Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4)

by Laura Thalassa

  The thought of sheathing myself on him has my core aching despite the fact that I am sore. Instead of acting on the impulse, I slide my hands over the horseman’s arms, touching his countless markings. My eyes keep coming back to them, these glowing glyphs that cover almost the entirety of his body. They start low on his neck and drip down his arms and torso, only tapering off near his hands and ankles.

  “What are these?” I ask, tracing one. My finger tingles a little as I make the shape.

  Death gazes down at me, his eyes intense. “They are my most innate language—Angelic.”

  “Angelic,” I echo, staring at them. I think I understood that from the very first time I saw them, and yet I hadn’t actually considered what that meant.

  My fingers move from his arms to his chest. “What do they say?”

  “Many things, kismet, but mostly, they speak of creation … and destruction.”

  A shiver races through me. There’s so much writing—his entire body is painted with it. The glow from all of them is making the bathwater luminous.

  “Can you read me some of them?”

  He stares at me. “These words are not for human ears.”

  Go figure. I trace a particularly unusual one.

  “However,” he continues, “you are not quite human either, are you, Lazarus?”

  My eyes snap to his. Death stares at me with such naked longing. We’ve tasted and touched each other—there should be nothing left to long for. But it’s there, in his eyes.

  He holds my gaze. “Inwapiv vip jurutav pua, uwa epru juriv petda og ruvawup keparip pufip hute. Ojatev uetip gurajaturwa, oraponao uetip hijaurwa. Reparu pue peyudirwit petwonuv, uwa worjurwa eprao fogirwa. Uje urap haraop pirgip.”

  I close my eyes, my fingers digging into Death’s skin as he speaks. I begin to tremble because I feel those words, though I don’t understand them, and I swear they’re strangling me from the inside out even though I can also sense their sanctity.

  Death translates. “I am the last of my kind, and I bring with me every manner of malady to plague humankind. Their fields shall blacken, their creatures shall flee. Mortals will quake before my name and all will fall to my touch. For I will end the world.”

  When I open my eyes, I see the horseman for what he is—death. And I feel that stillness around us, the one that I have gotten so used to since being with him, and I once again smell the scent of frankincense and myrrh, even though the water should’ve rinsed most of it away.

  “Yes, you understand, don’t you?” he says quietly. “I am no man.”

  I swallow. “Tell me something else,” I say softly.

  His eyes flick to mine. “You want to know more?” he says.

  “I want to know everything about you,” I admit. And it’s the truth, even if it’s an echo of Death’s own words.

  I want to learn about him the same way he wants to learn about me.

  Thanatos’s eyes gleam. I think he’s actually moved by my answer.

  After a moment, he says, “Ask, and I will answer as best I can.”

  I’m supposed to pick a question? I don’t even know where to begin.

  I settle for, “Why me?”

  He scrutinizes me. “You mean, why, out of the millions of people alive, are you the one who is here, at my side?”

  I nod.

  “Can you not see for yourself how exceptional you are?” he says, tilting his head.

  My gaze dips, and I trace a glyph on one of his pecs, leaving little droplets of water in my wake.

  “I mean, I can’t die,” I say, “and I get how that makes me special, but why was I given even that ability? There’s nothing particularly extraordinary about me.” I’m a shitty marksman, I was a mediocre student despite my best efforts, and while I was a decent athlete, I never stood out. I’ve never actually stood out for anything—deathlessness aside.

  Death reaches up, the water lapping around us. He strokes my cheek. “If you could see yourself through my eyes, you would think differently, kismet. The woman who worked valiantly to stop me—who fought and died again and again to protect her kind—I have met countless souls, and I can tell you firsthand that none of them have proven their worth in such a way.

  “But even if you don’t see yourself as exceptional, I do, and the universe must as well, or else you never would’ve ended up in my clutches.” He reaches down and squeezes my ass to emphasize his point.

  I yelp a little, and much to my shock, Thanatos throws his head back and laughs.

  I drink in his amusement, mesmerized by the sight of him. I’m so used to Death’s solemnity that, when he laughs, he transforms into someone else entirely. I find I want to get to know this part of him much, much better.

  Even once Death stops laughing, the laughter doesn’t leave his eyes. “Every single one of us horsemen was given a woman. You are mine.”

  “Given?” I echo, grimacing. I take issue with that phrasing.

  He laughs again at my expression, the sound of it—

  This is what euphoria sounds like.

  “You look about the same as I did when I learned this. If it makes you feel any better, I was given to you as well.”

  The literal embodiment of death was given to me as a husband? That should sound terrifying, but right now, straddled on his lap with his absurdly pretty face mere inches from mine, I am not nearly as disappointed as I should be.

  I clear my throat. “That does not make me feel better,” I lie.

  “Mmm …” he murmurs pensively, “then perhaps this will.”

  Before I can respond, he lifts me, but only for a moment. Then he brings my hips down, driving himself into my tight sheath.

  I gasp. So much for Thanatos holding back.

  My fingers dig into his skin where I clutch him. “Are you really going to use sex to make—?”

