Death (The Four Horsemen, #4)

by Laura Thalassa

Death steps up to me, and my breath catches. He’s a being that was never meant to be beheld this closely. He’s wretchedly beautiful.

I’ve seen billions of people with every manner of physical variation. None of them have moved me. But she moves me. This woman whose soul I can’t take and whose life I can’t know. This woman whose face should blur together with every other face I’ve ever seen. Instead it lingers on in my mind’s eye, haunting me like some sort of specter.

This human doesn’t come with an Angelic word, but she doesn’t need one—she was given a human one that is just as fitting. She can withstand death, which means … She’s creation. Life.

Did I plan on distracting Death with my tits today? No. Will I take it? Yes.

Death’s gaze sharpens. “I want you.” The words rip free from him. Absolute silence follows in their wake. I don’t know who’s more shocked, him or me. The admission is so unexpected and so grotesquely inappropriate, given that the two of us are mortal enemies—or immortal ones, but whatever.

“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 want to lose myself in you, his eyes seem to say.

“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.”

“I find myself longing for another reason to hold you close.”

“Why?” I demand, backing up. “Why do this now?” “Because you were designed to be mine. And it’s time I claimed you.”

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.

But the truth is, this is instinct, kismet. I don’t understand why, but I want to be close to you, I want to hold you when you say you are cold.”

“I want to see the expression your face makes when it’s happy. I don’t know why, but I do. I have seen you angry and hateful and disappointed and sad—so sad—Lazarus. I want to see what stokes the fire in that soul of yours and lights you up from within.”

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.

Almost instantly, I realize my mistake. He’s utterly perfect. Like something crafted out of my deepest yearnings.

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.

“I want you to be comfortable. I gave you a reason to run last time. This time, I want to give you a reason to stay.”

“You have an exceptional heart, Lazarus,” he finally says. “You shouldn’t apologize for it.”

He groans against my mouth, nipping at my lower lip. “If I could, I would devour that laughter of yours. There is nothing sweeter.”

wanted—I still want—to know about you—what brings you joy, what makes you sad. Wilder still, I want to be one of the things that brings you joy.”

I’m not going to muse on the fact that the man won’t eat bread but he’ll gladly eat me.

“Must I bring down the rain and lightning or draw the roots and the dead up from the ground? Or make the earth quake and buildings fall to remind you who I am? I set my sights on you a year ago, but I haven’t fully taken you—not yet. So lay back, kismet, and let me show you what it means to be mine.”

“Kismet, tell me you are mine,” he says softly. I’ve spent so long fighting, it’s a strange feeling, giving in. “I am yours.” For better or worse, I am.

“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.

I settle for, “Why me?” He scrutinizes me. “You mean, why, out of the millions of people alive, are you the one who is here, at my side?” I nod. “Can you not see for yourself how exceptional you are?” he says, tilting his head.

“Lazarus, what is happening to me? I cannot slake this thirst I have for you.” My heart pounds harder as I stare up at him. “That’s what it’s like for humans,” I say. When they fall in love.

“But then,” he says, his hand finding the edge of my shirt. His fingers brush the skin beneath, “things changed once I found you. Now, I am absurdly grateful when the sun takes its time setting or rising. I’ve come to savor it like I do your skin, kismet. Every minute that drags on is one more spent with you, and I cannot imagine life ever returning to the way it once was.”

“Lazarus,” he says, his face fierce, “nothing actually goes. It transforms, but transmutation isn’t actually lost or gone at all. You were you before you had a body, and you will still be you when you no longer have one. A caterpillar might become a butterfly—and a human might become a spirit—but it is still the same essence. It has simply been transformed.

“Nothing has ever been the same since we first crossed paths, Lazarus. Nothing will ever be the same again. And I swear to you, until my dying day, I will love you.”

“Thanatos,” I pant. He grins. “This, however, is perhaps what I enjoy most—when I am fit so tightly inside you that I am not quite sure where I end and you begin. I love it all far too much for my own good.”

“You are a bastard,” I whisper I feel him grin against my cheek. “I’m your bastard.” I swallow. “Yes,” I agree. “You’re mine.”

“This feeling I get when I’m with you is … there aren’t human words for it. It’s incomparable. All I can truly tell you is that when I hold you close to me, I am sure no one has ever felt as happy as I do.

“My love for you is eternal and unfaltering, Lazarus. Do not doubt that. Stars will form and die, and what I feel for you will remain undimmed.”