I hear the soft hiss of the projectile slicing through the wind a split second before it slams into my chest with agonizing force. It rips through flesh as it pierces my breast.
“Lazarus!” Death’s bellow sounds far away as I stagger, choking on my own breath. I stare down at the arrow shaft protruding from my chest.
Forgot … how bad … this hurt.
Just as my legs begin to give out, the horseman catches me. His wings sweep up and around us, shielding me from more arrows. More of them do come, sinking into those wings with soft, sickening sounds.
He ignores them entirely.
“Why did you do that?” he demands, sounding grief-stricken.
I slump in his arms, forcing myself to focus on his face.
Everything feels wrong.
Think they hit my heart.
“Why?” he demands, those pretty eyes of his panicked. The universe really did make Death’s face just right. This truly is the sight I would most want to die to, his heroic face the final memory I take to my grave.
I reach for that face just as I hear more arrows cut through the air. One by one they sink into Death’s wings. Other than the tick in his cheek Thanatos doesn’t react.
But several seconds later, I think I hear the collective thump of a city’s worth of bodies hitting the ground, though I’m not sure if I imagined it. Everything feels so removed from me at the moment.
All there is, is Thanatos, his wings, and the sky far above us. I can feel myself slipping into that abyss that I’ve come to recognize as death. All while Death himself wants me to stay alive.
He reaches for the arrow sticking out of my chest, heedless of the ones that dot his wings. I know what he means to do. I can practically feel the rip of pain even now as I imagine him tearing the projectile out of me.
I place my hand over his. “Take it out … after,” I breathe.
After I die. It’ll hurt less that way. That’s all I can really ask for.
The horsemen’s expression morphs when he realizes what I mean.
“So then I must watch you die and do nothing?” he says. He sounds almost angry.
“I thought … that was … your kink,” I whisper, even as I feel the last of my life slipping … slipping …
Thanatos’s jaw clenches and unclenches, and oh, the terrible irony that he of all people doesn’t like watching me die. When did that become the case?
He gazes down at me, looking on helplessly. “Nothing can be normal with us, can it?” he says.
Death unable to save the undying girl.
I give him a small smile. “Not sure … I’d want it … any … other way.”
Chapter 45
Rosenberg, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I groan awake in Death’s arms.
“Lazarus.” He sounds relieved.
I move a little, then groan again, flopping back into the horseman’s arms. I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of wild horses.
Death’s eyes pinch a little at the sides, and I’m not sure if it’s from tension or humor.
“You protected me,” he says softly. His brows are drawn down in confusion, but his eyes are wondrous.
I took an arrow for him.
I reach for my chest, feeling where the material of my shirt has been frayed open. Beneath it, I can feel the slick blood that still coats my skin, but … the wound has healed over completely.
I heal faster than most humans, but for a mortal wound, it can take many, many hours to heal. I squint up at the sun—it hangs in the same place I last saw it—and Death is still holding me in the embrace he caught me in. My body didn’t mend this injury at all.
My gaze moves to Death’s. “You healed me.”
The horseman is still looking at me like he’s trying to see down to the very depths of my soul. The scrutiny makes me fidgety.
“Of course I healed you, kismet.” Said like he couldn’t imagine otherwise. Like the last two years of violence between us never existed.
I sit up more fully, Death’s wings still wrapped tightly around us. For a moment, the horseman’s hold on me tightens, but after another moment, he releases me.
As I straighten myself in his lap, something sharp pokes my arm. Turning, I take in the bloody arrowhead nestled among Thanatos’s dark feathers. It’s one of nearly a dozen that have punctured the horseman’s wings.
I suck in a sharp breath. “You’re still hurt.”
“It is nothing,” he says, brushing it off entirely.
“It is not nothing,” I say, giving Death a look. He focused all his energy on healing me while ignoring his own wounds.