“It’s only my revenants,” he says as the skeletons in question move through the room, hauling a chest. “I wanted to wait until you were awake before I had them bring in your things.”
I sit up, keeping myself covered with a blanket—even though the only other person in this room who has actual eyes is Death, and he’s already seen his fill. I watch as more skeletons enter and fill the closet and bathroom up with clothes and amenities.
I get my first real look at our surroundings now too.
The inside of the home has a southwestern feel to it, with painted tiles inset around doorways and windows and a red tile floor covered by a large sheepskin rug.
Even as I watch, the skeletons are removing some of the less permanent objects that decorated the space. They take hats, shoes, clothes—all those little, personal mementos of the previous owners.
I continue to watch the revenants. They still give me the chills, but when one happens to come over and lay out a platter of sliced bread and cheeses, I don’t pause too much before I start eating.
“This was considerate of you,” I say to Death.
“I live in fear of the day I hear your stomach speak again,” he says. “I think she hates me more than the rest of you.”
I almost forgot about that time Thanatos heard my stomach growl.
“I didn’t realize it had made such an impression on you,” I say.
“Everything you do makes an impression on me,” he says solemnly.
At that, I quiet.
Death doesn’t have much room for remorse in him, but he seems to have saved a little for me.
I polish off the bread and cheese, not bothering to offer the horseman any. I already know he’ll refuse. Once I finish, I dust my hands over the tray.
“Can you have your skeletons draw up a bath—one with hot water?” I ask curiously. It’s the rarest of indulgences in this day and age.
Thanatos’s brows pinch together, but his gaze slides to the nearest revenants. Abruptly, one of them stops what it’s doing and moves to the adjoining bathroom.
I can hear it working a hand pump, and then the splash of water.
“Have you ever had a bath?” I ask the horseman, perking up a bit.
Death shakes his head. “No.”
I grab his hand and tug him as I slide out of bed. “Then let’s hope the tub is big enough for the two of us—and your wings.”
“Why would it need to be?” he asks.
“Because you’re going to join me.”
The bath is big enough for the two of us, I discover when I pull the horseman into the room. It’s a sunken tub, the basin large enough to hold two adults—though Death is going to have to drape his wings over the edge.
The bath is mostly full, though the water is still being warmed up. A skeleton enters the bathroom then, holding a kettle. I ignore the burning urge to cover my naked body—they don’t have eyes—though I do back up into one of Thanatos’s wings.
It curves around me, and when I glance up, I see the horseman gazing at me, wearing a small smile.
“I have seen you face pain and certain death stoically, kismet. Surely my revenants do not frighten you.”
“Of course not,” I agree, not moving away from his wing.
Death’s smile reaches his eyes. After a moment, he takes my chin. “You can always hide in my wings—though I will require a kiss every now and then.”
Before I can respond, the horseman bends down and steals one from my lips. It’s over before it’s even begun, and I’m left staring at Thanatos’s face as he pulls away.
“That was sneaky,” I say, though my delivery comes out all wrong. I sound full of want.
“I am standing naked next to you,” Death says, his voice low, “nothing about me is sneaky right now.”
He does have a point.
The horseman turns his attention back to the tub, where more skeletons are pouring hot water into the basin.
“Tell me about bathtubs,” he says.
I try not to laugh. “I’m sure you know about them.”
He frowns a little. “I know humans wash themselves. But that is about it.”
Right. Okay.
“There’s not much to them,” I say as the skeletons file out of the bathroom. “You fill the tub with water, you get in, and you bathe.”
Death frowns again, and it makes my heart pound a little faster. I don’t really understand what divides the horseman’s vast knowledge on certain subjects with his ignorance on others, but with this … he seems to be more than a little lost.
“Here,” I say, stepping into the bath. I almost sigh at the hot temperature. It’s been far too long since I took a hot bath. Turning around, I reach out a hand for him. “Come on in—I promise you’ll like it.”
He takes my hand but doesn’t immediately let me lead him in. Instead, he lowers his other hand into the water.
“Are we going to wash each other?” he asks, a note of curiosity in his voice.
“Of course,” I say, letting his hand go so that I can sink into the bath.
Ahhh. This is divine.
I think it’s my ease that finally convinces the horseman to get in—that or my boobs, since they’re basically waving to him.
Thanatos steps into the water, doing his best to sit down across from me. He glances over his shoulder at his wings, which do in fact drape over the edge of the basin. “I clearly wasn’t designed with bathtubs in mind.”
He really wasn’t designed for human life in general—not with those wings.
The horseman settles back as best as he can. “What now?” he asks.
“Now you enjoy it. I mean, if this was a cold bath, you’d grab a bar of soap and scrub yourself as fast as you could. But hot baths you soak in.”
Death sits there gazing at the water, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips, as though he doesn’t know how to just idly sit and enjoy something.
On a whim, I move over to him, slipping onto his lap and straddling his thighs, his cock trapped between us. Beneath me, I can feel it thickening.
His hands slide around my waist, and I can see the want in his gaze, but he doesn’t press me for any sort of intimacy. To be honest, the horseman probably has no idea how much sex is too much for a mortal to take. Death really doesn’t have limits.
The thought of sheathing myself on him has my core aching despite the fact that I am sore. Instead of acting on the impulse, I slide my hands over the horseman’s arms, touching his countless markings. My eyes keep coming back to them, these glowing glyphs that cover almost the entirety of his body. They start low on his neck and drip down his arms and torso, only tapering off near his hands and ankles.
“What are these?” I ask, tracing one. My finger tingles a little as I make the shape.
Death gazes down at me, his eyes intense. “They are my most innate language—Angelic.”
“Angelic,” I echo, staring at them. I think I understood that from the very first time I saw them, and yet I hadn’t actually considered what that meant.
My fingers move from his arms to his chest. “What do they say?”
“Many things, kismet, but mostly, they speak of creation … and destruction.”
A shiver races through me. There’s so much writing—his entire body is painted with it. The glow from all of them is making the bathwater luminous.
“Can you read me some of them?”
He stares at me. “These words are not for human ears.”
Go figure. I trace a particularly unusual one.
“However,” he continues, “you are not quite human either, are you, Lazarus?”
My eyes snap to his. Death stares at me with such naked longing. We’ve tasted and touched each other—there should be nothing left to long for. But it’s there, in his eyes.
He holds my gaze. “Inwapiv vip jurutav pua, uwa epru juriv petda og ruvawup keparip pufip hute. Ojatev uetip gurajaturwa, oraponao uetip hijaurwa. Reparu pue peyudirwit petwonuv, uwa worjurwa eprao fogirwa. Uje urap haraop pirgip.”
I close my eyes, my fingers digging into Death’s skin as he speaks. I begin to tremble because I feel those words, though I don’t understand them, and I swear they’re strangling me from the inside out even though I can also sense their sanctity.