  The horseman cuts me off with a kiss, and yes, he does in fact use sex to make me feel better.

  And damn that bastard, but it works, too.

  Chapter 49

  Hallettsville, Texas

  July, Year 27 of the Horsemen

  Neither of us leave the master suite for days. Now and then a skeleton brings in food and water—none of which Death partakes in. Other than that, all of our needs are encapsulated in the four walls around us.

  Every so often the horseman’s full regalia appears on his body by some invisible hand. It’s never on him for very long before he casts it off again. Even his torch makes an appearance, the scented smoke giving the room a cloying, perfumed smell.

  The days blur together. But, the more time goes by, the more frenetic the sex with Death becomes and the more often it occurs. It seems he’s desperate to drive off his need to travel by leaning into his need for me.

  I don’t know what day it is when I slide out of the horseman’s clutches and venture into the closet. I can feel his heated gaze on me as I look through the clothing, picking out a white shirt and a pair of jeans that I don’t hate.

  Death doesn’t say anything until I’ve finished putting on the clothes and reach for a pair of boots.

  “Where are you going?” he asks lazily, his eyes beckoning me back to him. It’s almost enough to convince me to rejoin him in bed.

  “My pussy needs a break, Thanatos.” How many times has he slid into me today? Five? Six? More? I have been wrung dry of orgasms and it’s still the morning. At this point, I need to ice my vagina.

  “Do you ache?” Death says. “Come here, kismet. I will soothe it.”

  I know exactly how he plans on doing that.

  I give him a look, even as I nab a pair of socks and begin putting them on. “I know you need to travel again. No amount of sex will change that.”

  He frowns. Whatever his reasons are, Death is trying to stave off his duty. I doubt it’s because he has some bleeding heart for humankind—but I am moved by it all the same.

  Still, just like many other aspects of this horseman, I cannot keep up with his sexual appetite. Not when it�
�s in overdrive like this.

  “I don’t want this to end,” he admits.

  I give him an odd look. “It won’t.”

  “But it will. I will carve a path through the next several towns and you will witness it all, and you will remember that beneath every gentle touch we have shared, you still hate me.”

  I swallow. I can feel the truth in his words.

  “Why does that even matter?” I ask, grabbing one boot and pulling it on.

  “I don’t want you to hate me.”

  I stare back at him, unsure what to say. One moment he’s omnipotent, and the next he’s vulnerable.

  This is your chance. The one Death’s brothers were hoping for when they struck that deal with me. Death doesn’t want me to hate him; there’s an easy way to do that—

  “Don’t kill the next town, then,” I say.

  His black feathers ruffle a little. “You know I cannot.”

  I didn’t expect him to say anything different.

  “Then at least hold off on the killing until you have moved through the town and seen what life is like,” I say, focusing on putting on my other boot so that I don’t have to look at him.

  “Kismet, I’m not doing that again.”

  I glance up at Death just in time to catch him staring at my chest, right where that arrow pierced me. I get the uncanny feeling that he’s remembering how I dove in front of him, and how he held me as I died.

  “You wanted me to catch a glimpse of humanity,” Death continues. “I caught it—it’s the same glimpse I always see. They want me dead and they don’t mind hurting you to accomplish that.”

  My throat thickens with emotion. He’s being protective of me. Context aside, it feels good to be cared about.

  “Thanatos,” I say softly, “if everyone was truly like that, I wouldn’t be fighting for our survival.”

  He gives me a penetrating look. “No,” he reluctantly agrees, “you wouldn’t.” After a moment, he adds, “And you’re right, not all humans are like that.” He studies my face for a moment.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he nods. “I can deny you little. Just please don’t make me regret this.”

  I move through the house like a specter, Death at my side, my eyes skimming over the few southwestern-style decorations the skeletons didn’t remove from the home. But I’m not really seeing any of it, not when my senses are more focused on the metallic scrape of Death’s armor and the quieter rustle of his wings. His presence, even now, has my flesh prickling. It was so much easier in the bedroom, when skin met skin and we simply gave into the tension between us.

  Now, however, … Thanatos was right to be nervous. I have no idea how to act or feel around him.

  We cross the entryway, where revenants are already streaming in and out of the house, lugging barrels and boxes in their bony arms. The previously broken front door is propped open, its previously ripped out hinges repaired and reattached. As I catch sight of what lies beyond the open doorway, I suck in a breath.

  What in the hell?

  I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing, not until I actually step outside, the horseman at my back.

  The last time I laid eyes on the house, I could see the terracotta-colored walls quite clearly. Now, they’re hidden beneath thick layers of dead vines.

  “What is all this?” I ask.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the light getting dimmer over the last several days,” Thanatos says at my back.

  No, I actually hadn’t. Just as I hadn’t noticed the home’s decorations. This is just one more thing I’ll have to file away under “Shit Lazarus Doesn’t Notice When She’s Boning a Hot Dude.”

  But I’m not about to tell the horseman that.

  I give Death a wide-eyed look. “Were you trying to keep me locked in here?”

