His face is solemn as he takes me in. He draws in a deep breath, still staring at me.
Before I can fidget under the scrutiny, my skin begins to tingle. The sensation makes my body feel antsy, restless, like I need to get up and move about. The gaping wound in my abdomen feels warm—and … itchy.
“What are you doing?” I gasp out.
“Healing you.”
Healing me?
“You can do that?” I say, still half distracted by the slew of sensations coursing through me.
I thought he only knew how to kill.
Though his face is as solemn as ever, his eyes seem to smile when he looks at me. “I can do many things, Lazarus.”
Why would Death be given the power to heal? And on that subject—
“Why are you healing me?”
He doesn’t answer, just tightens his jaw and concentrates on my stomach.
My gaze returns to that strange couple on his armor. Now I do reach out and trace a finger over what I can see of the skeleton.
Thanatos’s gaze drops to my finger.
“Death and life, caught in an eternal embrace,” he explains.
“They look like lovers,” I whisper.
“They are lovers.” His eyes find mine, and I swear they can see straight to my soul.
I swallow delicately, dropping my hand. His own hand still clasps my cheek, and now I really can feel my flesh stitching itself back together.
“What are you going to do with me?” I ask. “Once you heal me?”
His jaw tightens just the slightest. “I have respected you, Lazarus,” he says, staring intently down at me. “Since that first time you came for me, I’ve respected you. I understand placing duty before all else.”
His expression shifts, heat blazing in his eyes. “But things have changed.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, even as the warm, tingling sensation presses against the underside of my skin, continuing to heal my many wounds.
His fingers trail down from my cheek, one of them tracing my lips. “I think you know.”
I want to lose myself in you, his eyes seem to say.
I suck in a breath.
“I’m not going with you,” I say.
“Oh, but you are.”
I stare up at him for a moment longer, and then, all at once, I’m dragging myself out of his arms and away from his healing touch. And despite his words, the horseman does let me go.
I have to bite back a curse at how much everything still aches.
I stagger to my feet.
Across from me, Death’s eyes burn. “You’re still hurt,” he says softly. “Wounded and weak and aching for my touch.”
“No,” I breathe, the words barely audible.
Slowly, Thanatos stands, his gaze fixed on me. He’s never looked at me with such intensity. Not when he hurt me, not when he killed me, and not when I did the same to him.
No, this ferocity seems to be driven by a different—deeper—emotion than anger.
“Return to me, kismet. Let me heal those wounds and soothe that ache.”
The guttural way he says ache … I’m no longer thinking about my wounds.
I shake my head and back up.
Death’s wings spread wide. He takes one ominous step towards me, that look still in his eyes.
That’s all it takes for me to turn on my heel and flee. I’ve run from the horseman before. Today is no different.
Only it is.
I’m tripping over debris, huffing from the pain, but I eventually stumble out of the partially collapsed building.
Holding my stomach, I turn to face the multistory structure just as Thanatos steps onto a gaping window high above me, the few remaining glass shards in the pane crunching beneath his boots. A moment later, he steps off, his wings billowing behind him.
He lands on the ground softly, his gaze locked on mine.
I stagger backwards as he strides forward. My heart is racing because that look in his eyes is still there.
“Thanatos, what are you doing?” I ask. Not five minutes ago, he was being painfully kind. Now he looks possessed.
“Enough of these games, Lazarus,” he says, closing in on me, his expression unnerving.
Games? Nothing about this is a game to me. I’ve died numerous times in the last week alone.
I back up, trying to keep some distance between us.
“Stay away from me,” I say.
“Stay away?” Death’s mouth curves up. “But I thought you wanted me? All those months you spent tracking me.” He opens his arms wide. “Here I am.”
I stare at him for a long moment, feeling completely unbalanced.
This is not how the script between us goes.
Thanatos’s eyes narrow, and his arms lower back to his sides. “You made a mistake, Lazarus,” he says, taking another step forward. “You assumed this whole time you were the one hunting me down. Have you ever considered the possibility that I might’ve set my sights on you? That this whole time I might’ve been luring you in, discovering and learning your mind?”
I continue to move away from him, my heart pounding like mad.
“Why do you think I travel the way I do?” he says. “Criss-crossing your land is not easier than riding straight through it.”
My heart beats madly. I’d always wondered about this, but now that he’s giving me an answer, I find I don’t like it.
“But you’ve always traveled that way—even from the beginning,” I protest.
“I have … warring urges, kismet,” he says. Another step forward.
I’m shaking my head. What he’s suggesting is ridiculous. “The first time we met, you ran from me,” I insist. I know he did.
“I ran from the one persistent desire I have for you,” he says. Another step forward. He looks like a man possessed. “Go ahead,” he urges, “ask what that desire is.”
I keep my mouth shut, my heart jackhammering against my chest. He’s upended all my assumptions of him.
When I don’t answer, Death continues, “I have wanted to take you from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he says. “It was the first human urge that ever rivaled my need to kill.”
I’m backing up just as he’s slowly prowling towards me.
“I have enjoyed our encounters far too much for my own good,” he adds, “but I’m just about done playing.”
Need to get out of here now.
I turn on my feet and begin jogging away, a hand pressed to my stomach against the tugging pain I feel there.
“You think to flee from me, Lazarus?” he calls out. “You, a mortal woman, and me, death incarnate?”
“Yes!” I shout.
I mean, he asked.
Behind me, Thanatos laughs. The sound sends a chill down my spine.
“Everyone tries to outpace me,” he calls out. “Everyone. But no one can outmaneuver me. Not even you.”
I’m no longer jogging, I’m now running, my pace quickening with every step.
“So run, my kismet—I’ll even give you a head start. But make no mistake: I will catch you. Your time is running out.”
Chapter 19
San Antonio, Texas
January, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I can’t say how many times I’ve glanced over my shoulder over the last three days, sure I’m going to see the horseman right behind me. And the few times I’ve encountered hoof beats, I’ve panicked, sure it was Death astride his horse.
But the road and sky remain empty of the horseman. Perhaps Death’s threat wasn’t so urgent. After all, he’s made similar promises in the past, and yet here I am, alive and alone.
The people seated around me in the bustling restaurant eye me with distrust and more than a little distaste.
My hair is unbrushed, my body unwashed, my recently-lifted clothes are ragged and ill-fitting, and the belt that holds my new dagger is far too big. In my haste to get away from Death, I didn’t have time to do much more than take these few items from the dead I passed on my way out of Austin. All I have left to my name are a few stray bills in my pocket—also swiped from the dead—and my mother’s ring.
I’m usually better prepared than this. I’m also usually less spooked.
Just as I take a bite of my scone, I catch the eye of a young woman sitting with her friend. She looks repulsed by me.
I lift my cup of coffee and salute her. She looks away quickly.