My knife slashes down his throat with the movement.
Death curses, snatching the blade from my hand and tossing it away. Then once more he pins me down by the neck.
Now he’s the one looming over me, the blood from his wound dripping onto my lips and chin. The moment I taste the iron tang of it, I begin struggling again.
“Foolish woman,” he hisses. “You should’ve slit my throat before I woke.”
I know.
He waits for me to stop struggling, staring down at me with eyes that seem to glitter.
“Killing me won’t stop anything. You cannot save your people,” he says, his weight bearing down on me.
“Not forever,” I agree, “but I’m going to make you work for each one of those deaths.”
He practically growls out his displeasure, his feathers ruffling at his back. “Leave it be,” he says. “I am not interested in battling you.”
I lift my chin. “Then stop the killing.”
His nostrils flare, and maybe it’s my imagination, but the horseman actually looks vexed.
“Do you think I want to be here? That I like riding through cities and doing this?”
“If you don’t like doing it, then that’s all the more reason to stop.”
He scowls, looking fierce. “People go when it’s their time, kismet, and it’s not my place to make exceptions.”
I’ve had about enough of this.
I strike out at him. “It’s—not—our—time.” Each word is punctuated by a swing of my fist or a thrust of my boot.
My attack is messy, and the horseman dodges each blow, but that doesn’t stop me from continuing to swipe at him. I swear to his sanctimonious god I’m going to claw out those stupid eyes of his.
He leans away, managing to keep just out of reach. “You think to hurt me again, mortal? You forget who I am.”
Death doesn’t bother squeezing my neck and yet—and yet …
My back arches and my eyes widen as pain lashes through me.
What are you doing? I try to say, but the sensation robs me of breath.
Feels like … like I’m withering away. Like my life is being sucked from my flesh.
I stare up into Death’s eyes as he takes my life. That must be what he’s doing. I feel the years peeling away from my bones and I’m being devoured from the inside out. I try to scream, but it comes out as a strangled cry.
The longer the horseman stares down at me, the more his expression changes, his brows pinching together in confusion. That somber fa?ade of his gives away and his chest rises and falls faster and faster. Now I reach for the hand wrapped around my neck and try to pry it loose.
I’m impossibly weak—far too weak to remove Death’s grip on me. I choke on my own breath. Next time I catch this monster I’m definitely stabbing him before he wakes.
All at once Death gives a frustrated shout. He releases me then, casting himself as far away as he can get.
“Why did you do this?” he demands, looking heavenward. “I don’t want to feel like this.”
I lay there, trying to draw in air.
He swings himself out of the cart then, moving around it to get to his horse, preparing to flee from me once more.
As he passes me, he pauses, his eyes moving to mine. He takes me in, looking disturbed by what he sees.
“I’m sorry,” he says, the words clipped.
“Don’t be,” I wheeze out. “Next time we meet, I fully plan on gutting you alive.”
And this time I won’t let my damned conscience get in the way.
Chapter 13
Cincinnati, Ohio
November, Year 26 of the Horsemen
Grave-robbing is a deplorable act. Unfortunately for me, I’ve been forced to resort to it.
I press a handkerchief to my nose as I reach into the pocket of a bloated corpse, “So … fucking … disgusting.”
I knew the dead smelled, but I had never realized just how putrid every single thing about decomposition could be. Not until I started encountering cities of dead.
This body in particular is grotesquely swollen.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to the man, “but I need you to give—up—your—wallet.” I jerk on the object in question, which doesn’t want to come out of the swollen corpse’s pocket.
“Lazarus.”
I nearly fall face-first into the corpse at the sound of my name echoing in the air.
I know that voice.
It’s been only a little over a week since I last heard it, but it feels like I confronted him only yesterday.
Dropping my handkerchief, I grab my bow and draw an arrow, swiveling around.
There, less than a block away, standing among the rubble of the razed town is the horseman.
My breath catches at the sight of him. Clad in his silver armor and shrouded by his black hair and wings, he looks every bit the dark deity he is.
I aim my weapon at his chest. How long has he been standing there watching me?
Death’s gaze drops to my bow. “Your weapon won’t protect you, kismet.”
“What are you doing here?” I demand. I’m breathing faster than I should, surprise making me jittery.
“You’ve been following me,” he states.
My heart is pounding like mad. I could shoot him now. I’d probably miss, but you never know.
The horseman prowls forward, the tips of his wings dragging along the ground.
“Keep your distance,” I warn.
“Do you really think your bow scares me?” he asks.
“I will shoot.”
“Ah, so it’s you who is scared.” He tilts his head. “Did you not like my touch?”
I think he’s deliberately trying to frighten me, and damn him, but it’s working. Even now I’m remembering how, beneath his hand, it felt as though my life was leaking out through my pores.
“Why were you waiting for me?” I demand.
“Why are you chasing me?” he fires back.
I frown at that. “You already know why. You must be stopped.”
“Must I?” he responds, coming ever closer. “Perhaps it is you who needs to be stopped.”
I need to shoot him. I don’t know why I haven’t released my arrow yet.
“Is that why you’re here?” I ask, my gaze flicking to our surroundings before returning to him. “Because you wanted to stop me?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.
A chill courses through me when I realize I am the only person he can really talk to. I don’t know the nuances of his power, but wherever he goes he kills. Perhaps I am the only person he has ever spoken to.
“You cannot change my mind about coming after you,” I say.
“Who said anything about changing minds?” His gaze sweeps down my body and back up to my face, assessing me. Only, his eyes linger for a beat too long on my mouth, and when they finally do rise to meet my gaze, there are so many emotions in those eyes. I feel like if I stare too long, I’ll fall into them and drown.
“You and I are fated to endure one another,” the horseman says softly as he moves towards me; he’s now no more than ten feet away.
“Don’t come any closer,” I say. “I mean it.”
Reluctantly, Death does stop.
I look him over the same way he did me. I hate that I find everything about him beautiful—from that ancient, tragic face to those strange wings, to his massive frame and his intricate silver armor. It all calls to me.
The corner of his mouth lifts as he watches me scrutinize him.
“What’s your name?” I ask, keeping my arrow aimed at his chest. “Or do you only go by Death?”
“Oh, I have many names.” His gaze returns to my lips, and a muscle in his jaw flexes.
“And what are they?”
“Anubis. Yama. Xoltol. Vanth. Charon. Mors. Mara. Azrael—and many, many others.” His eyes flick to mine. “But for you, Thanatos.”
Chapter 14
Cincinnati, Ohio
November, Year 26 of the Horsemen
“Thanatos,” I echo, letting my guard down for a moment.
He must sense it because he smiles and his eyes burn. The horseman—Thanatos—takes another step forward, and I tense all over again.
“I will shoot you.”
“Then shoot me already,” he challenges.
He doesn’t believe me?
I release the arrow. The projectile glances off his armor and clatters to the ground mere feet away.