“I have imagined this moment countless times,” he admits.
He squeezes me close, and oh, I’m definitely getting some hate-fuck energy from Death.
I try not to dwell on Thanatos’s words, but how can I not? He’s clearly been fantasizing about capturing me, and now I’m at his mercy. And I have no idea what he really intends to do with me now, though it probably has something to do with hate-fucking. Pretty sure that one’s on the menu.
After a long, drawn-out silence, I force myself to ask the question that has been plaguing me lately. “What do you feel for me?”
His lips fall to my ear. “Many, many things, Lazarus.”
Definitely wants to hate-fuck me.
My breath hitches at the thought of lying beneath Death, his body driving into mine.
Apparently I’m not completely against the idea either.
Jesus.
We leave San Antonio to the muted sounds of buildings crashing behind us. Then even those sounds drift into silence, and I’m forced to truly face my predicament.
I glance down at the hand holding me fast. On one of his fingers he wears a silver ring, an ancient coin bearing the face of Medusa fixed to it. I just manage to stop myself from touching the strange piece of jewelry.
I’m going to be staring at that hand and that ring in this saddle for a long time if Death has it his way. No more tracking. No more fighting. Just lots and lots of personal time with the horseman.
The thought is enough for me to give escape one last, valiant attempt.
I throw myself violently to the side. Death’s hold on me slips, and for a second, I’m sliding off his steed.
I have no plan and no weapons, but by God, I’m going to be the least cooperative captive there ever was.
Thanatos’s wing sweeps out, battering against me, slowing my fall long enough for the horseman to snatch me by the shirt and drag me back onto his steed, his heavy arm wrapping itself around my waist once more.
He laughs low, the sound drawing out my gooseflesh. “A good, but futile attempt, kismet,” he says. His brings his lips to my ear, his tone turning menacing. “Fight me again, and I will abandon my steed for the skies, and then you will have no choice but to cooperate.”
Memories of the last time Thanatos carried me into the air flash before my eyes. He had held me and then dropped me. I mean, I did stab him, so it’s not like he did it intentionally, but still … I shudder, remembering my fall and the collision, and then the agonizing days that followed.
I will escape you, I silently vow.
But for now … better for Death to think I’ve given up.
I force myself to relax against him. In response, the arm around me grips me more fiercely. From his touch alone the horseman seems to ooze victory.
The bastard.
Even once San Antonio is a distant memory, his horse doesn’t slow, and the chilly air cuts through my clothes. A shiver courses through me, then another and another. Death’s cold armor isn’t helping.
“If this trembling is another plan of yours to seek escape, then trust me, kismet, when I say that I am ready to take to the skies.”
“It’s not a plan,” I say testily. “This is just what happens when humans get cold.”
Behind me, Death is silent for a moment.
Suddenly, he stops his steed, his arm slipping from my waist. I glance over my shoulder to see him unfastening the straps to his armor. He removes a shoulder guard, tossing it to the ground, then a vambrace.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he casts off another piece of his silver armor.
“You’re cold,” he says, undoing the straps of his breastplate. He hauls the thing off, the metal hitting the road with a clang. “I intend to keep you warm.”
I frown, even as an uncomfortable emotion stirs in my belly.
Death removes every last bit of armor, then pulls me back against his chest.
Glorious heat. It’s coming off the man in waves.
“Better?” he whispers against my ear.
So much better.
“You know about body heat but not about shivering?” I say in lieu of thanking him. I can’t find it in me to be grateful to my supernatural kidnapper.
“I may not know the nuances of the human body, but I do know that living flesh is warm and metal can be cold.”
Without a further word, he clicks his tongue and his horse begins moving again. The chill wind whistles through my clothing once more, but pressed against Death, I’m warm.
“So you can raise the dead,” I say, as we pass by several orchards, irrigation canals dug out around the rows of trees. “Why were you given that power?”