abi burt

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For a moment, that skull superimposes itself over Thanatos’s features. Then it’s gone. “Your face …” I trail off. I’ve seen this several times before, but it never gets less unsettling. “Life and death are lovers, kismet,” he whispers, shifting my hips to align us. “We are lovers. It has always been this way. It will always be this way.”
Death (The Four Horsemen, #4)
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