But there’s another warring desire that keeps me firmly seated in the saddle—Ben. Right now I have this itchy, pressing need to get to him as quickly as I can, even if that means robbing the cities en route of a few extra days of life.
“Lazarus?” Death is still reaching for me, still waiting.
I stare down at one of his armor-clad forearms. A procession of mourners is hammered into the silver metal; I follow the line of those mourners, the design continuing up his vambrace and onto his breastplate.
My gaze moves up to his. “Let’s not stop.”
A line forms between his brows, and he frowns. “But you need rest.” And I don’t want you to think me a monster. I can almost hear those unspoken words of his.
“When night falls,” I say, “we can rest off to the side of the road.”
“No.” There’s iron in his voice.
I still don’t leave the saddle.
“I don’t need fancy houses,” I say. “I just need—you.” That last part slips out.
“Kismet,” he finally says. The word is full of so much breathless hope. His strange, lovely eyes search mine. “I have yearned to hear you say such things. And I have long feared I never would.” His attention drops to my lips, and I can feel his desire to steal a kiss—and more.
The horseman’s gaze returns to my eyes. “I can deny you precious little.” He works his jaw. “Okay,” he says, “I’ll grant you this wish—for now. Tonight, it will be just you and me and the world before us.”
Chapter 53
Harper, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
When we do eventually stop, it is truly out in the middle of nowhere. The land is a patchwork of wild elm trees and grassy expanses and little else.
“You are sure you don’t want to stay inside a house?” Thanatos asks for the twentieth time. The setting sun is casting him in the softest light, and it’s tempering all his hard edges.
“This is fine,” I insist, trying to ignore what the sight of him is doing to me.
He frowns like he doesn’t believe me.
Death unfastens his breastplate, casting it aside. I can see in his starlight eyes that he relishes unburdening himself of it.
Like taking off a bra at the end of the day.
A big-ass, metal bra.
My gaze returns to the breastplate as he works on removing the rest of his armor. On a whim, I move over to the discarded piece of metal, kneeling down next to it so I can study the images hammered into it. There are roses and gravestones and skeletons and a boat drawing people onward. There’s what looks like an egg and a snake eating its own tail. There are crescent moons and spirals, and right over the heart is that image of the woman caught in a skeleton’s embrace.
I run my fingers over the strange and seemingly unrelated images. The longer I stare, the more I find, and I’m so confused by it all.
“What are all these designs?” I say. I’ve seen similar detailing on Death’s saddle.
The horseman tosses aside another piece of armor.
“They’re chthonic images.”
I stare at him blankly.
“Images of death,” he says.
“They don’t all look like death.” Skeletons and graves aside. “There’s an egg on here,” I say.
“That’s the cosmic egg, from which everything was born.”
I frown, staring at the image. “Did everything start from an egg?”
“They are human symbols, kismet, not heavenly ones,” he says, removing the last piece of armor and coming over to my side.
My attention moves away from the egg, towards the image styled over what would be the horseman’s heart, if he were wearing the armor. I trace that unsettling image of the skeleton and the woman wrapped up in each other’s arms. Life and death, the lovers.
“They are inextricably bound in each other,” Death says now, noticing where my attention has wandered.
As I muse on that, Thanatos’s procession of dead arrives at our camp. The skeletons and their wagons encircle us, creating a wall of sorts with their bodies and the carts. Already they’re pulling odds and ends out of the wagon beds, shaking out blankets, uncorking wine, uncovering and lighting lanterns. When they’re finally done setting up, I am left breathless.
I have slept out in the elements before with little more than a pack as a pillow. I know what that is like. What I’ve never experienced is … this.
They’ve covered the ground in blankets and placed lanterns around the edges, giving it a soft, romantic glow against the twilight sky. There’s a tray with travel-friendly food artfully arranged on it, and I try not to think of the skeletal fingers that meticulously placed each item just so.
I believe this is what glamping is.
“You didn’t have to have them set this all up,” I say.
“Yes, Laz,” Thanatos says very seriously, “I did.”
Under the glow of the lanterns, Death looks like a saint, his body and wings dusted by the soft amber light. It glitters in his eyes as well, making them look molten.
For the second time since we stopped, I’ve been caught breathless by the mere sight of him. Has he always affected me this way?
Every last inch of self-preservation within me wants to say yes, but the truth is, this feels different. It’s been feeling different, like my eyes are finally seeing something my heart already knows.
As though he can hear my thoughts, Death moves to me.
“Serious, beautiful Lazarus,” he murmurs. He studies my face like he wants to immortalize it in his mind. “You snatched my loneliness from me,” he breathes, “and I hope you never give it back.”
With that, he kisses me. The horseman’s wings wrap around me until Death is all there is.
I hear every soft sound our lips make, and I feel as though my heart is on blatant display.
The kiss is long and lingering, and when he eventually pulls away, I can see his desire stretched taut like a bowstring.
“Lazarus, what is happening to me? I cannot slake this thirst I have for you.”
