“You know,” I say, staring down at it, “our relationship began with an apple.”
This stupid, innocuous piece of fruit. It was there leading Adam and Eve into temptation, and now here we are, come full circle. From the first supposed fall of humankind to the last.
If, of course, the Bible is to be believed.
A part of me wants to chuck the fruit as far as I can and burn this entire orchard to the ground. Instead, I dust the apple off on my shirt and take a bite.
It’s just an apple, after all.
After I swallow, I offer it to Death. “Want a taste?”
He grimaces. “Not unless you have another kiss to bribe me with.”
I lower the fruit, tilting my head a little. “Would you really want that?” I ask.
His eyes move to mine, shining with intensity. “I would want more, kismet. But I will settle for taking what you offer.”
I keep my gaze trained on him. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, Thanatos.”
“Perhaps I don’t,” he says, his expression magnetic. “But I do know of the things humans do when they cannot stay away from one another.”
He doesn’t move any closer to me, but it feels like there’s no distance between us and no air to breathe in. It doesn’t help that he still hasn’t found his shirt, and his glowing tattoos are making him look particularly unearthly.
“And that’s what you want?” I ask again softly, my heart rate beginning to pick up.
I can’t believe we’re talking about this. Or that the man who thinks bread sucks is open to being intimate.
“I already told you, kismet. I would want more. Your flesh promises much, but for me, it is merely the beginning.”
We’re outside for a long time. I’ve taken to picking far more apples than I need, but there’s literally no one else around to enjoy them, so I try not to feel too guilty.
Death has dragged over a stone bench and butted the thing up against a nearby tree. He lounges on it, his back leaning against the tree trunk, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other one bent at the knee. This is the most comfortable I’ve ever seen him. It’s more than just his posture. The two of us have spent the morning chatting about things that don’t revolve around the fate of humanity or the sexual tension between us.
As I move around a second tree now, I begin humming—then singing—“Scarborough Fair,” the song stirring up old, achingly sweet memories. It was a song my mother would often sing while she did the dishes or hung clothes up to dry, one that some of my siblings and I would harmonize with.
I don’t know how long I’ve been singing when I hear the scuff of a boot.
I glance over my shoulder, staggering a little when I see the horseman standing in front of me, his gaze fixed to my mouth.
“So that’s music,” he says wondrously, as though he only just put a name to the sound.
I guess that’s the irony of Thanatos. He’s existed for forever, and he seems to be a well of wisdom when it comes to humans, but the horseman has only been a man for a short while.
Giving him a hesitant look, I nod.
His gaze scours my face. “Don’t stop,” he whispers.
Heat creeps up into my cheeks.
I don’t really want to sing now that I have an audience.
“Please,” Death adds. He’s still staring at my lips.
I want to tell him that people don’t ask these sorts of things, but he knows that. And he seems genuinely … moved by the music. So, I clear my throat, and after only wavering for another moment or two, I begin to sing again, turning back to the tree so that I can resume picking fruit and pretend I don’t have an avid audience.
Only, I’m not left alone for long.
Thanatos rounds the tree, his gaze moving over my eyes, my lips, my hair. He’s looking at me like I’m the Eighth Wonder of the World and I have no defense for the blatant longing on his face.
My song ends, and it’s silent for a long moment.
Death shakes his head, still looking possessed. “That was … opodanao.”
The foreign word draws out an instant reaction. I feel bathed in light, as though it were stroking my skin and running its fingers through my hair. I think I understand the word’s meaning, but the horseman translates for me anyway.
“Beautiful.”
Chapter 41
Sugar Land, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I need to start making good on my promise to the horsemen.
Seduce Death.
That was the deal.
I pull myself out of the cold bath I drew for myself, grabbing a nearby towel and wrapping it around my body. Water puddles at my feet as I cross the bathroom and enter my bedroom, the world beyond the windows dark.
The massive closet gapes open, and I catch sight of all those clothes neatly hung up inside. Curiosity tugs at me. Just what did the horseman—or his undead servants—think to pick out for me? Grabbing a nearby lantern, I head over to it.
The flame flickers in the glass container, making the shadows dance along the various materials.
My fingers drift over the clothing, the sizing and styles all over the place. My hand pauses when I come to a black dress, one that appears to be form-fitting. I pull it out, noticing that a slit runs up the side all the way to mid-thigh.
It’s perfect for my needs.
It looks like it’ll fit too. I grab it and pull it on. The dress is a little tight, and I’ve gotten so used to loose, practical clothing that I tug on it absently, trying to make it less constricting.
There are a dozen pairs of shoes stashed away in the closet as well, but only two of them are even close to my size, one a knee-high riding boot and the other a worn pair of flip-flops. Neither really matches the outfit.
I glance down at my bare feet.
Fuck it. I’m going shoeless.
Also in the closet are several shallow drawers which contain some random jewelry, including a single gold bangle and a delicate chain anklet—both of which I put on as well. I cannot tell if these were items owned by whoever lived here before me, or if—like the clothing—they were odds and ends that Death had his servants pick up.
I guess it doesn’t really matter either way. The dead no longer have need for them, though I do.
Entering the bathroom once more, I find a stash of makeup in one of the drawers.
This is trickier.
Used makeup cannot hurt me any more than anything else, but it’s still somewhat off-putting. Luckily, I find a couple lipsticks and some gold eyeshadow that look untouched, and I put those on instead.
The end result … robs me of breath. I stare at my reflection. I haven’t worn makeup in a long, long time. So much of the last two years has been about survival—Ben’s survival and humanity’s—that I hadn’t put much thought into physical appearance. But now my skin shimmers where I put the eye shadow on, and my lips are rosy. I even added a hint of both to my cheekbones, and the overall effect is …
I look feminine. Pretty and feminine.
Not even my damp, unstyled hair can take away from that, though I do my best to make even my hair as presentable as I can.
Hopefully this works.
I cannot believe I’m actually trying to seduce anyone at all—let alone Death. I’m a better archer than I am a temptress.
With that encouraging pep talk, I leave my room, forcing myself to find the horseman before I can chicken out again.
Thanatos is already in the dining room, waiting for me. He has a full plate of food in front of him and a glass of wine, but I doubt any of it will go between his lips.
Not unless I can convince him to give it another try.
It’s worth a shot. All of it is worth a shot. Eating. Sleeping. Seducing. Saving the world.
All it takes is a little convincing.
As soon as he sees me, his eyes burn with some inner fire. But then his gaze sweeps over me, from my made-up face to my form-fitting dress, to my bare feet, and a hunger grips his expression.
Oh God, he looks like he wants to devour me.
Maybe this was a bad idea, after all.