“Enough.” Death’s voice echoes in the air.
The revenants fall to the ground, my weapons clattering from a few of their hands. They are all lifeless once more.
I turn just as Thanatos steps over the scattered corpses. He comes to me, and I don’t even have time to protest before he pulls me into his arms.
At first I think he means to fly off with me, and maybe he does, but he hesitates. After a moment, Thanatos whistles, all while holding me in his unyielding grip.
I hear the echo of hooves against asphalt, and then the horseman’s steed charges down the city streets, expertly maneuvering around the strewn bodies. He’s already saddled and ready.
Death gazes down at me with those obsidian eyes, his expression filled with wicked intent. His dapple gray horse slows to a stop next to us, and in one fluid motion, the horseman lifts me onto his mount.
A split second later, Thanatos is hoisting himself up behind me. And then his powerful thighs are hugging mine and his armor-clad chest is digging into my back, the metal unforgiving.
Death wraps a muscled arm around me, pinning me in. He clicks his tongue, and his steed takes off once more, galloping down the road.
We tear through the streets of San Antonio, the buildings and the dead blurring by us.
“You are finally mine,” he says, his words exalted.
They send a strange mixture of dread and excitement through me. How I long to stop this monster. How I have to keep fighting my ridiculous attraction to him.
“I have imagined this moment countless times,” he admits.
He squeezes me close, and oh, I’m definitely getting some hate-fuck energy from Death.
I try not to dwell on Thanatos’s words, but how can I not? He’s clearly been fantasizing about capturing me, and now I’m at his mercy. And I have no idea what he really intends to do with me now, though it probably has something to do with hate-fucking. Pretty sure that one’s on the menu.
After a long, drawn-out silence, I force myself to ask the question that has been plaguing me lately. “What do you feel for me?”
His lips fall to my ear. “Many, many things, Lazarus.”
Definitely wants to hate-fuck me.
My breath hitches at the thought of lying beneath Death, his body driving into mine.
Apparently I’m not completely against the idea either.
Jesus.
We leave San Antonio to the muted sounds of buildings crashing behind us. Then even those sounds drift into silence, and I’m forced to truly face my predicament.
I glance down at the hand holding me fast. On one of his fingers he wears a silver ring, an ancient coin bearing the face of Medusa fixed to it. I just manage to stop myself from touching the strange piece of jewelry.
I’m going to be staring at that hand and that ring in this saddle for a long time if Death has it his way. No more tracking. No more fighting. Just lots and lots of personal time with the horseman.
The thought is enough for me to give escape one last, valiant attempt.
I throw myself violently to the side. Death’s hold on me slips, and for a second, I’m sliding off his steed.
I have no plan and no weapons, but by God, I’m going to be the least cooperative captive there ever was.
Thanatos’s wing sweeps out, battering against me, slowing my fall long enough for the horseman to snatch me by the shirt and drag me back onto his steed, his heavy arm wrapping itself around my waist once more.
He laughs low, the sound drawing out my gooseflesh. “A good, but futile attempt, kismet,” he says. His brings his lips to my ear, his tone turning menacing. “Fight me again, and I will abandon my steed for the skies, and then you will have no choice but to cooperate.”
Memories of the last time Thanatos carried me into the air flash before my eyes. He had held me and then dropped me. I mean, I did stab him, so it’s not like he did it intentionally, but still … I shudder, remembering my fall and the collision, and then the agonizing days that followed.
I will escape you, I silently vow.
But for now … better for Death to think I’ve given up.
I force myself to relax against him. In response, the arm around me grips me more fiercely. From his touch alone the horseman seems to ooze victory.
The bastard.
Even once San Antonio is a distant memory, his horse doesn’t slow, and the chilly air cuts through my clothes. A shiver courses through me, then another and another. Death’s cold armor isn’t helping.
“If this trembling is another plan of yours to seek escape, then trust me, kismet, when I say that I am ready to take to the skies.”
“It’s not a plan,” I say testily. “This is just what happens when humans get cold.”
Behind me, Death is silent for a moment.
Suddenly, he stops his steed, his arm slipping from my waist. I glance over my shoulder to see him unfastening the straps to his armor. He removes a shoulder guard, tossing it to the ground, then a vambrace.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he casts off another piece of his silver armor.
“You’re cold,” he says, undoing the straps of his breastplate. He hauls the thing off, the metal hitting the road with a clang. “I intend to keep you warm.”
I frown, even as an uncomfortable emotion stirs in my belly.
Death removes every last bit of armor, then pulls me back against his chest.
Glorious heat. It’s coming off the man in waves.
“Better?” he whispers against my ear.
So much better.
“You know about body heat but not about shivering?” I say in lieu of thanking him. I can’t find it in me to be grateful to my supernatural kidnapper.
“I may not know the nuances of the human body, but I do know that living flesh is warm and metal can be cold.”
Without a further word, he clicks his tongue and his horse begins moving again. The chill wind whistles through my clothing once more, but pressed against Death, I’m warm.
“So you can raise the dead,” I say, as we pass by several orchards, irrigation canals dug out around the rows of trees. “Why were you given that power?”
“I have all of my brothers’ powers and then some,” he says.
His words chill me to my core.
“You mean to tell me that another horseman can also raise the dead?” I ask, terrified of the prospect.
“Could,” Death corrects me.
“Could?” I echo, trying to piece together what he isn’t saying. “So this other horseman is dead?”
“On the contrary, Lazarus, War is very much alive.” Thanatos says this with no little disdain.
War. War could raise the dead. I … cannot even fathom what that must’ve looked like.
But he doesn’t have these powers anymore? I’m burning with curiosity; there’s clearly so much more to Thanatos and the other riders. And for once, I’m in a position to learn it all, now that I’m stuck in the saddle with the horseman.
“What else can you do?” I ask.
“You will see in time,” Death promises, and wrapped in that promise is another that lingers unspoken between us—
You will be with me, always.
Chapter 22
Pleasanton, Texas
January, Year 27 of the Horsemen
We’ve ridden for several hours when Death turns off the highway and onto an ancient road, the asphalt cracked and pitted.
“Why are we getting off the highway?” I ask. Up until now I’d been able to relax. Now, however, my misgivings are back.
Death doesn’t answer, and my anxiety spikes. What is going on? There doesn’t appear to be any city center anywhere in sight, so I don’t think he’s taken me to wipe out another city.
So, what is he doing?
Eventually, Thanatos turns onto a dirt road that looks as though it was once graveled over; now, however, weeds have sprouted up all over the place, making it difficult to see the narrow pathway.