The first time I meet Death, I am … not ready.

A trickle of sweat drips down between my shoulder blades as I look over the list of items I need to pick up for my niece’s birthday barbeque later today. There’s a dull drone of noise around me as people shop at our outdoor market.

Tomatoes—got it.

Leafy greens—got it.

Cantaloupe—got it.

I scan over the rest of the items. I think all that’s left are apples.

Stashing my list in my back pocket, I glance up at the open-air farmers’ market, scanning the tables for the one I’m looking for. As soon as I spot Tim’s stall, I start winding my way towards it. He’s a cantankerous old man, but he’s the only seller I know who regularly stocks produce that’s out of season.

I’m convinced witchcraft is involved.

I’ve just made it to Tim’s stall when the animals freak out. And they all freak out. The horses tied to nearby posts jerk against their restraints, dozens of birds take flight all at once, and the dogs in the area let out frightened, baying cries.

Old Bailey’s mule races down the highway next to the market, his horse cart still attached. And the sheriff’s steed throws his owner off his back before galloping away, saddle and all.

Still more creatures dash through the outdoor market, knocking over tables and baskets, scattering people and produce as they go. I can see the terrified whites of their eyes. They and their fear move like a storm cloud through the market.

Eventually, the stampede tapers off, leaving behind a hollow silence that raises the hair on my arms.

What … was that?

I glance around. Everyone else looks confounded as well.

“What in the hell?” someone says.

“In all my life, I’ve never seen animals act that way,” someone else says. But then the thought is punctuated by a laugh, and someone else joins in, and suddenly, it’s like the tension leaks out of the space.

People help right knocked over crates and chairs, the produce gets rearranged, and conversations resume. A group of men and women split off to retrieve the lost animals, and an elderly man helps the sheriff to his feet.

Everyone seems to be shrugging off the strange behavior like a bad dream.

I turn back to Tim, the stall owner, and then my eyes drop to the apples. I try to focus, though I haven’t shaken that unnerving silence that seems to ring in my ears. My attention drops to the apples.

I read the price, then I read it again.

“A dollar fifty per apple?” I say, astounded. That must be an error.

“You don’t like the price, then don’t buy them,” Tim says.

So it’s not an error.

“I didn’t even say the price was too high,” I respond, though it is. “The fact that you assumed it means you know it’s unreasonable.”

“Deal with it.”

He might as well steal my purse while he’s at it. Way to rob the customer blind.

“But it’s an apple,” I say slowly. This has to be a joke.

“You don’t like it, buy from someone else.”

Damn this man. He knows no one else has apples at this time of year. And my niece Briana was very specific that she wanted an apple pie for her birthday.

“A dollar,” I say. It’s still a ridiculously unreasonable price, but it’s better than a dollar fifty per apple. My God.

“No,” he states flatly. His gaze moves away from me, to another woman who is looking at a nearby crate of corn.

“A dollar twenty-five,” I try again, even as I’m trying to figure out if any other sellers would have apples in stock. Martha might …

Tim gives me an annoyed look. “I’m done talking about this.”

“This is ridiculous—you seriously want a dollar fifty for an apple? It’s an apple!” I say.

“They’re out of season,” he responds gruffly.

I guffaw. “I’ll pay”—this is so unbelievably stupid—“eleven dollars for eight of them.” These better be the best damn apples I’ve ever tasted; they better make me see God.

Tim folds his arms over his chest, casting me a withering glance, even though I’m only asking him to take off one measly dollar. “You can pay the full price, or you can take your business else—”

Right in the middle of his sentence, his eyes roll back.

“Tim?” I say. Even as I speak, he begins to fall. “Tim!” I lunge for him, but I’m not fast enough.

The soft sound of his body hitting the grass is lost in the collective noise of many large objects hitting the ground all at once.

I jolt at the commotion, the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end. And that’s when I notice that disquieting silence is still there—the one that began when the animals first fled. Only now, it’s more pronounced than ever.

I look around, confused. In every direction, people lie motionless. Most of them are sprawled on the grass, but there are others who lay slumped over tables.

No one moves.

One second goes by, then two, then three.

I’m aware of my own ragged breathing and the pounding of my startled heart, and my head is trying to wrap its mind around what I’m seeing.

The thing is, I know what this is. It looks impossible, and my heart doesn’t want to believe it, but something like this has happened before. It’s happened to me before.

Still, I kneel down next to the woman who had been looking at Tim’s corn. Now her sightless eyes are staring up at the clouds.

I place a hand to her neck, waiting for her pulse.

Nothing.

A sick sort of feeling twists my gut. I stand, my gaze sweeping over the market stalls once more, taking in the dozens of still bodies.

No one moves. I can hear the gentle sound of wind stirring canvas canopies, the trees rustling in the breeze, and even the distant glug of some container dripping out its contents. But there’s no idle chatter, no laughter, no shouts or screams, no noisy insects and no bird calls.

It’s completely silent.

On a whim, I check Tim’s pulse. Nothing. Then I check another and another, my breath seizing up in my throat.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Everyone is dead—everyone but me.

A small noise slips from my lips, and I can feel my body trembling, but my mind is oddly blank.

Is this what shock feels like?

I stumble out of the farmer’s market, towards Highway 78. I can’t stifle my rising horror as I pick my way through the dead.

How far does the devastation extend?

I’m passing the last line of stalls, and the highway is right in front of me, when the clop of hooves interrupts my thoughts. I think I’m imagining it, but then it gets louder.

I turn towards the sound. At first I don’t see anything, the canopy of the stall to my right blocking my view. I take a few more steps towards the road, and suddenly, I see him.

Backlit by the morning sun, looking like some dark god, is a rider clad in silver armor, a set of black wings at his back.

Those wicked wings are all I can look at for a moment. They are just as impossible to comprehend as the sea of corpses behind me.

There are four known creatures alive who have the power to kill off life in an instant. And only one of them has wings.

God’s last angel.

Death.

My knees nearly buckle at the realization.

My God, I’m staring down Death himself, one of the four horseman of the apocalypse.

I’ve never seen anyone—anything—like him.

He is dressed to do battle—though who could possibly stand against him is a mystery. That armor gleams as though it’s freshly polished, and those massive black wings lay folded at his back, so large that the tips of them nearly touch the ground. As the horseman rides, his eyes are pinned to something in the distance.

His face is solemn and captivating. I swear that I’ve seen the arch of that brow and the slope of that nose before in my dreams. And I’ve imagined the curve of those lips, the press of those cheekbones, and the cut of that jaw in every tragic poem read by candlelight.

He is more beautiful than I can make sense of and more terrifying than I could’ve imagined.

I must make some noise from where I stand because the horseman’s gaze lowers from the skyline, his black hair shifting a little where it skims his shoulders. For one perfect second, our eyes meet.

He has ancient eyes. Even as far away as he is, I can still see his age in them. This being has seen more of humanity than I could ever hope to. I feel the weight of all that history the longer he looks at me. His jaw clenches as he takes me in, and my skin tingles from his appraisal.

Maybe it’s because I’m still in shock, or maybe it’s because it’s simply too late to hide, but whatever the reason, I walk onto the highway towards the horseman.

Death’s brows furrow, and he pulls his horse to a stop. I stop then, too, the two of us still staring each other down.

After a moment, he swings off his horse and strides forward, closing the distance between us. His boots make an ominous, echoing sound on the broken asphalt, and my heart is pounding and I should run. Why am I not running?

Death comes to stop in front of me.

He takes me in—all of me, his eyes moving from my face to my vintage T-shirt and cutoff jeans to my legs and second-hand sneakers, then all the way back up to my face again. The appraisal isn’t lewd; I get the impression that he’s not taking in my body at all, his gaze is a little unfocused.

“I don’t recognize you.” His wings rustle and resettle at that. He frowns, his brows creasing. “Who are you?”

Death and I are old enemies.

Well, at least I assumed we were enemies. Apparently, he doesn’t actually know who I am.

The thing is, I’ve never been able to die—or rather, I can die. It just never seems to stick.

Not when I fell from the tree and broke my neck. Not when I was robbed and my throat was slit.

And perhaps most notably, not even when Pestilence rode through Atlanta long ago, killing a city’s worth of people, my biological parents included.

I shouldn’t have lived then—not from the plague itself, and not from the days that followed when little infant me went without food and water.

The way my mother tells it—told it—she was riding back home after finding her husband dead at the hospital he worked at when she heard my cries.

I went inside the house, and there you were, scared, hungry, and howling like you didn’t survive at least two days on your own. You saw me and ran into my arms and that was that. I lost a husband, but gained a daughter.

I can hear my mom’s voice in my head even now, and it causes my throat to tighten. My strange origins were what led to my name, Lazarus.

One who cannot die.

There’s a sick twist of envy in my gut. Envy for the dead. Who even envies the dead? And yet here I am, wishing that death had taken me along with my family instead of forcing me to endure this crushing grief all alone.

Of all the futures I envisioned, this was never one of them. It should’ve been. This is the world we live in, one where nothing works anymore and people cling to religion like some sort of talisman that will keep the monsters at bay when it so obviously won’t.

I let my mother’s body go and back away from her. It hits me then: I am surrounded by the dead. Not just in this house, but in this entire city. I swear I can feel it in the air—death pressing in on all sides.

The ground beneath my feet begins to tremble. I glance down at the earth, my brow furrowed. In the distance I hear the deep groan of … something large. Several splintering sounds follow it, then—

Boom!

The ground shakes a bit more violently as something hits it hard.

I’m still trying to get my bearings when those same sounds start up again—only now, they’re coming from the walls of my house.

My gaze moves to the building before me, dread pooling low in my stomach. I begin to back up, even as the ground continues to shake.

Move, Lazarus.

I make it just beyond the oak tree near the back of the yard when my childhood home lets out a long, shrill screech. I turn around just as it starts to fall. The left side goes first, but as it begins to collapse, the right side follows.

BOOM!

I’m thrown to the ground by the sudden, close impact. A plume of dust and debris blows out over me, and I close my eyes, even as I breathe in the acrid air. A few final bits of building material clatter, then it grows quiet once more.

I stand, waving away the lingering dust in the air as I turn towards my house.

Only, my house is no longer standing. It, and all the dead who resided in it, are now nothing more than a pile of rubble.

Three nights later, sitting off to the side of Highway 78, I roll my mother’s old wedding ring round and round my finger as crickets chirp around me. It’s the only thing I managed to salvage from the wreckage of my house, though that’s because my mother was wearing it, and she was one of the only things not buried beneath the rubble.

I took it off her finger. Bile rises to my throat at the thought. I took it like some shameless grave robber. What I should’ve done was bury her with it. It meant a lot to her. But I didn’t, and honestly, my guilt is eclipsed by the relief I feel that I have at least something of hers.

Besides it, the only things that are truly mine are my purse and my bike, which I happened to leave at the farmer’s market way back when this all started. So now they’ve officially become my few prized possessions.

