When all I do is sit there and stare at him, he finally says, “Are you going to remove the arrow? Or are you afraid I’ll move?”
I glare at him. “Maybe I want to see you in pain.”
“You don’t enjoy it,” he states, his face growing serious. “Just as I don’t.”
“You don’t enjoy all the violence?” I say, raising my eyebrows. I find that hard to believe.
“I see why you have been put in my path,” Death says softly, ignoring my words. “We are alike in one fundamental way.”
Now he thinks we’re alike? This conversation is growing wilder by the second.
“Duty is duty,” Death says. He settles back a little. “But—to answer your previous question—no, I don’t enjoy it.”
Hours pass and the light fades. It’s hard to make out anything in the darkness, and it’s made me more than a little jumpy. I’m pretty sure I’d know if Death got free—but then, there’s no way of knowing with absolute certainty, not without getting close to him, and that poses its own sort of risks.
“I like this,” Thanatos admits across from me, breaking the silence.
His voice is like velvet, and it should be soothing. Instead, a childlike fear of this thing that lurks in the darkness consumes me, sending my pulse racing.
“You like this?” I say in disbelief, trying to control my voice.
“Sitting with you. Talking with you. Not fighting for once,” Thanatos says. After a moment, he adds, “The fighting is … I find it exhilarating to be pitted against you, but well, now you know how I feel about hurting you. Talking with you, however—this is intriguing.”
At his words, my fear transforms, and I’m reminded of those stray thoughts and dreams I’ve had over the last months. Ones where Death isn’t my enemy at all, and he looks at me and touches me entirely differently …
I am not right in the head.
I clear my throat. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” Death asks, curious.
I rub my eyes. “Because.”
Because it makes me want to like you, and that is an absolutely terrifying concept.
The barn is oppressively quiet, and a part of me wishes I could see the horseman’s face.
He is right. There is something intriguing about sitting here and actually talking to this menace.
“We are alike in another fundamental way,” he says after a moment.
And what is that? The question burns in my throat, but I won’t let myself ask it.
And Death never elaborates.
By the middle of the night it becomes clear I’m in over my head.
I’m hungry and thirsty and chilled, and I need to go to the bathroom. But most of all, I’m tired. I’ve lived in a perpetual state of exhaustion chasing this man around the country.
I yawn for the fifth time? Sixth time?
“Better not fall asleep, kismet.” Death’s voice comes from out of the darkness. “That’s when I’ll strike.”
“Better not move, horseman. That’s when I’ll shoot.”
I hear his low, almost sexual laugh. My stomach clenches at the sound.
After a moment, I ask, “What does that word mean? Kismet?”
He’s called me that several times before.
There’s a long pause.
“I assumed you would know,” he finally says. “It is a human word after all.” He adds, “It means fate.”
Fate?
“Why would you call me that?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“You do not know.” Death says it like a statement, and yet I swear there’s a note of surprise in his voice.
“Know what?”
But he doesn’t answer, and I don’t have the energy to press him for more.
For a while, his warning to stay awake is enough to keep me alert. But the hours tick by and there’s nothing to do but stare into the darkness.
I don’t mean to slip off to sleep. To be honest, I would’ve sworn I hadn’t fallen asleep, but suddenly I’m roused by cool fingers brushing my hair back from my ear. For a moment, I’ve forgotten the situation, and that touch is so gentle that I lean into it.
A moment later, lips replace those fingers.
“I was so intrigued at the thought of being your captive, Laz, I almost stayed put,” Death whispers against my ear. “But I have work to do.”
I stiffen at the sound of his voice, panic flooding my veins. He’s broken free.
“Maybe next time,” he adds, “you can be my captive.”