I lean back and sigh as I look at him. It’s supposed to sound one hundred percent annoyed, but it comes out sounding breathless and wistful, damnit.
Thanatos’s gaze flicks over my face. “What?” he demands.
“I’m just now realizing that I’m going to have to get to know you,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow as he watches me.
“And you’re inevitably going to get to know me,” I add.
Death’s eyes further heat, though his expression remains unreadable.
I continue. “I’m going to learn all your little habits—”
“I don’t have habits,” he cuts in.
“Oh, you have habits. I have a map marked up with those habits,” I say.
He frowns. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Thanatos doesn’t like the idea that he has human tendencies. Poor fool. He’s got some unpleasant revelations coming his way once he realizes this whole taking-me-captive thing is one giant human experience.
“And,” I continue, “you’re going to learn about all the annoying little things that I do. And we’re going to drive each other mad.”
He steeples his fingers. “Do you really think I have searched for you this long to be scared off by a few ‘annoying little things’？ I was driven mad looking for you. I doubt I’ll be driven mad savoring you.”
How badly I want to make him regret those words, and yet at the same time, they make me feel breathless, off-balance.
“All the same,” I say, “we’ve been awful to each other … and now we’re supposed to live together. So,” I take a breath, “I think we should air all our grievances.”
“Grievances?” He raises his eyebrows.
“You tell me all the things you hate about me,” I say, “and I’ll tell you all the things I hate about you.”
He frowns. “This is ridiculous, Lazarus. I don’t hate anything about you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really.” Call me a skeptic, but I’m not buying it.
Death watches me closely. “This is your game, Lazarus. So play it and get this over with.”
I stare him down. “I hate your very existence.”
Those words have been sitting there, at the back of my throat, ever since I first met him.
Thanatos’s eyes flash. “You don’t even realize what you’re saying. There is no life without death,” he says hotly. “So unless you’d prefer to be a rock, or some other inanimate thing, I think my existence suits you just fine.”
After he finishes speaking, silence stretches on between us.
“It’s your turn,” I say.
He glares at me. “I don’t hate you.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“Unlike you, kismet, I really don’t,” he says, and now he sounds weary.
I search his face. After a moment I say, “It’s still your turn.”
He gives a long-winded sigh. “Fine, Lazarus. I dislike it when you hurt me.”
I pick up my glass of wine, and I take a long drink of it. I can’t say whether his words are immensely satisfying or painful. Both, I guess.
I set my glass in front of me. “I’m sorry,” I say.
Death doesn’t say anything, though I can feel his confusion.
“For hurting you,” I clarify.
His gaze searches mine, and he takes a deep breath.
“What else do you hate about me?” he asks after a moment.
“I hate that you’ve taken my family from me. I hate that you’ve taken my son from me—”
“He still lives,” Death interrupts.
Perhaps, but the fact remains that he’s no longer with me.
“I hate that you’ve killed so many people—that I had to see it all. I hate that I felt compelled to stop you. I hate that in order to stop you, I’ve had to rob corpses, convince skeptics, and force myself to endure being injured and killed over and over again. I hate that my life has become one long list of sacrifices.”
“What else?” he asks.
I pick up my wine glass, settling into my long-running list. “I hate that you’re oddly kind,” I admit, “and I hate that you get no joy from your task. It makes you seem so noble and it makes hating you that much harder.”
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear his face has softened with my admission.
“Is there anything else?” he asks.
I bring the glass to my lips, taking another swallow of the expensive wine. “I hate that you’re beautiful.” More to myself than him, I add, “I can barely think around it.”