I return my attention to the simple gold band, trying my hardest to un-see all the images that my mind wants to manically replay over and over. It’s not just my town that has been destroyed. Bremen, Waco, Tallapoosa, Carrollton—all the towns I have passed through seeking refuge—they have been decimated, their inhabitants dead, their buildings leveled.

I’m still rolling that ring around when it comes to me.

He needs to be stopped.

And if I’m the only one who can survive Death … then I must be the one who stops him.

The second time I meet Death, it’s by design, not chance.

I sit against an oak tree off to the side of the road, a bow and quiver at my side.

It took three months, lots of running around in circles, and many, many devastated towns, but finally I think I’ve gotten ahead of Death.

The autumn sun hides behind clouds, and the trees down the road are changing colors. This is about the time that football season is in full swing, when there’s a sharp chill to the wind. With that comes the promise of holidays and sweaters and warm drinks and family.

My throat tightens. Living alone has been its own kind of hell. I’m used to noise. My house was always filled with singing, cursing, laughing, talking. There was comfort in all those sounds. You couldn’t walk five feet without tripping on someone else’s toes. Even once my siblings had all moved out, they were always over, and when it wasn’t them, it was neighbors and friends.

Now the only company I keep are the corpses I pass and the carrion eaters that feed on them.

That, and the lonely howl of the wind.

I think the loneliness might drive me mad.

The afternoon wears on, and I begin to fidget. Hanging out on well-traveled roads is just asking to get robbed at knife-point. That’s how it happened to me. I’d been on my way home from a patient’s house after being up for over twenty hours, assisting with a particularly long and troubled labor. The doula I was apprenticing under had sent me home to get some rest. I was falling asleep on my feet when I decided to stop a little ways off to the side of the road and lay down for a minute. I woke to my neck getting slit. The highwaymen stole all of my things as I bled out. When I came to again, I was bloody and alone.

Lightning flashes, rousing me from my thoughts.

Not a minute later, a swarm of animals rush down the quiet highway. I stare at them in disbelief.

He’s coming.

Dear God, he’s actually coming.

I’ve gotten the horseman’s location wrong so many times in the last few months that I almost believed I wouldn’t cross paths with him again. But finally it paid off.

Briefly my hand reaches for a bow I picked up a month ago. I’m not a good shot, and it was meant more for scaring off dogs and hunting game. (I’ve yet to succeed at that.) But perhaps I could use it to stop Death.

I grimace. I’ve never deliberately hurt anyone before, and while I might have reason to now, I’m … I’m not sure I’m ready to do so.

I mean, I’m the girl that deliberately stitches daisies onto my clothing, I like to save baby animals in my spare time, and for the last few years I’ve been studying to be a doula, of all things. Also, it’s been proven that, when drunk, I’m a hugger.

A lone figure comes into focus. He looks like a dark smudge against the stormy horizon. I can just make out those terrible wings.

Overhead, rain begins to fall. First one drop, then two, then several, until it feels like the sky has cracked itself wide open. The wind kicks up and I shiver against the chill.

The closer the horseman gets, the more I quake.

Did you really hope to stop him, Lazarus? He’s not just going to listen to reason. You know he’s not.

He doesn’t notice me, not until I get up from where I’m sitting and step out into the middle of the road.

The horseman pulls his horse up short, and though it’s a different city and a different day with different weather, it feels like I’m reliving our first encounter all over again.

“You,” he breathes, his voice filling the entire world around us.

He remembers me.

I shouldn’t be surprised, there probably aren’t many humans he can’t kill, but still. He remembers me.

The rain comes down faster by the second, and the wind whips my hair as I stare resentfully up at the horseman.

Death hops off his steed, his gaze fixed on me. In the shadowy light, his face looks especially tragic. Tragic and lovely—as though he’s haunted by the things he’s done.

That, of course, would be giving him far too much credit. I don’t think he cares at all about the deaths he’s responsible for.

Lightning spears through the sky. For an instant the harsh light changes the horseman’s features. Where a second ago there was a face, now I see a skull overlaying the horseman’s features, and where there was once armor and wings, now I see a skeleton.

Just as quickly as the lightning comes, it’s gone again, and Death is simply a man once more.

Oh God, he really is death. If I needed any more proof, I was just given it.

My knees go weak and fuck, I’m about to lose my nerve.

Death steps up to me, and my breath catches. He’s a being that was never meant to be beheld this closely. He’s wretchedly beautiful.

The horseman takes in my wet hair and rain-soaked body. “Every single creature runs from me—except you.” He doesn’t sound surprised or alarmed. The horseman is a complete mystery.

I lift my chin. “Am I supposed to be frightened of you?” Because I am. I am utterly terrified. I’m also too reckless to care.

He smiles a little, and I must be brave because I don’t piss myself at the sight of that grin, like any sane person might’ve.

“You took everyone from me.” My voice breaks as the words slip out. I hadn’t planned on opening with this, but once I start speaking, I can’t seem to stop. “My mother, my brothers, my sisters, my nieces and nephews, my neighbors, my friends. They’re all gone.”

The aching loneliness I’ve carried with me sweeps in. Grief is awful enough on its own, but now I also have to deal with this solitude I never asked for.

Death stares at me as rain pelts the two of us. “That is what I do, kismet,” he says, his voice gentling. “I kill.”

My grief claws at me, trying to get out. My entire life died that day Death came to my town, and he doesn’t give a shit.

Of course he doesn’t, Lazarus, a small voice inside me says. He wouldn’t be destroying the world if he did.

The horseman gives me another cursory look. Something ancient and alien stares out from the back of his eyes.

“What is your name?” he asks.

I hesitate. I shouldn’t give my name to a man I don’t trust. But what’s the worst that can happen? We both know he can’t kill me.

“Lazarus,” I finally admit.

“Lazarus,” he repeats, tasting the name on his tongue. He smiles, though again, it only manages to make him look like he’s about to eat me. “An appropriate namesake.”

Death begins to circle me, the tips of his wings dragging against the ground. The outer edge of one of those wings brushes against my arm, and the contact draws out goosebumps.

“Who are you?” he says.

“You’ve already asked me that question before,” I say, watching him warily as he comes to a stop again in front of me.

Lightning strikes off in the distance, and again I see a skeleton superimpose itself over him.

I shudder at the macabre sight.

“My will alone should kill you,” he says, ignoring my reaction. “It does not. My touch should rip your soul from your bones. It cannot. There is only one option left.” His ancient eyes seem … sad.

The horseman moves blindingly fast. He grabs me by either side of the head and with one swift jerk—

Snap.

I have two goals in mind: One, warn cities about the horseman’s looming arrival. Two, stop the horseman by any means necessary.

Just finding a town untouched by Death takes the better part of two weeks. I assumed I’d have trouble picking up the horseman’s trail, considering my past luck, but now it’s as though I cannot escape him. Everywhere I go, he’s already been. He doesn’t just leave corpses in his wake; the cities themselves are destroyed, the buildings leveled, the streets obscured by debris. It’s as though it’s not good enough to simply kill us, he must wipe out all evidence of our existence.

By the end of two weeks, I’ve seen dozens of cities of dead, and the map I picked up back in Tennessee is full of X’s—each one representing a city Death has taken. One of them is Nashville—beautiful, doomed Nashville. I openly wept when I entered the metropolis. The bodies had already begun to rot and the smell … it and the carrion eaters drove me out of the city just as quickly as I entered it.

But amidst it all, I’ve been learning. For instance, Death doesn’t move in straight lines. Instead he zig-zags across sections of the country. I can see it plainly on the map, though by the time I recognize the pattern, the dead I come across are older and more decomposed, which means Death is pulling farther ahead of me.

Another thing I’ve learned—through assumption alone—is that the horseman never sleeps and never stops, making it that much harder to stay one step ahead of him.

So when I eventually do come across a city lying in Death’s path—one full of living, breathing people—it’s like a cruel dream, and I have to check my map again.

The city of Lexington bustles about as though nothing is amiss. And not only is it thriving, it is a massive city—one Death would not leave standing.

Did I get something wrong? Has the horseman changed his pattern?

I have this panicky urge inside me to stand in the middle of the road and scream the truth from the top of my lungs.

Death is coming for you all!

Instead, I head for the police station—though it takes me a few tries and some asking to find my way.

I lean my well-traveled bike against the side of the police station and I worry my lower lip as I eye the building.

Should I have gone to a fire station instead? City Hall? I don’t actually know where the best place would be to share news of Death’s movements.

Taking a deep breath, I reluctantly remove my weapons, leaving them with my bike. I sincerely hope no one is ballsy enough to steal these right outside a police station. Then, I stride inside.

There are a few people waiting in nearby seats, and the officer manning the front desk gives me a bored look, like he’d rather be doing other things in other places.

I head up to him, cracking my knuckles finger by finger as though that might dispel my nerves.

“What can I do for you today, miss?” the man drawls.

I draw in a deep breath. There is no sugar-coating this.

“One of the Four Horsemen is closing in on this city.”

“This is ridiculous,” the mayor protests a minute later. “No one is going to let you cut yourself—or whatever the hell you plan on doing.”

“You want proof I cannot die; I have the proof. Do you really think any of this is bloodless?” I demand vehemently. “My hometown isn’t the only city I’ve seen fall. Look at those X’s. They represent every massacre I’ve seen with my own eyes. And there are countless more that I haven’t seen. I’m trying to prevent Lexington from being another X on my map, so if you need proof, I’m willing to give it.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, and I can tell the men are uncomfortable with everything I’m telling them.

“Fuck it,” the chief of police says, threading his hands behind his head, his chair groaning as he shifts his weight. “If the lady wants to cut herself to prove a point, I say she does it.”

I don’t want to do anything.

The fire chief stares at me for a long moment, then nods his head.

“Really?” The mayor blows out a breath. “Fine, whatever.”

I begin rolling up one of my sleeves as the mayor mutters something under his breath.

“Just what exactly are you planning on doing?” the fire chief asks, his eyes narrowing.

I glance over at him. “I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you’re worried about. I heal unnaturally fast—I was planning on demonstrating that.”

“How exactly is one little cut supposed to prove that you can’t die?” the mayor says, somewhat hostile.

I blow out a breath. “Should I just go?” I ask. I feel defeated. “I want to help, but if you think I have malicious intent, I can go.” Bile rises at the thought. I don’t want to leave, but I also need to know when to fold.

I think I know what road the horseman will take into Lexington. If I leave now, perhaps I can cut him off …

“If you have malicious intent,” the mayor says, “you won’t be going anywhere.”

The chief of police holds up his hand. “Nobody is asking you to leave,” he says, giving the mayor a sharp look. “Do what you need to, to prove your claims.”

I exhale. Okay, I can do this. I haven’t scared off these officials yet.

I point to my bag. “Can I grab my knife?”

The men in the room tense as though I haven’t been saying for the last several minutes that I need a knife.