My heart pounds harder as I stare up at him. “That’s what it’s like for humans,” I say. When they fall in love. I’m too terrified to utter that last part.
So instead my hands move to Thanatos’s clothing, because physical intimacy is much, much easier than talking about love with my old enemy. I tug on the horseman’s shirt until he helps me lift it over his head.
That’s all the encouragement Death needs. His hands find the collar of my shirt—
Riiiip.
I gasp as he tears the material down the middle, exposing my bra. His hands move for my jeans, but I snatch his wrist before he can destroy these too.
Good jeans are hard to come by.
Under Death’s heated gaze, I remove my boots and socks, then unbutton my pants and step out of them, kicking them aside. The horseman casts off the last of his clothing, leaving him bare—save for the glowing glyphs that cover his body from neck to calf. There are so many that they give the illusion that his insides are nothing more than pure white light.
Thanatos kneels, his long, deft fingers gently peeling away my panties before returning for my bra. That, too, he removes with precision, letting it drop to the ground. Then he scoops me up and carries me to the makeshift bed.
It’s just as he’s laying me down that I notice the clatter of bones and remember the dozens and dozens of skeletons around us.
“I can’t do this with your revenants watching,” I whisper.
Thanatos gives a husky laugh. “Lazarus, they don’t have souls or minds. They cannot comprehend what we do.”
Despite Death’s words, an instant later, the skeletons fall to pieces, their bones clattering as they hit the grass.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, then shiver as the cool night air caresses my skin.
I’m only cold for a moment.
Death drapes himself over me, his wings brushing against our legs. Just when I think
things are about to heat up, the horseman instead places a soft kiss at the hollow of my throat.
“Give yourself to me, Lazarus,” he whispers against my skin.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” I say, my fingers threading themselves in his silky hair.
He laughs against my flesh, where he trails more kisses down my sternum. “I’m not talking about sex.”
“Then what are you talking about?” I ask, feeling suddenly ill at ease.
Slowly Thanatos’s gaze lifts, and when it settles on my own, I see it in his eyes.
I want your love.
He doesn’t say the words, but he doesn’t have to.
I’m shaking my head, my throat closing up. “I can’t.” I barely get the words out.
He took my family from me. He almost took my son from me. I don’t care that he is Death and it’s his job. I don’t even care that he gets no enjoyment from the act. He has still done it, and he will continue to do it. That’s a hard line for me.
“You can’t what?” he says softly.
He’s going to make me say it.
“I can’t love you.”
For an instant, the horseman looks wounded. Then the expression is gone like it never existed at all.
I see his shoulders rise and fall as he takes in a deep breath. “You can’t or you won’t?”
I hesitate.
Thanatos notices.
“Ah, you won’t.” Triumph flashes in his eyes and his lips curve into a cunning smile. “I’m correct, aren’t I?”
I don’t bother denying it.
“Why are you smiling?” I demand instead.
“It would be one thing if you couldn’t love me—that you were incapable of it,” he says. “But you won’t love me, and that is a choice.”
“Exactly.” I’m choosing not to love him.
Why does he still look so pleased?
He answers as though he heard my thoughts. “I don’t need your mind to change, kismet, simply your heart.”
My pulse is climbing. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Your mind is strong, Laz, but your heart is stronger still. All I need to do is convince your heart that this is real and true, and your mind will follow.”
“I still won’t change my mind,” I say stubbornly. He’s seen how long I can hold onto a cause.
Now his expression is downright wicked. “You and I are immortal. Even if it takes centuries, even if you and I are the last creatures in existence, I vow to you this: I will get you to love me—mind, body, and heart.”
Chapter 54
Interstate 10, Southwestern United States
August, Year 27 of the Horsemen
The days sift away like soil through my fingertips and the road stretches on before us. Some days we don’t leave the home we’ve occupied or the camp we’ve made—sometimes we don’t leave our bed at all. Death might have no appetite for food, but he’s nearly insatiable when it comes to sex. I’m hardly better.
I tell myself I’m buying the world a little extra time—or perhaps, if this mad plan actually works, an end to this apocalypse altogether—but the truth is that I’m just as greedy to give into this desire I’ve ignored for months and months.
However, when we do get back in the saddle and continue on, guilt presses in on me. I’m supposed to be encouraging Death to travel as fast as possible to get to my son. Anything less feels like a betrayal to Ben. But not even that guilt is enough for me to change my ways, especially when every extra hour in the horseman’s arms brings me that much closer to convincing him to stop the killing.
And so Death and I travel at a slow, leisurely pace.
The farther west we head, the more the cities thin out. This part of the country is truly empty. Just miles and miles of harsh desert. It’s a sharp, strange landscape, empty of color save for the low-lying shrubs and the blue sky above me—though even these, too, seem to be muted, as though the sun bleached it all of color.
I long for the verdant land where I grew up.
