I nod.
“Can you not see for yourself how exceptional you are?” he says, tilting his head.
My gaze dips, and I trace a glyph on one of his pecs, leaving little droplets of water in my wake.
“I mean, I can’t die,” I say, “and I get how that makes me special, but why was I given even that ability? There’s nothing particularly extraordinary about me.” I’m a shitty marksman, I was a mediocre student despite my best efforts, and while I was a decent athlete, I never stood out. I’ve never actually stood out for anything—deathlessness aside.
Death reaches up, the water lapping around us. He strokes my cheek. “If you could see yourself through my eyes, you would think differently, kismet. The woman who worked valiantly to stop me—who fought and died again and again to protect her kind—I have met countless souls, and I can tell you firsthand that none of them have proven their worth in such a way.
“But even if you don’t see yourself as exceptional, I do, and the universe must as well, or else you never would’ve ended up in my clutches.” He reaches down and squeezes my ass to emphasize his point.
I yelp a little, and much to my shock, Thanatos throws his head back and laughs.
I drink in his amusement, mesmerized by the sight of him. I’m so used to Death’s solemnity that, when he laughs, he transforms into someone else entirely. I find I want to get to know this part of him much, much better.
Even once Death stops laughing, the laughter doesn’t leave his eyes. “Every single one of us horsemen was given a woman. You are mine.”
“Given?” I echo, grimacing. I take issue with that phrasing.
He laughs again at my expression, the sound of it—
This is what euphoria sounds like.
“You look about the same as I did when I learned this. If it makes you feel any better, I was given to you as well.”
The literal embodiment of death was given to me as a husband? That should sound terrifying, but right now, straddled on his lap with his absurdly pretty face mere inches from mine, I am not nearly as disappointed as I should be.
I clear my throat. “That does not make me feel better,” I lie.
“Mmm …” he murmurs pensively, “then perhaps this will.”
Before I can respond, he lifts me, but only for a moment. Then he brings my hips down, driving himself into my tight sheath.
I gasp. So much for Thanatos holding back.
My fingers dig into his skin where I clutch him. “Are you really going to use sex to make—？”
The horseman cuts me off with a kiss, and yes, he does in fact use sex to make me feel better.
And damn that bastard, but it works, too.
Chapter 49
Hallettsville, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
Neither of us leave the master suite for days. Now and then a skeleton brings in food and water—none of which Death partakes in. Other than that, all of our needs are encapsulated in the four walls around us.
Every so often the horseman’s full regalia appears on his body by some invisible hand. It’s never on him for very long before he casts it off again. Even his torch makes an appearance, the scented smoke giving the room a cloying, perfumed smell.
The days blur together. But, the more time goes by, the more frenetic the sex with Death becomes and the more often it occurs. It seems he’s desperate to drive off his need to travel by leaning into his need for me.
I don’t know what day it is when I slide out of the horseman’s clutches and venture into the closet. I can feel his heated gaze on me as I look through the clothing, picking out a white shirt and a pair of jeans that I don’t hate.
Death doesn’t say anything until I’ve finished putting on the clothes and reach for a pair of boots.
“Where are you going?” he asks lazily, his eyes beckoning me back to him. It’s almost enough to convince me to rejoin him in bed.
“My pussy needs a break, Thanatos.” How many times has he slid into me today? Five? Six? More? I have been wrung dry of orgasms and it’s still the morning. At this point, I need to ice my vagina.
“Do you ache?” Death says. “Come here, kismet. I will soothe it.”
I know exactly how he plans on doing that.
I give him a look, even as I nab a pair of socks and begin putting them on. “I know you need to travel again. No amount of sex will change that.”
He frowns. Whatever his reasons are, Death is trying to stave off his duty. I doubt it’s because he has some bleeding heart for humankind—but I am moved by it all the same.