The fire chief eventually nods. “That’s fine.”

Slowly, I pull the blade out from my bag.

“One wrong move with that knife, miss, and I won’t hesitate to take you down,” the chief of police warns.

“I understand,” I say softly, unsheathing my blade.

This isn’t the worst situation I imagined. I assumed this gathering might fall apart at the seams and we’d never get this far. But we live in the time of nightmarish miracles. Defying death isn’t quite as insane as it might’ve been thirty years ago.

Baring my left forearm, I bring my knife to the exposed skin. I hesitate, drawing in a deep breath. I’ve never actually done this before, and my stomach turns at the prospect.

Before I can second-guess myself, I drag the blade down against my forearm. My flesh parts disturbingly easy. The pain comes a split second later, and even after all I’ve endured, it’s still a shock to feel that sharp sting.

I suck in a breath as my blood drips from the wound, and I drop my knife on the table.

Across from me, the fire chief stands, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket.

“To staunch the blood,” he explains. “It’s clean.”

Giving him a grateful look, I take it from him, wiping the blood away. A moment later, I round the table, heading over to the men, my arm extended.

“I figured you’d want to see the wound up close,” I say. “Just so that you all know it’s not a trick.”

I wipe the blood away, even as more wells up in its place. Around me, the three men do take a good look, the fire chief even going so far as to grasp my forearm and move it this way and that.

“How long will it take to heal?” he asks, releasing my arm.

I shake my head. “An hour, maybe two.”

“Two hours?” The mayor raises a hand as if to say, what was even the point of this?

And I agree—two hours is too long to wait.

“If that’s a problem,” I say, “then put me in a cell, lock me away for two hours, and begin making evacuation plans. If I’m lying, you can keep me there,” I say. “But I’m not,” I add, steel in my voice, “so you best start prepping.”

I crouch inside the attic of a trading post that sits on the edge of Lexington, the smell of tobacco and beeswax wafting from the crates around me. My bow and arrow are poised over the open window, the late afternoon sun hanging low in the sky. I have a view of the I-64, the highway I’m betting the horseman will use to enter this city.

I adjust my grip on my bow. I’m a decent shot, but not great. I glance across the street, where a handful of other archers lie in wait behind and on the roof of a horse stable. One of them is Jeb Holton, the chief of police. He was adamant about being posted here, on the road that I felt most certain Death would be traveling.

The rest of the streets in and out of the city are being guarded as well. The horrible truth is that no one has any idea if or when or from which direction the horseman will ride through.

I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. My muscles are stiff from sitting still for so long.

I worry my lower lip. It’s been over twenty-four hours since I first met with Lexington officials, and I’ve sat up here for almost half that amount of time, taking shifts sleeping alongside Kelly Ormond, the officer posted up here with me.

Outside, the road is fairly busy as people flee their homes. Evacuation orders have been given, and over the last day many have packed up and left.

Many have also stayed.

At the window next to mine, Officer Ormond waits, her own bow poised.

Distant animal calls break the silence. My body tenses as I notice the thick, moving darkness on the horizon and the distant, shocked cries of travelers on the highway below us. As I watch, that dark mass moves like a wave towards us.

I hear bleating and howling and cawing and a hundred other animal cries over the shouts of frightened evacuees. Creatures flood the highway, overturning bikes and carts and barreling through the people on the road.

Once the animals are gone, an eerie silence follows in their wake, raising the hair on my arms.

I strain my eyes, searching, searching …

“Think the horseman’s coming our way?” she asks.

“Yes.” I’m certain that in a matter of minutes I’m going to see Death face-to-face once more. At that, unease pools low in my belly. Even after everything he’s done to me and my family, I’m not sure I’m ready for what I’m about to do—what I have already set in motion.

I can hear the beat of my own heart. I steady my breath.

I can do this. I will do this.

Below, the spooked travelers help up their comrades who were knocked down and right their overturned belongings. It’s that day at the farmer’s market all over again, only now, an officer poised behind the building across from us is calling out to the people on the road and directing them back the way they came.

Those farther down the highway aren’t so lucky. I see one man standing in the middle of the road, dusting himself off like his life is not being threatened at this very moment.

“Move,” Officer Ormond murmurs under her breath, noticing the same man.

I press my lips together, grimacing. I don’t know how much time the rest of these people have.

I hear horse hooves echo against the asphalt.

My skin pricks, and then—

There he is.

Great, winged Death.

For a moment, I can’t breathe.

Hate is such a gentle word for what I feel for the horseman. And yet the sight of him makes me ache inside. He’s beautiful and terrible and more than just a little mythical as he rides down the highway. Around him, people fall down dead. A few scream—some are even able to turn around and run back towards us and those ones don’t fall down dead. Not yet at least.

For a moment, I’m gobsmacked at the sight. Back in Georgia Death killed everyone far before he came upon them. And though I’m thankful that these fleeing travelers and the posted officers haven’t died, I’m still shocked that the reach of the horseman’s power has changed.

Next to me, Kelly’s oiled bow creaks as she pulls the string taut, and it’s that subtle sound that snaps me out of my own musings.

I aim my arrow and force myself to clear my mind as I wait for the signal.

The seconds pass like minutes. Then, in the distance someone whistles, and that’s all the cue I need.

Please don’t miss.

I release my arrow alongside Officer Ormond’s and half a dozen others. The projectiles slice through the wind.

The horseman only has time to shield himself with an arm, his wings flaring wide, before the arrows slice into him. Many glance off his armor, but several more puncture his wings and at least one slices through his throat. I can hear the choked sound he makes as his horse rears back.

Under the onslaught, Death’s wings seem to crumple and the horseman’s body slides off his horse, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Even as he falls, I nock another arrow into my bow and release it—as do the other officers. Again and again we release them.

Shoot until he falls, I’d told the room of uniformed men and women last night. And then continue to shoot him. Shoot until you’re out of arrows.

That’s what we do. We empty our quivers and pelt the horseman with arrows until his horse is driven away and Death himself looks more like a porcupine than anything else.

Meanwhile, the final few living travelers flee for their lives, their screams growing distant as they move farther and farther from us.

Eventually, our volley of arrows tapers off, the quiet hiss of them sliding into silence.

“Shit,” Kelly breathes next to me. She then slumps back against the wall, dropping her bow. “We did it.”

“We did,” I say softly, still staring at Death’s still form. All sorts of conflicted emotions churn within me.

We took down an angel.

I don’t know how many miles I’ve gone when I hear the pound of hoof beats behind me. I glance over my shoulder, and there’s Death’s dapple gray stallion, closing the distance between us. It gallops all the way up to the cart before leaning over and nudging the horseman’s body with its muzzle.

My heart is beating loudly because a supernatural horse is shadowing me and it seems like this is where I learn that supernatural horses like to eat humans or something else equally atrocious.

But after checking on its owner, the horse seems content to merely follow us.

I ride the rest of the day and into the night, retracing Death’s movements as best I can. He’ll eventually wake, and he’ll eventually resume his terrible mission, but hopefully I can stop him for a time.

Every so often I hear something clatter in the cart. The first few times this happened, I stopped my bike to try to figure out the cause of the noise. That’s when I first noticed the bloody arrows lying next to the horseman. Initially, I assumed these had been jostled loose by the swaying cart. But as the hours pass and one by one, the bloody arrows that were once definitely inside the horseman are now obviously outside of him, I realize that somehow his body is purging the weapons.

That’s … more than a little unsettling.

I pedal long into the night. My legs have been shaking and cramping for hours, and it’s colder than hell and I probably should’ve stopped miles ago to rest. I’m beyond exhausted.

Still, I push on until I’m literally too exhausted to continue pedaling. Only then, do I angle my bike to the shoulder of the road and let it roll to a stop. Behind me, Death’s horse trails along.

I swing my leg over my seat and slip off, kicking out the bike stand.

All I want to do is collapse on the ground and sleep my exhaustion away.

Have to set up camp. The thought nearly does me in. I’m not entirely sure I have it in me to make a proper bed, let alone set up camp. Still, I stumble over to the cart to at least get a blanket from my bag.

Once I get to the cart, however, I hesitate. I’m pretty sure almost all the arrows have been purged from Death’s body, which means he’s healing—and really, really rapidly.

I stare and stare at horseman’s winged form. One of my hands moves to the knife at my side, and I wait for him to leap up and surprise me. When a minute passes and nothing happens, I force myself to take several long, steadying breaths.

Assuming he can’t die, then … what if he wakes while I sleep?

He broke my neck when he found me a nuisance. What will he do now that I’ve truly hurt him?

I have to be ready for him.

I glance around. Thick trees line the highway—I could sleep hidden somewhere in there … Maybe he wouldn’t go looking for me—or if he did, maybe I’d wake in time.

… And maybe in the light of day, this tree line won’t actually hide me at all. The thought of the horseman spotting me and coming after me terrifies me beyond belief.

I could simply flee. My legs nearly give out at the thought. I have nothing left in me. I spent it all getting this far away.

I don’t know what options that leaves me with.

My gaze returns to the horseman. The few times that I’ve woken up from death, it’s taken me a moment to get my bearings. Perhaps it’s the same for the horseman.

If I were able to wake up just as the horseman started rousing, I might still have the upper hand. But that would mean … that would mean getting in there with him.

No. Absolutely not.

So, fleeing it is.

Before I can think twice, I’m dragging myself into the cart to get my things. I’ll simply grab my bag and my bow and quiver and leave.

The cart rocks a little as I step onto it, and I have to bite back a whimper. My limbs are still trembling with exhaustion, and it makes groping around the cart in the darkness that much harder.

Where are my things? Where are they? Where are they? My hands keep closing around arrows and nothing more.

I lift one of Death’s wings, then immediately drop it.

It’s warm!

I stare in horror at the horseman.

“Death?” I whisper.

No response.

“I don’t believe you’re dead,” I breathe.

Nothing.

Maybe he still is. Maybe this is what an undead body feels like before it wakes.

There’s only one way to know.

Need to check his pulse. Hopefully he won’t snap my neck the moment I do so.

I kneel down next to him, fighting off fatigue as I grope around his armor until I find his hand. I move my fingers to his wrist, but there’s no pulse. Still, if he’s not alive yet, he probably will be soon. Bitter relief courses through me, though the last thing I should be is relieved. The fact that Death cannot be killed makes stopping him that much more complicated.

Setting his hand down, I continue searching for my bag, blinking several times as I feel my eyes droop with sleep. My fingers brush against more dislodged arrows. Eventually my hand closes over my satchel.

Success!

I tug on it, only to discover that it’s pinned beneath Death’s shoulders and his wings.

Well shit, the thing is as good as gone.

I lean back against the cart wall, my lower legs brushing against the horseman. I’m beyond exhausted, all I want to do is sleep, and my grand plan of fleeing just got shot to hell.

My eyes begin to droop.

Oh God, not here. Need to get out of the cart ...

My body is having none of it.

