … this hurt.
Just as my legs begin to give out, the horseman catches me. His wings sweep up and around us, shielding me from more arrows. More of them do come, sinking into those wings with soft, sickening sounds.
He ignores them entirely.
“Why did you do that?” he demands, sounding grief-stricken.
I slump in his arms, forcing myself to focus on his face.
Everything feels wrong.
Think they hit my heart.
“Why?” he demands, those pretty eyes of his panicked. The universe really did make Death’s face just right. This truly is the sight I would most want to die to, his heroic face the final memory I take to my grave.
I reach for that face just as I hear more arrows cut through the air. One by one they sink into Death’s wings. Other than the tick in his cheek Thanatos doesn’t react.
But several seconds later, I think I hear the collective thump of a city’s worth of bodies hitting the ground, though I’m not sure if I imagined it. Everything feels so removed from me at the moment.
All there is, is Thanatos, his wings, and the sky far above us. I can feel myself slipping into that abyss that I’ve come to recognize as death. All while Death himself wants me to stay alive.
He reaches for the arrow sticking out of my chest, heedless of the ones that dot his wings. I know what he means to do. I can practically feel the rip of pain even now as I imagine him tearing the projectile out of me.
I place my hand over his. “Take it out … after,” I breathe.
After I die. It’ll hurt less that way. That’s all I can really ask for.
The horsemen’s expression morphs when he realizes what I mean.
“So then I must watch you die and do nothing?” he says. He sounds almost angry.
“I thought … that was … your kink,” I whisper, even as I feel the last of my life slipping … slipping …
Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4) Page 24