Resting on it are several steaming dishes and two place settings—one at the end of the table and one adjacent to it.
Death releases my hand, letting me make my way into the room. My fingers drag along the table’s smooth surface. I glance back at the horseman, only to find him watching me, his eyes caressing me like a touch.
“How did you learn about cooking?” I ask, gesturing to the dishes set out. Technically, this is far more than just cooking. Every platter of food seems to be perfectly catered, and the table settings have been arranged with precise care.
Death lifts his chin. “Does it please you?” he asks curiously.
There’s that question again.
“Does it matter?” I whisper, afraid to tell him the truth—that this far surpasses any expectation I had.
“You already know the answer to that, Lazarus,” he says.
I can’t seem to look away from him. He’s mesmerizing.
He nods towards the table. “Go ahead,” he finally says.
I do. I make my way to the proffered seat, and after a moment’s hesitation, I pull the chair out and sit down.
Only then does Death move, silently making his way towards the remaining place setting at the end of the table. It’s only now that I notice his chair back has been cut away.
The horseman pulls the seat out, his wings lifting just the slightest so that he can situate himself into it comfortably.
A week ago I was beginning to look into traveling overseas with Ben. Two days ago I was sure my son would die. A day ago I bargained my life away for his. And today I was taken by the angel of death for the second time in my life.
And now I’m sitting at a table with him, about to eat a meal like any of this is normal.
I look over the spread of food. There’s bread and cheese, but there’s also a tossed salad and a creamy pasta and stuffed peppers and breaded chicken.
“Who made this?” I ask.
Death’s eyes slide to a nearby door. It’s closed, but as I watch, the knob turns and a skeleton steps out, carrying an open bottle of wine.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say as the thing moves over to us. “A dead person made this food? Tell me I’m wrong.”
The horseman gives me a curious look. “You’re not.”
My gaze moves over the dishes. “How?” How did a mindless skeleton make all this?
As I speak, the skeleton pours wine into my glass. It then moves to Death and fills his glass before setting the bottle down on the table.
Thanatos lifts a hand and gestures to the creature. “I tell them what they must do, and they do it. But I don’t confess to understand how human food is prepared, or—” he grimaces at the dishes in question, “what you find particularly appealing about it.” As he speaks, the skeleton quietly retreats, exiting out of the door it entered.
“Well, normally, food is appealing because, you know, it keeps us alive,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“Says the woman who cannot die,” he interjects.
My attention returns to the dishes in front of me. I wish I had no appetite. I wish what Thanatos just admitted would make some sort of difference, but the truth is, I haven’t eaten much in the last several days, and right now, I’m willing to try corpse-made food.
“Is it going to taste normal?” I ask.
“I expect that it will taste exactly like food made by the living,” Thanatos says.
I let out a shaky breath.
Alright. I’m doing it.
I reach for the pasta first and place a little on my plate. After a second’s hesitation, I add a little to Death’s plate as well.
“What are you doing?” His curious eyes are fixed on me.
“Serving you,” I state. “You’re the one, after all, who invited me to your ‘victory dinner’.”
His eyes are hard, but he still somehow looks wickedly pleased, though I imagine it has more to do with the idea of this victory dinner than the actual food itself.
I end up putting a little of everything on both of our plates while the horseman leans back in his seat, watching me with a devious, calculating expression.
Once I’m done, I sit back down in my chair and survey the table. “So this is what mighty Thanatos is using his dark powers for—getting revenants to cook for him,” I say.
He gives me a dark smile. “Would you prefer I simply let the dead sack cities and kill the living?” he asks. “War made quite a name for himself doing just that.”
I feel my eyes widen with shock. The War I know—and I admit I don’t know him all that well—seems like a reasonable man, even if he did throw me under a horse cart by forcing me to agree to this situation. He definitely doesn’t seem like someone who’d do something so … gruesome and perverse.
“You didn’t know,” Death states, reading my expression. “I assure you, every one of my brothers has killed entire regions of the world. And unlike me, most of their actions were cruel and full of suffering.”
I search Thanatos’s face, looking for the lie. Instead I find an unsettling truth.
And I sent Ben with them.
“Is my son okay?”
Death’s brows pull together at the change of subject. Or maybe he’s simply confused by my question.
“He’s alive,” he states. “And healthy. I can sense no more than that.”
My body falls back heavily against my chair. Ben is not dying. Whether or not he’s okay is another matter entirely.
I force away my fears. I have met these men, and I learned their motives. Perhaps they were once monstrous, but I have to trust that they aren’t any longer. They have humanity’s best interests in mind. If they didn’t, they would’ve let my son die and Death and I continue on as enemies.
Despite my own reassurances I still have to take a few steadying breaths.
Thanatos studies my expression, and I swear he’s noticing every little tick as though they were words on a page.
“Where are my brothers taking your son?” Thanatos eventually asks.
In response, I press my lips together.
Death continues to study my features. “Do you think I want to hurt him? That I seek to cause you pain? I seek to cause no one pain. I am the end of it, kismet.”
He has yet to realize that you don’t have to cut someone to make them bleed. Take away the most precious thing they have, and they will suffer.
Death settles back in his chair. “So, my brothers scheme. I cannot fathom what it is they hope to gain by having you surrender to me.”
War’s words ring out in my head.
Seduce Death.
I keep my thoughts to myself. But then the seconds stretch on, and the only thing punctuating them is a distant shuffling sound that must be Death’s skeletal servants. The entire time, the horseman stares at me.
“It’s rude to stare,” I eventually say.
“I don’t care about your silly human taboos,” he replies. And he continues staring. And staring.
I want to look everywhere but him, but if he’s not going to follow social etiquette, then fuck it, neither am I. So … I decide to look my fill.
Almost instantly, I realize my mistake. He’s utterly perfect. Like something crafted out of my deepest yearnings. That black hair is beckoning me to run my fingers through it, and those sad, solemn eyes are begging for connection that only I can give. And those lips … how I ache to taste them again.
The longer I look, the more my blood seems to heat. I can’t help it. I’m not made to withstand men this pretty.
But it’s not just his beauty. My attention returns to those ancient eyes, which hold all sorts of secrets. The longer I look, the more I seem to fall into their depths. And the longer he looks at me, the more heated his gaze becomes. Fuck me, but my pulse is hammering away and this cavernous dining room suddenly feels too small.
I lean back and sigh as I look at him. It’s supposed to sound one hundred percent annoyed, but it comes out sounding breathless and wistful, damnit.
Thanatos’s gaze flicks over my face. “What?” he demands.
“I’m just now realizing that I’m going to have to get to know you,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow as he watches me.
“And you’re inevitably going to get to know me,” I add.
Death’s eyes further heat, though his expression remains unreadable.