At the very least, I need to slit the horseman’s throat or do something else drastic to keep him dead for a while longer. I nearly retch at the prospect. One killing is enough for a day.

I rub my eyes. At the very least I should bind his hands.

Alright, I can do that. Even though it seems impossible, and my head hurts just trying to figure out what I’ll need to use as restraints, I can do it.

I just need a moment to rest … I haven’t been able to rest, and I’m really, really tired … but then I’ll do it … I just need a little ... 

I jolt awake to the sensation of my body tipping forward.

I catch myself, but then decide to lay down in the cart. I’ll find the bindings in just a minute. I’m just going to close my eyes for one moment, then I’ll do it …

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I’m aware that this is an epically bad idea, but it’s warm here, next to the horseman, and I’m too tired to panic—too tired to care much at all.

Just going to rest here for a minute … then I’ll get up …

This time when I shut my eyes, it’s for good.

I wake to the smoky smell of frankincense and myrrh. Above me, pale morning light stretches across the sky, bathing the clouds in a rosy glow. The air has a chill bite to it, but I’m warm here, with my blanket …

Blanket?

My eyes move to the massive black wing that’s draped over me like my own personal blanket. Worse, at some point in the night the horseman shifted position. He now lays on his side, his face inches from mine.

Oh no.

My heart starts hammering in my chest.

Lazarus, what have you done, you enormous twat?

As gently as I can, I grab Death’s wing, biting down on my lower lip to smother the panicked sounds I want to make.

I expect the warm feel of them. What I don’t expect is how soft they are. I hadn’t noticed that last night.

Move.

I push the wing off of me, only to hear a soft sigh come from the horseman.

I freeze as he stirs.

This is where I stab him. This is where I force him to stay unconscious so I can give the people of Lexington even more time to evacuate.

I reach for my sheathed knife … but I hesitate.

Just do it. He’s done it to you before.

But I don’t have the heart to. Not right now when he’s so helpless. It feels … wrong.

I move my hand away from my knife—for now.

It’s only then that I notice the smoke wafting lazily around us. How I missed it before now is a mystery; I’ve been choking on the fragrant fumes since I woke.

Sitting up, I search for the smoke’s source. After a moment, I spot the strange torch that it’s coming from. It rests in the corner of the cart, and from its decorative silver casing, I know exactly who it belongs to.

Get your things and go!

Quietly, I grab my bow and quiver from where they rest at my feet. No wonder I couldn’t find them last night. I’d been looking in the wrong area the entire time. Never taking my eyes off of the horseman, I quietly grab them and lower them to the dirt outside the cart. Then I scan the wagon for that damned bag of mine. I finally catch sight of it, wedged between the horseman’s shoulder and wing.

Oh, come on.

I swallow, my gaze fixed to the satchel.

Just leave it.

But damnit, it contains the last few items I owned from before my life was destroyed, and I really, really don’t want to part with them.

My gaze returns to the horseman. Who’s alive and who could wake at any moment.

I can do this. I’m ballsy, and I’m not going to let this asshole cost me the last of my personal possessions. He’s taken enough as it is.

With that pep talk, I unsheathe my blade and slowly move myself until I’m kneeling on either side of the horseman, his legs trapped between mine. Bringing the knife up to his neck, I reach for my bag.

It takes one forceful yank, but I finally get the thing dislodged.

Beneath me, the horseman stirs, his black brows pulling together before smoothing out.

I think I’ve truly run out of time.

I could bolt now, but then, there’s another option, one that’s far too tempting for my vengeful side.

So, after tossing my bag into the grass next to the cart, I stay there, knife pressed to his neck, and wait for him to wake.

I can’t keep myself from staring at him. His face is unmarred—as though it weren’t run through by several arrows only a day ago. Stranger still, there isn’t a speck of blood on him.

That’s different.

Every time I’ve died—no matter how briefly—it’s always left some trace behind. Ripped clothing, bloody skin—something. But staring down at the horseman, it’s as though yesterday simply didn’t happen at all.

I frown as I study him. I’ve never seen anyone so … so grotesquely handsome—handsome and lethal. There should be a name for that kind of beauty, the kind that literally kills.

As I keep vigil, he stirs again. Only this time, his eyes flutter, then snap open.

The first thing he sees is me.

“Hello again, Death,” I say. “Did you miss me?”

He begins to sit up.

“Ah ah,” I say, pressing the knife a little firmer against him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He glances down at the blade. When he looks back at me, his eyes are glittering with malice. “You intend to hurt me?”

I lean in close. “I already have.”

It takes him a moment to remember, but eventually Death’s eyes narrow on me. “The arrows,” he murmurs. “That was you.”

It wasn’t really me. I’m pretty sure my own shots went wide. But I’ll still take credit for the attack.

“I vowed I’d stop you.”

I don’t see the horseman’s hand move until it’s wrapped around my neck. I forgot how damn fast he is.

He doesn’t squeeze and I don’t bother trying to pry his fingers off of me. This is the cursed retribution I feared, yet I’m surprised by how unafraid I am in the face of it.

“Let me go, or I’ll slit your throat,” I say softly.

He gives a low laugh, one that’s full of menace. He does, however, remove his hand from my neck. I realize a second too late, he does that only so that he can wrap an arm around my waist and flip us, forcing me to the floor of the cart.

My knife slashes down his throat with the movement.

Death curses, snatching the blade from my hand and tossing it away. Then once more he pins me down by the neck.

Now he’s the one looming over me, the blood from his wound dripping onto my lips and chin. The moment I taste the iron tang of it, I begin struggling again.

“Foolish woman,” he hisses. “You should’ve slit my throat before I woke.”

I know.

He waits for me to stop struggling, staring down at me with eyes that seem to glitter.

“Killing me won’t stop anything. You cannot save your people,” he says, his weight bearing down on me.

“Not forever,” I agree, “but I’m going to make you work for each one of those deaths.”

He practically growls out his displeasure, his feathers ruffling at his back. “Leave it be,” he says. “I am not interested in battling you.”

I lift my chin. “Then stop the killing.”

His nostrils flare, and maybe it’s my imagination, but the horseman actually looks vexed.

“Do you think I want to be here? That I like riding through cities and doing this?”

“If you don’t like doing it, then that’s all the more reason to stop.”

He scowls, looking fierce. “People go when it’s their time, kismet, and it’s not my place to make exceptions.”

I’ve had about enough of this.

I strike out at him. “It’s—not—our—time.” Each word is punctuated by a swing of my fist or a thrust of my boot.

My attack is messy, and the horseman dodges each blow, but that doesn’t stop me from continuing to swipe at him. I swear to his sanctimonious god I’m going to claw out those stupid eyes of his.

He leans away, managing to keep just out of reach. “You think to hurt me again, mortal? You forget who I am.”

Death doesn’t bother squeezing my neck and yet—and yet …

My back arches and my eyes widen as pain lashes through me.

What are you doing? I try to say, but the sensation robs me of breath.

Feels like … like I’m withering away. Like my life is being sucked from my flesh.

I stare up into Death’s eyes as he takes my life. That must be what he’s doing. I feel the years peeling away from my bones and I’m being devoured from the inside out. I try to scream, but it comes out as a strangled cry.

The longer the horseman stares down at me, the more his expression changes, his brows pinching together in confusion. That somber façade of his gives away and his chest rises and falls faster and faster. Now I reach for the hand wrapped around my neck and try to pry it loose.

I’m impossibly weak—far too weak to remove Death’s grip on me. I choke on my own breath. Next time I catch this monster I’m definitely stabbing him before he wakes.

All at once Death gives a frustrated shout. He releases me then, casting himself as far away as he can get.

“Why did you do this?” he demands, looking heavenward. “I don’t want to feel like this.”

I lay there, trying to draw in air.

He swings himself out of the cart then, moving around it to get to his horse, preparing to flee from me once more.

As he passes me, he pauses, his eyes moving to mine. He takes me in, looking disturbed by what he sees.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words clipped.

“Don’t be,” I wheeze out. “Next time we meet, I fully plan on gutting you alive.”

And this time I won’t let my damned conscience get in the way.

Grave-robbing is a deplorable act. Unfortunately for me, I’ve been forced to resort to it.

I press a handkerchief to my nose as I reach into the pocket of a bloated corpse,

“So … fucking … disgusting.”

I knew the dead smelled, but I had never realized just how putrid every single thing about decomposition could be. Not until I started encountering cities of dead.

This body in particular is grotesquely swollen.

“I’m so sorry,” I say to the man, “but I need you to give—up—your—wallet.” I jerk on the object in question, which doesn’t want to come out of the swollen corpse’s pocket.

“Lazarus.”

I nearly fall face-first into the corpse at the sound of my name echoing in the air.

I know that voice.

It’s been only a little over a week since I last heard it, but it feels like I confronted him only yesterday.

Dropping my handkerchief, I grab my bow and draw an arrow, swiveling around.

There, less than a block away, standing among the rubble of the razed town is the horseman.

My breath catches at the sight of him. Clad in his silver armor and shrouded by his black hair and wings, he looks every bit the dark deity he is.

I aim my weapon at his chest. How long has he been standing there watching me?

Death’s gaze drops to my bow. “Your weapon won’t protect you, kismet.”

“What are you doing here?” I demand. I’m breathing faster than I should, surprise making me jittery.

“You’ve been following me,” he states.

My heart is pounding like mad. I could shoot him now. I’d probably miss, but you never know.

The horseman prowls forward, the tips of his wings dragging along the ground.

“Keep your distance,” I warn.

“Do you really think your bow scares me?” he asks.

“I will shoot.”

“Ah, so it’s you who is scared.” He tilts his head. “Did you not like my touch?”

I think he’s deliberately trying to frighten me, and damn him, but it’s working. Even now I’m remembering how, beneath his hand, it felt as though my life was leaking out through my pores.

“Why were you waiting for me?” I demand.

“Why are you chasing me?” he fires back.

I frown at that. “You already know why. You must be stopped.”

“Must I?” he responds, coming ever closer. “Perhaps it is you who needs to be stopped.”

I need to shoot him. I don’t know why I haven’t released my arrow yet.

“Is that why you’re here?” I ask, my gaze flicking to our surroundings before returning to him. “Because you wanted to stop me?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.

A chill courses through me when I realize I am the only person he can really talk to. I don’t know the nuances of his power, but wherever he goes he kills. Perhaps I am the only person he has ever spoken to.

“You cannot change my mind about coming after you,” I say.

“Who said anything about changing minds?” His gaze sweeps down my body and back up to my face, assessing me. Only, his eyes linger for a beat too long on my mouth, and when they finally do rise to meet my gaze, there are so many emotions in those eyes. I feel like if I stare too long, I’ll fall into them and drown.

“You and I are fated to endure one another,” the horseman says softly as he moves towards me; he’s now no more than ten feet away.

“Don’t come any closer,” I say. “I mean it.”

