Holding my stomach, I turn to face the multistory structure just as Thanatos steps onto a gaping window high above me, the few remaining glass shards in the pane crunching beneath his boots. A moment later, he steps off, his wings billowing behind him.
He lands on the ground softly, his gaze locked on mine.
I stagger backwards as he strides forward. My heart is racing because that look in his eyes is still there.
“Thanatos, what are you doing?” I ask. Not five minutes ago, he was being painfully kind. Now he looks possessed.
“Enough of these games, Lazarus,” he says, closing in on me, his expression unnerving.
Games? Nothing about this is a game to me. I’ve died numerous times in the last week alone.
I back up, trying to keep some distance between us.
“Stay away from me,” I say.
“Stay away?” Death’s mouth curves up. “But I thought you wanted me? All those months you spent tracking me.” He opens his arms wide. “Here I am.”
I stare at him for a long moment, feeling completely unbalanced.
This is not how the script between us goes.
Thanatos’s eyes narrow, and his arms lower back to his sides. “You made a mistake, Lazarus,” he says, taking another step forward. “You assumed this whole time you were the one hunting me down. Have you ever considered the possibility that I might’ve set my sights on you? That this whole time I might’ve been luring you in, discovering and learning your mind?”
I continue to move away from him, my heart pounding like mad.
“Why do you think I travel the way I do?” he says. “Criss-crossing your land is not easier than riding straight through it.”
My heart beats madly. I’d always wondered about this, but now that he’s giving me an answer, I find I don’t like it.
“But you’ve always traveled that way—even from the beginning,” I protest.
“I have … warring urges, kismet,” he says. Another step forward.
I’m shaking my head. What he’s suggesting is ridiculous. “The first time we met, you ran from me,” I insist. I know he did.
“I ran from the one persistent desire I have for you,” he says. Another step forward. He looks like a man possessed. “Go ahead,” he urges, “ask what that desire is.”
I keep my mouth shut, my heart jackhammering against my chest. He’s upended all my assumptions of him.
When I don’t answer, Death continues, “I have wanted to take you from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he says. “It was the first human urge that ever rivaled my need to kill.”
I’m backing up just as he’s slowly prowling towards me.
“I have enjoyed our encounters far too much for my own good,” he adds, “but I’m just about done playing.”
Need to get out of here now.
I turn on my feet and begin jogging away, a hand pressed to my stomach against the tugging pain I feel there.
“You think to flee from me, Lazarus?” he calls out. “You, a mortal woman, and me, death incarnate?”
“Yes!” I shout.
I mean, he asked.
Behind me, Thanatos laughs. The sound sends a chill down my spine.
“Everyone tries to outpace me,” he calls out. “Everyone. But no one can outmaneuver me. Not even you.”
I’m no longer jogging, I’m now running, my pace quickening with every step.
“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.”
Chapter 19
San Antonio, Texas
January, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I can’t say how many times I’ve glanced over my shoulder over the last three days, sure I’m going to see the horseman right behind me. And the few times I’ve encountered hoof beats, I’ve panicked, sure it was Death astride his horse.
But the road and sky remain empty of the horseman. Perhaps Death’s threat wasn’t so urgent. After all, he’s made similar promises in the past, and yet here I am, alive and alone.
The people seated around me in the bustling restaurant eye me with distrust and more than a little distaste.
My hair is unbrushed, my body unwashed, my recently-lifted clothes are ragged and ill-fitting, and the belt that holds my new dagger is far too big. In my haste to get away from Death, I didn’t have time to do much more than take these few items from the dead I passed on my way out of Austin. All I have left to my name are a few stray bills in my pocket—also swiped from the dead—and my mother’s ring.