My attention moves away from the egg, towards the image styled over what would be the horseman’s heart, if he were wearing the armor. I trace that unsettling image of the skeleton and the woman wrapped up in each other’s arms. Life and death, the lovers.
“They are inextricably bound in each other,” Death says now, noticing where my attention has wandered.
As I muse on that, Thanatos’s procession of dead arrives at our camp. The skeletons and their wagons encircle us, creating a wall of sorts with their bodies and the carts. Already they’re pulling odds and ends out of the wagon beds, shaking out blankets, uncorking wine, uncovering and lighting lanterns. When they’re finally done setting up, I am left breathless.
I have slept out in the elements before with little more than a pack as a pillow. I know what that is like. What I’ve never experienced is … this.
They’ve covered the ground in blankets and placed lanterns around the edges, giving it a soft, romantic glow against the twilight sky. There’s a tray with travel-friendly food artfully arranged on it, and I try not to think of the skeletal fingers that meticulously placed each item just so.
I believe this is what glamping is.
“You didn’t have to have them set this all up,” I say.
“Yes, Laz,” Thanatos says very seriously, “I did.”
Under the glow of the lanterns, Death looks like a saint, his body and wings dusted by the soft amber light. It glitters in his eyes as well, making them look molten.
For the second time since we stopped, I’ve been caught breathless by the mere sight of him. Has he always affected me this way?
Every last inch of self-preservation within me wants to say yes, but the truth is, this feels different. It’s been feeling different, like my eyes are finally seeing something my heart already knows.
As though he can hear my thoughts, Death moves to me.
“Serious, beautiful Lazarus,” he murmurs. He studies my face like he wants to immortalize it in his mind. “You snatched my loneliness from me,” he breathes, “and I hope you never give it back.”
With that, he kisses me. The horseman’s wings wrap around me until Death is all there is.
I hear every soft sound our lips make, and I feel as though my heart is on blatant display.
The kiss is long and lingering, and when he eventually pulls away, I can see his desire stretched taut like a bowstring.
“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. I’m too terrified to utter that last part.
So instead my hands move to Thanatos’s clothing, because physical intimacy is much, much easier than talking about love with my old enemy. I tug on the horseman’s shirt until he helps me lift it over his head.
That’s all the encouragement Death needs. His hands find the collar of my shirt—
Riiiip.
I gasp as he tears the material down the middle, exposing my bra. His hands move for my jeans, but I snatch his wrist before he can destroy these too.
Good jeans are hard to come by.
Under Death’s heated gaze, I remove my boots and socks, then unbutton my pants and step out of them, kicking them aside. The horseman casts off the last of his clothing, leaving him bare—save for the glowing glyphs that cover his body from neck to calf. There are so many that they give the illusion that his insides are nothing more than pure white light.
Thanatos kneels, his long, deft fingers gently peeling away my panties before returning for my bra. That, too, he removes with precision, letting it drop to the ground. Then he scoops me up and carries me to the makeshift bed.
It’s just as he’s laying me down that I notice the clatter of bones and remember the dozens and dozens of skeletons around us.
“I can’t do this with your revenants watching,” I whisper.
Thanatos gives a husky laugh. “Lazarus, they don’t have souls or minds. They cannot comprehend what we do.”
Despite Death’s words, an instant later, the skeletons fall to pieces, their bones clattering as they hit the grass.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, then shiver as the cool night air caresses my skin.
I’m only cold for a moment.
Death drapes himself over me, his wings brushing against our legs. Just when I think things are about to heat up, the horseman instead places a soft kiss at the hollow of my throat.
“Give yourself to me, Lazarus,” he whispers against my skin.