Reluctantly, Death does stop.

I look him over the same way he did me. I hate that I find everything about him beautiful—from that ancient, tragic face to those strange wings, to his massive frame and his intricate silver armor. It all calls to me.

The corner of his mouth lifts as he watches me scrutinize him.

“What’s your name?” I ask, keeping my arrow aimed at his chest. “Or do you only go by Death?”

“Oh, I have many names.” His gaze returns to my lips, and a muscle in his jaw flexes.

“And what are they?”

“Anubis. Yama. Xoltol. Vanth. Charon. Mors. Mara. Azrael—and many, many others.” His eyes flick to mine. “But for you, Thanatos.”

“Thanatos,” I echo, letting my guard down for a moment.

He must sense it because he smiles and his eyes burn. The horseman—Thanatos—takes another step forward, and I tense all over again.

“I will shoot you.”

“Then shoot me already,” he challenges.

He doesn’t believe me?

I release the arrow. The projectile glances off his armor and clatters to the ground mere feet away.

And … the horseman now looks pissed.

I’m reaching over my shoulder for another arrow when Death storms forward, erasing the last of the distance between us. Before I can fully nock the projectile, he jerks my bow and arrow out of my hand and casts them aside.

“Hey—!” I cry out.

Even as I protest, Thanatos reaches for my quiver strap. The horseman pulls it off my shoulder and tosses it away from me. I wince when I hear it hit the corpse I was trying to rob.

And now I’m empty-handed against the angel of death.

I tilt my head back and look up, up into the horseman’s terrible eyes. He scowls down at me, that muscle in his jaw still ticking.

“Do you really think you are making any difference?” he says, crowding me until his chest brushes mine. “Following me, shooting me?”

He’s clearly angry, which means I’m at least doing something right.

“People are escaping you—surviving you,” I say, “—so yes, I do think I’m making a difference.”

His expression changes, he looks almost amused. “That was a single city—a city I wiped out only hours after I left your side that day. And I’ve eradicated over a dozen other towns since. Your efforts are sincere,” he acknowledges, “but wasted.”

Before I can respond, Thanatos shocks me by cupping my jaw, his eyes scouring my face. “All of creation falls to me, kismet. Kings and beggars, babies and warriors. Whales and flies, redwoods and dandelions. It all ends. And when it does, I am there to claim it.

“You will not stop me today, or tomorrow—you will not stop me ever. But—despite all sense, I think I do enjoy watching you try.”

He releases my jaw then.

I stumble back as he moves away from me.

“The next time we meet, Lazarus, I won’t be so kind to you,” he warns, his wings spreading wide. “But come for me all the same. I will relish our reunion.”

He leaps into the sky, his massive wingbeats further scattering my arrows across the street.

With one final, parting look, he flies away from me.

I can’t say how long I’ve been crouching on this partially collapsed overpass, waiting for the horseman to trot down the interstate highway beneath me. Nor am I absolutely certain that the horseman will travel this way, or that my half-baked plan will actually work.

All I know is that I’m freezing my ass off and waiting here was most certainly a bad idea.

I breathe on my gloved hands and rub them together. My nose hurts, my ears ache, and my toes feel like they’re frozen. I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten frostbite on three separate occasions over the last month, and depending on how long I stick to this miserable task, today might mark four.

But watery sunlight has broken through the clouds, and maybe this day will be a little warmer than the ones that preceded it.

I grab my thermos and take another sip of coffee. I am pretty sure the horseman is coming this way. I know he made it to Minneapolis, and I think the next big city he’s set his sights on is Des Moines.

Just as I set my thermos aside, the wildlife sweeps through. Cats, dogs, chickens, deer, birds, cows, elk—I even see a few bison.

The animals rush down the highway and the fields that border it on either side. As quickly as they come, they’re gone, and that deathly silence sweeps over me, a silence I’ve come to associate with Death.

It takes several minutes, but eventually I catch sight of the horseman, casually riding down the I-35, the highway that runs beneath this overpass.

Before he has a chance to see me, I cut across to the other side of the overpass, nearly tripping over broken bits of asphalt as I do so.

I’ve gotten better at shooting my bow, but my fingers are far too numb to successfully shoot the horseman off his steed.

So today, I’m doing something a little different.

I pull myself onto the low wall of the overpass and, placing a hand on the cold concrete, I crouch there, my gaze locked on the highway below. A portion of the overpass to my left has collapsed, creating a bottleneck of sorts right beneath me, one that the horseman will have to pass through. I’m planning on capitalizing on it.

My breath mists as I wait for the horseman.

It takes a couple minutes, but eventually I hear the steady clop of his steed’s hooves as he gets closer and closer. Quietly, I withdraw my knife as I stare down at the highway beneath me.

Now those hoof beats echo, and I tense as he crosses beneath the overpass. The seconds seem to stretch as I wait.

Finally, I see his horse’s dappled head twenty feet beneath me, then I see the black waves of Death’s hair and his silver armor as he stares ahead, unaware of my presence.

I leap.

For a moment, while I’m airborne, I realize how absolutely stupid and prone to failure this idea is. But by then it’s too late.

Rather than landing in the saddle, as I’d so elegantly pictured, I clobber into the horseman.

He grunts as I knock him off his horse, the two of us tumbling to the road below.

The whole thing is painful and more than a little embarrassing, but before Death can react, I stab him through the neck.

“Lazarus,” he rasps, reaching for his throat. Blood slips between his fingers, and a small sound slips from my lips.

I’ve fought this man before. I’ve hurt and killed him before. But this is … intimate in a grotesque way. Shooting someone from a distance is far more impersonal than this.

Withdrawing the dagger, I release it as though it burned me, my nausea rising.

Regardless, it’s too late for regret. There’s blood everywhere and the wound I’ve inflicted is too deep. Thanatos’s eyelids droop, and then seconds later his body goes limp.

It’s painfully quiet.

There’s nothing to ease the aftermath of this violent moment.

My shoulder and chest hurt from my fall, and I’m still nauseous from my own violence, but I force myself to get up.

Moving like a creaky old man, I head back up to the overpass to grab my things. When I return to the horseman’s side, I finally notice the smell.

Frankincense and myrrh. I glance up and see Death’s horse standing twenty feet away, the horseman’s torch jutting out of one of the saddlebags. Hazy, perfumed smoke wafts through the air, and a chill passes through me.

I know enough about the horseman to know death won’t stop him for long. The only real way to hold the horseman up is to stick around and kill him again before he wakes.

I’ve been confronted with this issue before. I still can’t stomach the thought, particularly not after what I just did.

You could hold him captive.

The thought causes my breath to still.

I could hold him captive.

It would be like trying to rein in a hurricane. You can’t stop a force of nature.

That doesn’t quell my rising excitement. I mean, who knows? Maybe I can rein him in.

There’s really only one way to find out.

I’ve lain in wait for the horseman now two dozen times? Three dozen? Four? It all blurs together. And with each city I pass, my sharp grief and seething anger fades a little more.

Aren’t you tired of the fighting?

What if we decided to stop hurting one another?

“Place your best sharpshooters at all the main roads entering and exiting the city,” I say to Austin’s chief of police, Wyatt Davenport. “You only get one chance to kill the horseman. If an arrow goes wide or fails to instantly kill him, everyone dies.”

I’ve increasingly tried to confront the horseman before he can reach a city, but many times I can’t avoid it. Hence, how I’ve found myself in the room with Austin’s chief of police.

Chief Davenport pulls himself up a little straighter from where he sits in his chair. “We’ve received Oklahoma City’s warnings, and we’ve heard the stories from others who’ve stumbled across the bodies,” he says, somewhat defensively. “We are already aware of the horseman’s existence, and we have plans already in place.”

“He kills in an instant,” I say. “I’ve seen it firsthand.” So many, many times. “You need to evacuate everyone if you can. He’s coming from the North—” I stand and point to the highway I took into Austin. “Most likely he’ll use this road. It would be best to have civilians avoid it and to place most—”

“I will decide what is best for our city,” Chief Davenport says, cutting me off. He scrutinizes me again. “Who referred you again?”

I can feel my bones wearying. “The fire chief.”

I am tired. So, so tired.

Tired of explaining this to people who don’t want to believe it. Tired of waiting, bow poised, for Death to ride down that road. Tired of the long days and the short nights. Tired of the ever-present fear that I carry with me.

Tired of hurting Death. Fighting him.

Maybe I should just give in. It is all inevitable.

I push the seductive thought away.

“The fire chief,” he echoes, looking at me as though I’m a liar. I don’t know if it’s my gender, my authority, or what, but something about me rubs this man all wrong. “And where is he? Samuel would’ve made a point to be here himself if he felt it was important.”

“I don’t know why the fire chief isn’t here,” I say, exasperated.

The chief of police settles back into his seat, his gaze flicking over my shoulder to the door, as though he’s trying to figure out the fastest way to end this meeting.

“How do you even know the horseman is coming this way?” Davenport asks, scrutinizing me again, his expression shrewd. “Am I really supposed to believe some girl who just happened to roll on into my city spouting stories where everyone dies—except for her, of course—really holds the answers that no one else does?” He gives me a hard look. “Sharpshooters,” he mutters, shaking his head.

This is where he assumes I have some sort of elaborate plan to get everyone out of their homes so that I can rob them blind.

I’m so tired.

I haven’t told the chief of police the part about me being un-killable. I don’t think I have it in me today to tell that truth. So instead, I point to the map in front of him.

“That’s my evidence. Look at the cities he’s hit. There’s a pattern to it. And if you follow that pattern, you’ll see that it leads right through Austin. You said yourself that Oklahoma City reached out. You know there are—”

“Do not presume to tell me what I know,” the police chief says, his voice like steel.

I tighten my jaw, forcing myself to remain silent about the presumptions this man has made about me.

“Death likes the big cities,” I say instead. “He’ll be here soon.”

“Based on a bunch of scribbles you made on some map.” Chief Davenport pushes the paper back to me. “Enough of this hogwash. Get out of my—”

“There is one other reason,” I rush to say.

He grimaces with his impatience, but waits.

“Death is coming this way because I am here,” I say grimly. “He’s after me.”

I wake slowly, my eyelids peeling themselves apart. I stare up at the sky from inside a partially collapsed building. Half of the ceiling has caved in, and judging by the ache at my back, I’m lying on what remains of it.

I begin to move, then choke as blinding pain stabs through me.

I glance down at my torso. Just above my bellybutton, a thick metal bar juts upwards. I choke again, this time more from horror than anything else.

I’ve been impaled.

I move my arms—those seem to have mostly healed, though they’re covered in bruises—and try to push myself up—

I scream as pain lacerates through me and flop back down.

I pant as I stare at the blue sky far above me.

Jesus.

I can’t die, and I’m stuck.

I can’t say how many times I’ve glanced over my shoulder over the last three days, sure I’m going to see the horseman right behind me. And the few times I’ve encountered hoof beats, I’ve panicked, sure it was Death astride his horse.

