“You truly cannot die,” he says, the words spoken with a hushed sort of reverence.
I jolt at the sound of them, remembering my last few lucid moments.
“What did you do to me?” I demand, sitting up, even though I already know the answer.
I touch my neck, remembering the flash of pain.
Death looms over me. “There is only one thing I am made to do, human.”
Kill.
The horseman continues to stare at me, and something about his gaze pricks my skin. Or perhaps it’s that bone-deep silence that seems to follow him. Or, you know, the fact that he killed me earlier this evening—maybe that’s what’s setting me on edge.
I suck in a breath, and this is where I lose it. I can feel my anger and my grief and every other ugly emotion that’s crossed my mind over the last few months sucking me under.
Remember your purpose. Remember—your—purpose.
I draw in a ragged breath and push down my rising hysteria. Despite what Death just did to me, this was a hard-fought meeting. I don’t want to squander it. I can’t.
“Stop the killing,” I whisper.
There’s a long beat of silence.
“I cannot,” he finally answers.
“Please,” I say. “Don’t make anyone else go through what I have gone through.” It cuts so deep, pleading with this man who killed my family and friends—and who just attempted to kill me as well.
I can feel the horseman’s dark gaze on me. Eventually, he stands, then backs away. “Leave it be, Lazarus.”—I jolt at the sound of my name—“I am what I am, and no sweet pleas will change that.”
He swivels around, baring those wings to me as he retreats to his horse.
I glare after him. “Is mighty Death running from me?” I call out, openly taunting him.
His footfalls pause.
“Go ahead then, leave. I’ll simply hunt you down again,” I vow. “And when I find you, I will stop you.”
He laughs, turning around once more. “I am one of the few things that cannot be stopped, Lazarus. Nevertheless, I look forward to seeing you try.”
I think that’s the end of the conversation, but instead he approaches me once more.
He pauses, then kneels back down at my side.
My brows furrow together, and I rear back a little. “What are you doing?”
His eyes gleam in the darkness. “Getting a head start.”
And then for the second time that day, the fucker reaches out and snaps my neck.
Death
After Lazarus goes limp in my arms, I gently lay her out on the ground.
I have made her hate me.
I try to relish that—it is for the best, foiling this cosmic challenge that has very literally been placed in my path. If she hates me, everything becomes easier.
But as I kneel next to her, I feel no satisfaction. Only a sickening sort of sadness, as though perhaps I made the wrong move. My baser nature still calls to me, demanding I place Lazarus upon my steed and take her with me. I’ve come to expect the impulse whenever I see her, and it makes it easier to ignore.
I stare down at her still body. Encased within all that blood and bone, there’s her essence. Even now I can sense her soul fluttering within that lifeless form of hers, trapped inside it like a caged bird. It should be effortless to reach out and pry her soul loose.
It isn’t.
In fact, it’s the one thing I haven’t been able to do. Stranger still, though I can sense her essence right now, it doesn’t feel as though it’s mine. Every other human is intimately connected to me. With this woman, the moment she leaves my sight, it’s as though she’s fallen off the earth. I’m coming to realize that this is going to drive me mad.
I bow my head and exhale.
I’ve got many, many souls I still need to deliver. She is distracting me.
Perhaps after tonight, she will leave me alone.
I frown, displeased at the thought.
I know she’s my challenge. All my brothers received one. And all of them failed. Even Famine, though somehow he managed to fail his task without finding humanity redeemable.
Dropping my hand, I stare at Lazarus once more, feeling my usually steady pulse pick up. The moon is just bright enough for me to make out her features. My eyes linger on her eyelashes, which kiss the top of her cheeks now that her eyes are closed. My gaze moves to her lips. I have the most peculiar urge to draw her back from death, all so that she might let me lean in and press my own mouth to hers, just to see how the two line up.
I shudder at the thought.
I’ve seen billions of people with every manner of physical variation. None of them have moved me.