  “You think that’s what I’ve been doing this entire time?” he says, mirth in his eyes. He steps in close. “Kismet, there are a thousand ways I could force you to stay at my side. Why would I even bother intentionally sealing you inside this house when seducing you has proven to be far more successful—and pleasurable?”

  I stiffen at that particular word. Seducing. I’m supposed to be seducing him, not the other way around. He’s just supposed to be blithely enjoying himself and dumbly falling under my spell. But to think that he’s been trying to seduce me? I don’t like that. Not one bit.

  Thanatos continues, “I allowed myself to unleash my powers when I was inside you. That,” he nods to the dead vines, “is merely evidence of it.”

  I face the vast front yard once more. I can’t see much—the vines have wound themselves into a makeshift wall in front of me, though it’s been cut away at. Death’s servants must’ve battered through it to gain access outside.

  I step forward, my boots crunching over more dead vines and leaves that litter the ground.

  It’s only once I get past the thick wall of vegetation that I notice bones scattered along the ground. They’re everywhere—some of them even have grotesque, fleshy bits still attached to them. They’re not moving—not like the other revenants that I can see even now in the driveway. Many of these bones don’t even look human. They do, however, smell God awful.

  I put the back of my hand to my mouth.

  Death steps up to my side. “As I said, I unleashed myself.”

  He walks past me, whistling for his horse, as though that’s all that needs to be said on the subject. I stare after him. He literally brought the dead back to life when he fucked me. I’m … going to need some aftercare for that one.

  Death’s steed trots over from the back of the house, and the horseman looks over his shoulder at me, waiting.

  I take a deep breath and head over. I don’t look at Thanatos when I get to his side; instead, I pull myself into the saddle. Out here, beyond the vines that encircle the mansion, dozens of skeletons are loading up waiting wagons.

  Thanatos hoists himself into the saddle behind me. He’s been eerily calm, considering his earlier anxiety, but now that he is pressed against me, I can feel his body trembling with the need to move.

  Still, he pauses. “I want to stay here forever and forget everything else that gets in the way of this,” he admits.

  But he cannot.

  Yet, bones and vines aside—

  “I do, too,” I say quietly. Here, the world was not on fire. Here we were just lovers.

  Death’s arm settles around me, holding me tight. He clicks his tongue and his horse takes off, galloping down the long driveway.

  Despite our sentimental words, neither of us looks back.

  We’ve only ridden about five miles or so down the road, when a realization hits me, robbing me of breath.

  Death and I have been having sex.

  Sex.

  That comes with repercussions, repercussions I’ve ignored up until now because I’ve been too caught up in the horseman himself.

  Feel like someone kicked me in the chest.

  “Do you want children?” I ask carefully.

  Death has been idly stroking my thigh up until now. At my words, his fingers pause.

  “Why do you ask, kismet?” he says.

  That’s not a no. There is, however, a note in his voice … one I can’t place.

  “We’re having sex,” I’m trying to control the panic in my voice. It’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine. “Sex leads to children.” I can barely hear my own words over the pound of my heartbeat. I can’t even say what I’m particularly petrified of.

  “No,” he says softly, “it doesn’t. Not with me.”

  It doesn’t?

  I let out a shuddering breath. No children. I can rest easy.

  Then I remember something else.

  “But your brothers have families.”

  “Ah,” Death says, understanding. “You think because they can get women pregnant that I can too?”

  I mean … can’t he?

  “Is it possible?” I say.

  Thanatos
is quiet for a long moment before answering. “Technically, yes. But I reign over death, kismet. That includes preventing the conception of life.”

  I glance back at the horseman, open my mouth, then shut it again before facing forward once more. Alright. The man is shooting blanks. Got it.

  I take a deep breath. “So I cannot get pregnant,” I say. I just need some affirmation.

  “Not without my allowing it,” he says.

  Allowing it?

  So he can choose whether or not to be fertile? I make a face because that is way more information than I’m ready to process.

  “And you won’t allow it,” I say. Just so we’re absolutely clear.

  “I won’t,” he agrees.

  I exhale, relaxing against the horseman once more.

  Well, that’s one less thing to worry about at least.

  After a long moment, Death asks, “Do you want children?”

  “I already have a child,” I say.

  “But would you want more? Would you want … my children?”

  For several seconds, all either of us hear is the steady clop of his horse’s hooves.

  “Lazarus?” he prods.

  “No,” I admit.

  At my back, I feel Death go preternaturally still.

  “No?” he echoes. “Why not?” Again, something enters his voice, but I cannot tell what.

  “Because you’re hell-bent on killing the world, and that makes you the absolute worst choice for a father,” I say.

  “Heaven-bent,” he corrects icily.

  Is he offended? Why? He literally just told me that the last thing he wants is kids.

  I clear my throat. “It doesn’t matter anyway because like you said, it’s not happening.”

  A tense silence falls over us. Despite all of his proud proclamations, I get the impression that the mighty Thanatos is actually hurt by my answer.

  What a thought.

  Chapter 50

  Dripping Springs, Texas

  July, Year 27 of the Horsemen

  We head north, retracing our long ago steps through Austin.