But the road and sky remain empty of the horseman. Perhaps Death’s threat wasn’t so urgent. After all, he’s made similar promises in the past, and yet here I am, alive and alone.

The people seated around me in the bustling restaurant eye me with distrust and more than a little distaste.

My hair is unbrushed, my body unwashed, my recently-lifted clothes are ragged and ill-fitting, and the belt that holds my new dagger is far too big. In my haste to get away from Death, I didn’t have time to do much more than take these few items from the dead I passed on my way out of Austin. All I have left to my name are a few stray bills in my pocket—also swiped from the dead—and my mother’s ring.

I’m usually better prepared than this. I’m also usually less spooked.

Just as I take a bite of my scone, I catch the eye of a young woman sitting with her friend. She looks repulsed by me.

I lift my cup of coffee and salute her. She looks away quickly.

I prop my legs on the chair across from me and lean back, taking a minute to just clear my mind and listen to the hum of conversation.

For a moment, it’s relaxing. But then I’m remembering the way Thanatos held me close to him, and the way his fingers stroked my skin. And his eyes, his stormy, depthless eyes … the way he looked at me felt like another touch. Everything about him seemed to promise—

The panicked baying of dogs and the screech of messenger birds from the post office across the street cuts into my thoughts.

I lower my coffee just as the horses out on the street go wild, tearing off down the road, some with carts still attached to them. That’s when the true wave of animals sweeps through the town. Outside, people cry out at the stampede of creatures sprinting down the city streets.

“Fuck.”

I swing my feet off the chair. That’s all I have time to do.

It happens just like it did the first time Death rode through.

In an instant, everyone slumps over. Faces hit plates, waiters fall where they stand, the dishes they carry shattering against the ground. I hear the clatter of dropped silverware, and the delayed crash of some final glasses. Then—

Silence.

Heavy, preternatural silence.

I set down my mug, ignoring the fact that my hand has started to tremble.

I stand, the scrape of my chair deafening amidst all that silence.

How? How did he figure out where I was so quickly? How did he get here so quickly? I myself only arrived half an hour ago.

You assumed this whole time you were the one hunting me down. Have you ever considered the possibility that I might’ve set my sights on you?

I’m moving before I can even fully figure out what I’m supposed to be doing. I push through the back doors of the restaurant, entering the kitchen area. A small fire has already broken out, the smell of smoke filling the room. I try not to look at the body that’s slumped over the stove, their clothes already going up in flame.

Instead I grab the knives I see, collecting as many as I can hold.

I re-enter the restaurant’s dining room.

“Lazarus!” Death’s voice echoes in the distance, carrying on the wind.

The hairs along my arms stand on end.

He really is hunting me.

I grab a brown leather satchel I see hanging off a nearby chair. Dumping out the bag’s contents, I drop the knives inside, then sling it over my shoulder.

“Come out, kismet!” Thanatos calls. “I know you’re in this city!”

Quickly, I leave the restaurant. My eyes scan the street, looking for the horseman.

“Lazarus!” Death’s voice seems to carry on the wind. I have no idea which direction it’s coming from.

I’m still looking for him when movement in the distance catches my eye. Far away, I catch sight of a skyscraper—something no one’s had a use for in quite some time. Only as I watch, floor after floor crumple like an accordion, the building falling into itself.

I can’t do anything but stare.

It hits the ground with an echoing groan. In its wake, a plume of ash and debris rise up.

“Come out, kismet. I don’t wish to bury you alive.”

My stomach flips.

This devil.

“Here I am, Thanatos!” I shout, refusing to hide like a mouse.

My voice reverberates around me, but I have no idea whether Death can hear it. It’s impossible to tell where exactly he is.

Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see movement, but when I spin, there’s nothing there besides a few bodies and a stretch of open road. Off in the distance, another building begins to topple, drawing my attention back to San Antonio’s skyline.

“Lazarus.” Death’s voice echoes, slipping over my skin like the brush of fingertips.

I don’t have to wait long before I hear the thunderous thump of Death’s wings. He lands in front of me, his silver armor gleaming and his wings spread wide.

Behind him, another building collapses.

“Kismet.” He says the endearment like he’s savoring chocolate on his tongue. “Your time is up. Lay down your weapons,” he says.

“No,” I say.

“I don’t want to be your enemy.”

“So long as you’re killing everyone, we will be enemies,” I say.

Death strides up to me, and for once, I don’t immediately reach for my weapons.

I hadn’t wanted to hurt this man before our last encounter. Now that he saved me and healed me … I am especially reluctant about using the knives in my bag. I know that’s ridiculous, but there it is.

The horseman stops in front of me. “Grab your blades then, kismet,” he dares. He must see how at odds I am with myself.

When I don’t, he steps in close. Taking my hand, he guides it to the sheathed dagger at my side. Closing my fingers over it, he pulls the weapon out. The entire time there’s a daring, defiant gleam in his eyes. “If we are to be enemies, then hurt me.”

It’s only when he brings the blade up to the side of his throat that I begin to resist.

“Do it,” he commands. “My artery is right there beneath the skin. All it would take is a knick. I would bleed out in minutes and it would buy you a day.”

“Stop it,” I whisper.

Death releases his hold on my hand, and my dagger slips through my fingers, clattering to the ground.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, the words spilling out of me. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I cannot seem to stop you any other way.”

Death’s hand rises to my cheek. His fingers stroke it, and fool that I am, I let him touch me. It feels so much better than I remember.

“Before I healed you,” he says softly, “I assumed using my power to heal was wrong. I can see now that it was me who was wrong.” His gaze dips to my mouth. “I find myself longing for another reason to hold you close.” This last confession just seems to slip out with the rest.

My breath hitches as his eyes move back to mine. All those forbidden thoughts of him I’ve had over the months—thoughts that would creep in during my long lonely nights on the road—they resurface. Until recently, I assumed they were one-sided. Now knowing that they’re not, that Death wants this more than I even do …

A completely inappropriate ache pounds deep within me.

Thanatos’s attention moves to my stolen bag. He opens it up, staring at all the knives.

“I’m guessing these are meant for me.” He says it so conversationally, so unafraid. It should dissipate the strange sexual tension between us.

It doesn’t.

“I’m not going to let you take me,” I say vehemently.

“I’m not going to give you a choice,” Thanatos says, gaze rising to mine.

And yet, he hasn’t grabbed me. He keeps not grabbing me, as if he’s waiting for me to fall into his arms. If that’s the case, then he can wait until Kingdom Come.

Death cups my jaw then, and his nostrils flare. “Tell me you don’t feel this … this consuming need.”

My stomach somersaults at the intensity in his eyes.

“I don’t feel it,” I say, only my voice comes out all breathy and wrong.

Thanatos narrows his gaze. Slowly, he smiles.

“I will count to a thousand,” he says. “That’s as generous as I’m going to be. You can do whatever you’d like in those thousand seconds. I won’t fight back, I won’t come after you, but once time’s up, we’ll no longer be playing your game. We’ll be playing mine.”

We were never playing any sort of game. Ever.

My stomach drops. “I’m not going to—”

“One … two … three …” he begins, a savage look on his face.

I look breathlessly at him, then around us before jumping into action.

I slide my satchel off my shoulder, letting it drop to the ground. Kneeling down next to it, I pull out a knife and begin sawing away at the strap of the bag. Once I cut the strap free, I glance at the horseman.

He raises his eyebrows. “Sixty-seven … sixty-eight …”

“Turn around,” I command, half-expecting him to ignore my demands. Much to my shock, however, he turns, exposing his massive wings to me.

My breath hitches at the sight of all those coal-black feathers. I step up to his back, my skin pebbling as those very feathers brush against my skin. I swear I hear Thanatos’s sharp inhale, and maybe I’m not the only one affected by the contact.

I grab one of his forearms, pulling it behind his back, then the other, pressing his wrists together. I bind his hands together with the satchel’s leather strap, making sure to tie the knots extra tight. His body sways.

“I like this, kismet,” he says, “This makes me think very strange, very … human thoughts about you.”

My core clenches at his words.

It’s only as I finish my work that I remember his absurd strength. He’ll get through the bindings in seconds.

Damnit.

I release his bound wrists. “Why don’t you focus on counting—wouldn’t want to give me any extra time,” I say, stepping away.

Death laughs darkly, the sound making the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end. “You’re not going anywhere,” he vows.

My stomach dips at the certainty in his voice.

“Turn around,” I command.

Again, I don’t expect him to follow my words, but he does. The horseman faces me once more, his eyes full of dark anticipation.

He smirks. “What about my wings?” he asks. “Shall you bind them too? I’m rather enjoying being tied up for you.”

I pull out one of the blades from my bag and use it to cut off the bottom of my shirt. This, too, he’ll be able to rip away in seconds, but if he’s willing to play my game for the next ten odd minutes, it’ll subdue him for at least a little while.

Gripping the fabric, I step up to him.

“Kneel.”

Thanatos stares down at me for a long time, that same look in his eyes. Never glancing away, he moves down on one knee, then both.

I bring the cloth up to his eyes, blindfolding him with it.

“Killing me would be easier,” he says.

It would be. I have to hide my swallow. The awful truth is that I’ve come to care about this horseman’s pain. Enough to stay my hand.

So instead I tie the knot extra tight behind his head, ignoring Death’s beautiful features and the silky soft texture of his hair. I can’t help, however, the strange sensations his scent conjures.

Him holding me fast to his chest, his fingers caressing my face …

“Come with me,” Death says softly, as though he, too, is thinking similar thoughts. His voice is gentle, a plea; it’s so unlike him. “Untie these bindings and come to me of your own free will.”

“You said you wouldn’t ask me that again,” I remind him.

“I was wrong,” he says. “Come with me, Lazarus. Let me know what it is like to hold you instead of fighting you.”

To hold me? What exactly does he have in mind once he captures me?

Doesn’t matter, Lazarus, that fate is not for you.

I lean in close to his ear. “No.”

A slow, malevolent smile spreads across Death’s face, and even blindfolded, I find him chilling.

“Then you better run, kismet.”

The corpses that lay strewn on the street are picking themselves up as though they were never dead to begin with. There are four, five, six of them. I spin and count several more. More still are exiting the buildings around me.

Thanatos can raise the dead.

I’m trying not to panic, but Thanatos can raise the dead.

One by one the revenants turn their unseeing eyes on me, and unease pools low in my stomach.

I grip my knives tighter. What are they doing?

Suddenly, all of them begin to walk towards me, the group of them moving almost as a single unit.

My own fear closes up my throat.

Fuck, what is this?

More importantly, how am I supposed to get myself out of this situation?

Overhead, I hear Death’s massive wings. At first, the sound is quiet, but as he gets closer, his wingbeats grow louder and louder.

TWUMP—THWUMP—THWUMP.