We still rest in homes if we come across them, but Death has had to give up on his quest to house me in sprawling estates. The truth is, this bone-dry earth is too harsh to make much of a living on. Based on what little evidence I’ve seen, the only steady occupation in these parts comes from the ranchers and cowboys who drive wild herds of cattle across the plains, and they are not living like kings.
Of the houses we do pass, most of them are left over from the time before the horsemen. As the sun begins to set, we stop at one of these abandoned dwellings. It’s a weather-worn, dull thing; the sun has bleached its bones and the home’s well has long since dried up. The inside is full of fine dirt and a couple of frightened lizards.
I move through it as I have a hundred houses before. I notice some peeling wallpaper, a broken television, a few ripped children’s books, and some glow-in-the-dark stars that must’ve once been on the ceiling but now lie scattered on the ground.
I pause and really take it all in. A quarter of a century has gone by since this house was affected by the horsemen’s arrival. The child who read those books or stared up at those stars is now an adult—if, in fact, they are still alive. An entire generation—my generation—grew up with our lives upended. And the next generation might not grow up at all.
I hear Death’s footsteps from down the hall.
“I don’t want to stay here.” My voice comes out like a croak.
He pauses in the bedroom’s doorway. “Alright, kismet.”
It’s as simple as that. Five minutes later we are back on Thanatos’s horse.
Behind us, the house collapses. It feels like an old, worn-out dream finally crumbling for good—something sad but long overdue.
I force my mind from the family that once lived there. I have too many ghosts that haunt me already.
I really don’t need any more.
I’ve heard that humans can get used to just about any situation. I don’t know if that’s true, but I have gotten used to this way of life—traveling, then camping, then traveling some more.
I’ve even gotten used to Death’s and my … relationship.
“Tell me another secret,” I say, leaning back on the blankets that cover the ground. A plate of food and wine sits off to the side, and around us the skeletons and their wagons have circled our campsite.
Thanatos lays on his side, wearing only his pants. His tattoos illuminate all the sharp planes of his face.
“Hmm …” He’s been trailing his fingers over my features, but now his hand moves to the buttons of my shirt. “I won’t tell you a secret,” he says, “but I will show you one.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Thanatos unbuttons my shirt then and slides it off my arms. Then he removes my bra. Then my pants—then his.
A laugh slips out. “What are you doing?” I ask. There is nothing about this that is much of a secret between us anymore.
Death finishes undressing me, then pulls me into his arms. He wraps my legs up around his waist, locking us in this intimate embrace.
“You’ve shown me how humans have sex,” he says, lifting me as he rises off the bed. His black wings spread wide behind him. “Now it’s time I show you how angels do it.”
No sooner has he spoken than he leaps into the air. His wings beat at his back, each powerful stroke bringing us higher and higher into the chilly night sky.
I cling to Thanatos, my arms wrapped around his neck and my cheek pressed to his. The horseman’s dark hair tickles my skin. It doesn’t matter that Death has flown with me in his arms before, my fear still rises. The earth is a long way down.
“Relax,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”
I try to, I really do, but then the heavens rumble around us as a storm rolls in, and I tighten my grip.
“Lazarus, I’ve got you,” he says, running a hand up and down my back. “I swear it.”
Reluctantly, I loosen my grip on him. I manage to even pull my face aw
ay when the sky flashes. For a moment, that skull superimposes itself over Thanatos’s features. Then it’s gone.
“Your face …” I trail off. I’ve seen this several times before, but it never gets less unsettling.
“Life and death are lovers, kismet,” he whispers, shifting my hips to align us. “We are lovers. It has always been this way. It will always be this way.”
With that, Thanatos drives into me. A gasp slips out as I grip him harder. There’s nothing to hold onto but Death himself, and it’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating.
His cock stretches me, and has anything ever felt so good?
“I want to hear your moans, kismet,” he breathes against my ear.
When I don’t immediately reply, his lips drop to one of my breasts. He kisses it hard, his teeth grazing against my nipple.
Now I do moan, shifting my legs a little to better accommodate him. He drives into me again and again while, at his back, his wings pound against the wind. He feverishly guides his cock in and out, in and out.
“Thanatos.” I moan his name.
“There is nothing better than being buried in your tight warmth,” he says. He kisses the underside of my jaw. “I want to fill you up with me and make sure you never forget that I was here.”
I pull his lips to mine and steal a kiss, one of my hands tangling in his hair.
Angel sex is wild.
One of Death’s hands slip between the seam of my ass, until his fingers are touching that other hole.
Breaking off the kiss, I go tense in his arms. The action causes Thanatos’s cock to jerk.
He makes a pained noise. “Relax, kismet. You can tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” He waits for me to do so.
A part of me considers it, but another part of me is far too curious to stop things now.
When I say nothing, one of Death’s fingers presses against my back entrance until it gives way.
I suck in a breath, even as the pressure somehow coils up within me. Each thrust of his becomes much more sensitive.
“I can’t believe this was your idea,” I say.
In the darkness, I can see the gleam of the horseman’s dark eyes as he takes in my expression. “Next time, it can be yours.”
Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4) Page 31