My throat seizes up. Alright, I officially hate this game.
Technically, telling the truth should be easy. I hold all the answers to these questions within me. Unfortunately, I’ve buried my truths underneath so many convenient lies that I’m frightened to unearth them.
“What I feel right now when I look at you? Or when I first met you?” I’m stalling. I know I’m stalling. But God, I don’t want to admit any of this.
“All of it.”
Of course he wants all of it.
My eyes dip to his armor, and I trace a finger over the skeleton and the woman he’s intimately embracing.
“When I first laid eyes on you—” I pause. Fuck I don’t want to do this, “I thought you were the most beautiful man I had ever seen.”
There. I did it, and only a little of my soul died in the process.
Death’s eyes have a feral shine to them. “This … is a good thing?” he asks curiously.
I huff out a laugh because is beauty really a good thing? I don’t know …
“It makes me want you even when I shouldn’t,” I admit.
“Want me?” he echoes.
I give him a look, trying really hard to ignore that overbearing beauty of his. “You know what I mean.”
“You’re dancing with your words again,” he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of black hair away from his face. “I would like the unvarnished truth—stripped free from all your human assumptions.”
I blow out a breath. God, he really is going to make me spell it out.
“You are so annoyingly handsome that even though I have hated you, I have always craved touching you and kissing you …” I let my words trail off, petrified of continuing to give him the entire truth.
Thanatos leans forward, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Damn him for being perceptive enough to notice I was omitting some of it.
I mutter an oath under my breath then twist around, reaching for the horseman’s full glass of wine. I take a long drink of the alcohol before I set it back down. I was ready for seduction, I wasn’t ready to be confronted with these questions that cut to the most guarded parts of me.
You don’t have to answer them, a cowardly inner voice whispers. You could simply rush things along. A kiss or two would make him forget.
The problem is that—as most people know—seduction isn’t just physical. It’s mental too. This is part of seduction every bit as much as tasting him and teasing him is. It just happens to be the part that I’m least prepared for.
My gaze drops to Thanatos’s lips. “I have craved removing this armor, touching your wings, and running my lips over your bare flesh.” I stop short of mentioning anything else.
Death’s eyes have grown hooded. “Then do it, kismet.”
I rear back a little.
Do it?
Death sits very still. Waiting.
Reaching out a tentative hand, my fingertips touch one of the velvety wings that rise over his shoulders. Death sucks in a sharp breath, but stays still.
I hate it that since I first met him, I’ve wanted to do this. Even in my darkest moments, there was still the curiosity and the strange, perverse desire to feel him, my nemesis.
I continue to stroke his wing, transfixed. The black feathers are disarmingly soft. I’ve known that from past brush-ups with them, but it still surprises me.
I stare at the black feathers as I run my fingers over them. “These are … beautiful,” I say.
My eyes meet his. Something moves across his expression.
He’s right, I have been dancing around the truth of us.
Never looking away, Thanatos unbuckles one of his shoulder guards, and lets it fall to the ground. Then he removes the other, the armor landing with a heavy clank. His breastplate is next, then his vambraces. Though he appears calm, I can see his fingers working frenziedly to undo the fastenings.
My hands move to his chest. The moment my palms sink against his pecs, I feel him jerk. His gaze flashes to mine, and I see the need in his eyes.
Turning back to his arm guards, he rips the rest of it off, buckles snapping and leather tearing. He tosses it all aside.
My hands smooth down his torso to the edges of his shirt. Thanatos reaches for the black material, and I can already tell he intends to yank it off with just as much savagery as his armor.
“Wait,” I say, gripping his shirt tighter. “Let me do this.” My cheeks flush as I speak.
Death pauses, then releases the cloth, settling back in his seat, though his eyes are a little wary.
I pull up on the dark material. I expect it to catch against his wing roots, but the material slides easily by. I notice then the slits at the back of the shirt that make room for his wings; they slice down the shirt all the way to the bottom hem.