I catch a glimpse of him in the air above me, and I watch him circle, then descend down to the street. Thanatos lands no more than twenty feet from me. His wings close at his back, looking like a massive cape.

The corpses halt where they stand, their dead eyes still fixed on me, their faces slack. I shiver at the unnatural sight.

Death walks towards me, his wings swaying behind him. The few revenants between us part for him to pass by.

“How are you doing this?” I ask.

“I have always been able to do this, kismet,” he says. “Up until now I simply chose not to.”

He could’ve been doing this the entire time? My mind races over all those instances I fought him. How many cities had the two of us encountered one another, all while being surrounded by corpses?

Many.

So, so many.

Never once had he raised the dead.

Death has been toying with me this entire time. The realization steals my breath away. For the first time in a long time, I truly fear him.

“Why?” I demand, backing up. “Why do this now?”

“Because you were designed to be mine. And it’s time I claimed you.”

I turn from Thanatos. There are dozens of revenants around me, revenants who have gone still while Death approached me.

“Fighting is useless,” he says, coming closer.

Ignoring his warning, I turn on my heel and begin jogging away from him.

All at once, the zombies come alive, only they don’t walk towards me, they charge. They descend on me painfully fast.

My mind won’t let me believe that they’ll actually touch me. They’re corpses, after all, their whole point is to lie still and rot.

So when the first revenant gets to me—a young woman who can’t be more than a few years older than me—I lose a second simply accepting that this is actually happening.

The woman’s cold hand grabs my forearm, and my stomach tumbles at how frigid her fingers feel even through the fabric of the shirt I’m wearing.

I slash out at her—and the other corpses that follow—grimacing as their blood glugs out from the wounds. A dead man grabs the blade of one of my knives, ripping it from me with a jerk. Another rips my two knives from my sheath while I fight off a third revenant.

A dead child steps up to me and wraps a clammy hand around mine. I yelp at the touch and his sightless eyes. He pries my last weapon free.

“Enough.” Death’s voice echoes in the air.

The revenants fall to the ground, my weapons clattering from a few of their hands. They are all lifeless once more.

I turn just as Thanatos steps over the scattered corpses. He comes to me, and I don’t even have time to protest before he pulls me into his arms.

At first I think he means to fly off with me, and maybe he does, but he hesitates. After a moment, Thanatos whistles, all while holding me in his unyielding grip.

I hear the echo of hooves against asphalt, and then the horseman’s steed charges down the city streets, expertly maneuvering around the strewn bodies. He’s already saddled and ready.

Death gazes down at me with those obsidian eyes, his expression filled with wicked intent. His dapple gray horse slows to a stop next to us, and in one fluid motion, the horseman lifts me onto his mount.

A split second later, Thanatos is hoisting himself up behind me. And then his powerful thighs are hugging mine and his armor-clad chest is digging into my back, the metal unforgiving.

Death wraps a muscled arm around me, pinning me in. He clicks his tongue, and his steed takes off once more, galloping down the road.

We tear through the streets of San Antonio, the buildings and the dead blurring by us.

“You are finally mine,” he says, his words exalted.

They send a strange mixture of dread and excitement through me. How I long to stop this monster. How I have to keep fighting my ridiculous attraction to him.

“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?”

“I have all of my brothers’ powers and then some,” he says.

His words chill me to my core.

“You mean to tell me that another horseman can also raise the dead?” I ask, terrified of the prospect.

“Could,” Death corrects me.

“Could?” I echo, trying to piece together what he isn’t saying. “So this other horseman is dead?”

“On the contrary, Lazarus, War is very much alive.” Thanatos says this with no little disdain.

War. War could raise the dead. I … cannot even fathom what that must’ve looked like.

But he doesn’t have these powers anymore? I’m burning with curiosity; there’s clearly so much more to Thanatos and the other riders. And for once, I’m in a position to learn it all, now that I’m stuck in the saddle with the horseman.

“What else can you do?” I ask.

“You will see in time,” Death promises, and wrapped in that promise is another that lingers unspoken between us—

You will be with me, always.

We’ve ridden for several hours when Death turns off the highway and onto an ancient road, the asphalt cracked and pitted.

“Why are we getting off the highway?” I ask. Up until now I’d been able to relax. Now, however, my misgivings are back.

Death doesn’t answer, and my anxiety spikes. What is going on? There doesn’t appear to be any city center anywhere in sight, so I don’t think he’s taken me to wipe out another city.

So, what is he doing?

Eventually, Thanatos turns onto a dirt road that looks as though it was once graveled over; now, however, weeds have sprouted up all over the place, making it difficult to see the narrow pathway.

In the distance I notice a copse of trees. Peeking out from behind them is a derelict ranch house. It looks like a thousand other long abandoned homes I’ve passed before, yet for whatever reason, this is the one Death’s decided to stop at.

With the structure in sight, the horseman slows his steed, and aside from the clop of hooves, the world around us is quiet. This is a silence I’ve gotten used to in the wake of Death. The kind that gets under your skin and soaks into your bones. It can be either incredibly peaceful or frightening beyond belief—which I guess is what you can say about death itself.

We pass by the trees, and then I can clearly see the house. It looks as though it was once a pale blue, but sun and rot have now discolored it brown under the eaves and at its base, and white mostly everywhere else. The roof sags, the windows have been cut out and taken—probably to be installed in some newer home—there are rusted cars and old appliances in the driveway, and a low-lying, rotted wood fence encircles the home. Whatever once existed of the yard has given way to natural flora.

The place is a mess.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

“This is a human dwelling, is it not?” Thanatos responds. “We are here to dwell.”

That … that gives me pause.

He can’t possibly be serious.

I glance over my shoulder him. Death’s face is as handsomely stoic as ever.

Shit, I think he is serious.

We ride all the way up the driveway, weaving around a rusted out dishwasher. Thanatos swings off of his steed. A second later, he pulls me down.

We’re really doing this. Dwelling in an abandoned house. Together. At least until I figure out how to escape him.

Thanatos’s hands are still on my waist. He’s either afraid of letting me go and chasing me down … or he’s getting comfortable with the idea of touching me.

His mouth curves into a pitiless smile. “I can see your clever thoughts in your eyes, Lazarus, but you’re not getting away. That, I’ll make sure of.”

No sooner has he spoken than the earth around us seems to groan. It splits open and plants begin to rise around the perimeter of the property.

I suck in a gasp, watching them grow, shoots turning into stalks which turn into branches. Hundreds of leaves unfurl by the second.

“How are you doing this?” I ask, my gaze taking it all in.

This brambly foliage grows and grows until a makeshift hedge of sorts encircles us and the house, barricading us in.

“Killing is not the only thing I’m good at,” he says.

Eventually the plants’ growth slows, then stops altogether. All is quiet and still once more.

I step away from Death, his hands slipping off of my waist, and walk up to the thicket. My eyes scour the thing. I should feel afraid—this is just one more power the horseman has at his fingertips, one that he’s now willing to use against me. But I don’t feel afraid. Instead, I’m overcome by a sense of wonder.

I reach out and touch one of the thorny branches. “Is this … Famine’s power?” I ask. That’s the only rider I can think of who might deal with plants.

“It’s my power,” Death corrects from behind me, “but yes, I share it with him.”

“Isn’t Famine’s job to make food scarce?” I ask, my fingers tracing a leaf.

“His job is to kill crops.”

I turn from the thicket. “But these plants—you made them grow.”

“Famine can make things both grow and perish—as can I.”

Why would these horsemen be given anything but destructive powers? It … makes no sense. They are only here to destroy our world.

I glance back at the living wall Death’s created. It’s impenetrable, that much is clear.

“Try to run, Laz,” he goads me. “I dare you.”

My skin pricks at the familiar way he shortens my name.

I look over my shoulder at Death and hold his gaze. I’ll wait to run until you least expect it.

“Thanks, but I’m not a betting woman,” I say instead, heading back over to him.

“On the contrary, that seems to be entirely what you are,” Thanatos counters. “You bet that you’ll find me in the towns you travel to, you bet that you’ll kill me and save your precious countrymen—”

“I only ever did what I did because the other option was guaranteed annihilation,” I say, stopping near the horseman’s mount. I give the creature a pet on the neck.

“Kismet, all life is, is guaranteed annihilation.”

I raise my chin. “If it’s all guaranteed annihilation, then explain me.”

Death’s features seem to sharpen, and that heat is back in his eyes. He doesn’t answer, though I’m getting good at reading his expression.

You are mine, it seems to say.

I press my thighs together at the naked desire on his face. Desire that I’m not sure Thanatos is even aware of.

My gaze flicks to the structure behind him. “Are you going to show me this house or not?” I ask, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second.

After a moment, Thanatos steps aside, gesturing to the dilapidated structure. “Why don’t you show yourself in? The house is yours, after all.”

“It’s not mine,” I say.

“Fine, ours,” Death corrects.

That’s even worse.

I press my lips together and head to the front door. The knob is rusted over, and it dangles partway off the door. I grab it anyway. The hinges screech as I open the door, and the musty smell of wet animals and mildew waft out.

The laminate floorboards inside have bubbled and curled at their edges, the top layer flaking off in many places. Dingy lace curtains hang from some of the windows. There’s an ancient, stained recliner that came from the world before; its seams have burst in a few spots, exposing dirt-speckled stuffing.

The floor groans and creaks as I walk into the kitchen and flip through the cupboards. Nothing but dust and cobwebs and an old cookbook, its binding swollen and its pages curled.

Death follows me like a shadow, and I can feel his dark gaze on me, drinking in my every reaction. I don’t know what he wants from me.

I leave the kitchen, poking my head into a bathroom that has been updated since the end of the world, the toilet replaced with something that’s more akin to a fancy bucket with a toilet seat on top, and the sink replaced with a removable basin.

Now I notice the water stains along the walls, where once upon a time this house must’ve flooded. Maybe that’s why it was abandoned.

I move to the bedrooms next, expecting to see more furniture. Other than a warped particleboard dresser that’s mostly fallen apart, the three bedrooms are empty.

“Why did you choose this place?” I ask after I’ve finished taking in the master bedroom. A house that has no food, no beds—no amenities whatsoever—is hardly a destination worth stopping for. We might as well have set up camp off to the side of the road. We’re barely better off here—and even that is questionable.

“Does it matter?” Thanatos replies. “It is a home, it will meet your needs.”

Meet my needs?

I swivel around to face the horseman. He stands in the doorway, his attention fixed on me.

I give him a quizzical look. “Have you ever lived anywhere?” I ask.

“I have lived everywhere life is, kismet,” he responds smoothly.

“I mean,” I say slowly, “have you ever stayed in a house? Cooked yourself a meal? Slept in a bed?”

He stares back at me, his expression unreadable. Still, I read that motherfucker’s face all the same.

“You haven’t.”

Of course he hasn’t. I don’t know why it’s only dawning on me now. That very fact is what has made pursuing him so damn difficult. Death never stopped, never slept. He rode and rode and killed and rode and on and on forever, his travels only ever interrupted by me.

I glance around us again. “So now that you’ve captured your human, you want to keep me in a nice … home?” I might as well have said cage or sty. An enclosure meant for an animal. Not an equal. “Is that it?” I press.

“Would you prefer I slit your throat? Break your neck? Fight you until the memory of all things have faded away and only pain remains?” With each question, Thanatos takes a step forward, his wingtips making a soft noise as they drag across the rotted flooring. “Because I can do that. I don’t want to—but I can, if that is what you yearn for.”

I frown at him. “What I yearn for is for you to leave Earth and never return.”

Death laughs, his eyes flashing. “Kismet, that will never happen. Even once humans are banished from the earth, I will still remain. So long as there is life, I will always remain.

“But for now,” he continues, reaching out and lightly touching my cheek, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “I want to discover what more there is to you besides violence and strategy.”

A part of me is mesmerized by this entity whose eye I’ve caught. I get the strangest sense that there is so much more that he wants than death and destruction—he just has no idea what that might be or how to attain it—aside from, you know, capturing unwilling women.

I clear my throat, not liking the personal turn this moment has taken.

“So,” I raise my eyebrows, glancing around, “you have never lived in a house before, yet you not only expect to start doing so now, but you also intend to keep me captive while you’re at it?”

“I don’t plan on keeping you a captive.”

My eyes widen. That’s news to me. “So you’re planning on turning me loose at some point?”

“Never,” he vows.

“So what then?” I ask. “You think I’ll come to enjoy captivity?”

“Humans can get used to all manner of things,” Death says smoothly. “I’m sure you’ll get used to this.”

The gall.

I spin around. “Where are the beds?” I ask, looking at the empty room. “Where’s the food?” I gesture around me. “Where is the table, the chairs, the cups and dinnerware? Where are the books to read and the chopped firewood to warm our house on cold winter nights? Where are the fresh linens? The soft mattress and clean sheets?”

Thanatos keeps his face carefully controlled.

“You are a fool if you think I’ll just grow content in some empty, rotting house.”

He steps forward, his massive form looming over me, his beautiful face menacing in the shadowed light. “You’ll enjoy it or you won’t, but this is your fate, kismet.”

I ignore his words, because right now, I’m a hunter who’s caught the scent of my prey.

I’ve hit a nerve. I know I have.

I flash him a mocking smile. “Were you hoping to impress me?” I laugh at him the same way my sister Robin would laugh at me when she wanted me to feel small. I learned long ago how to wrap an insult into a sound. “This isn’t impressive. You’ve hurt me, you’ve killed me, and now you’ve kidnapped me and locked me away in a prison bare of any comforts. It’s pathetic.”

Across from me, Thanatos’s jaw clenches and unclenches.

There. I’ve found my mark.

All at once, his wings snap out, wrapping around us and forcing me to stumble closer to him. “I don’t care what the fuck you think,” he says, his eyes flashing. “Insult me all you want. It changes nothing.”

I stare up at his turbulent eyes. Ever-steady Death isn’t so steady after all. Not when it comes to me.

A malicious smile spreads across my lips. “We’ll see about that.”

The horseman doesn’t leave my side, damn him.

As the hours tick by and the night grows colder and colder, I’ve curled myself into a tinier and tinier ball. My whole body shakes, and I can’t seem to get warm enough to fall into a deep sleep. So instead, I’m vividly fantasizing about being tucked under a heap of woolen blankets, a fire roaring at my side.

It almost helps.

Thanatos has respected my wishes—he hasn’t laid down near me. He has, however, decided to pace nearby. I can hear the crunch of plants being crushed beneath his boots and the sway of weeds brushing against his wings. Back and forth he walks. Back and forth, back and forth, back and—

“W-will you p-please stop p-pacing?” It’s hard enough to sleep out here as it is.

The horseman’s footfalls come to a halt.

“This is the first time I have willingly kept myself in one place for so long,” he says out of the darkness. “It is … agitating.”

“G-go be a-agitated s-somewhere else,” I say.

There’s a pause, then—

“Why does your voice sound like that? And what is that clicking noise that keeps coming from you?”

“B-because I’m c-cold,” I say. “N-normally I s-sleep inside—”

“Inside was an option,” he cuts in.

“—i-in a bed w-with blankets to k-keep me warm.”

Thanatos is silent.

Surely he’s aware of this.

I hear him stalk towards me. When I think he’s within arm’s reach, he kneels down next to me.

“Wh-what are you—?”

Before I can finish the thought, the horseman is laying his body out alongside mine. He pulls me against him. His armor hasn’t reappeared yet, and I nearly moan at the heat emanating off of him.

“You’re shaking again,” he says, alarmed.

“B-because I’m c-cold,” I remind him.

I can’t see his frown in the darkness, but I feel it all the same.

One of his wings comes around me, blanketing me in. And now fantasies about woolen blankets have been sidelined in favor of this.

“Better?” he asks softly, his voice like a caress. This is far more intimate than I bargained for.

And I like it. I like it so much. I can feel Thanatos’s delicious heat against my back and the warmth from his wing insulating me everywhere else. If I were a cat, I’d be purring. I melt into the horseman’s embrace, all my earlier declarations about him keeping his distance long forgotten.

“Mmm,” I murmur.

For some stretch of time, the two of us simply lay there like that, the horseman holding me closer than necessary and me secretly enjoying the crap out of it. Eventually, my body stops shaking and my teeth stop chattering.

He pulls me in tighter, and I might just be reading into this, but I think he’s pleased that I’m no longer shivering and stuttering from the cold.

“You don’t need to do this,” I say softly.

Several seconds pass before he answers.

“I could tell you about the number of people who I’ve claimed on nights like these,” he says. “I could tell you that you would only slow me down if you were dead or weak. But the truth is, this is instinct, kismet. I don’t understand why, but I want to be close to you, I want to hold you when you say you are cold.”

My heart beats loudly.

He is your enemy.

He is your enemy.

He’s solemn and indifferent and he’s hurt you and now he’s kidnapped you.

Do not give in to the pretty words.

“You’re really planning on laying here, out in the cold, with your wing pulled over me the entire night just to keep me warm?” I say.

“I’m not opposed to going inside where it’s probably warmer, but yes, I … think I am.”

My heart beats madly in my chest. I thought this was intimate before, when it was purely physical. I realize now that I was using the word wrong. Because this is intimate.

“I don’t know what to make of you,” I say quietly.

“Go to sleep, Lazarus. You can analyze it in the morning.”

And I do. Somehow, I fall asleep in Death’s arms like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Fuck that motherfucker.

For the hundredth time I pull against my bindings. It’s useless. My wrists are wrapped too tightly at my back for me to undo the knot at the base of the recliner. Not that I haven’t tried. I’ve also attempted to drag the piece of furniture out the door. That only resulted in the thing tipping over and crushing me, and then me panicking, memories of being trapped flittering through my mind.

So now, despite the fact that I’ve managed to get myself out from under the recliner, I’ve decided to stop struggling. At least until Death gets back. Then, I’ll happily set myself loose on him.

I’m painfully hungry, and I’m pretty sure that I’d give up orgasms forever—okay, maybe for a month—for a nice, cold glass of water.

At least I don’t need to go to the bathroom. That’s a perk of not eating or drinking for extended periods of time.

I bang the back of my head against the musty recliner, bored and frustrated.

In the distance, I hear galloping.

I tense, even as my heart begins to race.

He’s already back.

Shit, that was fast. It took him what—an hour? Two? And in that time a city was annihilated. My righteous anger burns like poison in my veins.

The moment I’m out of these restraints, I’m going to throttle the horseman with my bare hands, the bastard.

I strain my ears, listening to Death’s approach.

The hoof beats come to a stop a ways away, and then I hear the thicket Thanatos grew around the property now rustle. The hoof beats start up once more, galloping all the way to the front stoop.

Outside, I can hear Death dismount, his armor clanking together.

I am eager to return to your side.

My stomach clenches.

“Knock, knock motherfucker,” a deep voice calls stepping up to the door.

A voice that most definitely does not belong to Thanatos.

My breath catches in my throat.

Well, shit.

BOOM!

I flinch as the hinges screech and wood splinters, the door caving inward. The man kicks it again, and the last remnants of it smash apart. It hits the ground with a dull thud.

Then there, standing in the doorway is the thing of nightmares.

Another horseman.

I stare at the armored being, a scythe gripped in his hand.

The horseman takes in the shadowy room for a split second before his eyes fall to me.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demands.

Someone who would really, really like to be any place other than here.

I am literally quaking at the sight of this man. And his scythe. It doesn’t matter that I can’t truly die, I am afraid for my life.

Pull yourself together, Lazarus. You’ve faced down horsemen before.

I take a shallow breath to calm my nerves.

“That depends,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even. “Who the hell are you?”

Not that he needs a nametag. It’s pretty obvious.

The horseman narrows his eyes. He takes a few steps forward, and a sheathed sword at his side sways with the motion.

I tense up. I have no idea what sort of relationship this horseman has with Death. There are so many reasons he might want to hurt me, and everything about him—even the way he moves—screams violence.

Good God. I’m having a hard time processing that there are actually four of these bastards around.

“Are you Death’s woman?” he asks.

My eyebrows rise. Death’s woman?

Hardly.

“I’m his prisoner.” I glance meaningfully over my shoulder where I’m tied up.

He smirks, like the term is cute.

The longer he looks at me, the bigger that smirk grows and the brighter his eyes become.

This is where I get stabbed and left for dead.

“You are his woman, aren’t you?” he says, sounding gleeful.

I give him an incredulous look. “If you mean his kidnap victim, then yes. Otherwise, no.”

Why are we discussing my relationship status with Death?

“Have you tried to kill him yet?” the horseman asks.

I stare at him. “What do you want with me?” I ask.

Damn Thanatos for leaving me vulnerable like this.

“Just answer the question.”

“Fine,” I snap. “Yes, I have.”

The horseman watches me carefully, the hazy light making his copper armor and caramel-colored hair glow. “Have you actually killed him?”

“He can’t be killed,” I retort.

“Not permanently,” he agrees. “But have you ended my brother’s life for a time?”

He stares too intently at me, and I find myself looking away.

“Yes,” I bite out.

I can feel the horseman staring at me with that unnerving gaze for several long moments. I still don’t know what he wants, though my fear of him is waning the longer we chat.

He takes a couple slow steps towards me, scrutinizing my situation. “And you’re now tied up here, helpless and at my brother’s whim?” he says. “You are most definitely his woman.”

I grind my teeth together.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he insists, and now I know that obnoxiousness clearly runs in the family.

“Hmm.” The horseman considers me. “Your presence changes things.” There’s a calculating gleam in his eyes.

I lift my chin and glare at him. “If you’re planning on killing me, you’re going to be disappointed.” I’m not so easy to get rid of.

“Kill you?” he says, incredulously, clearly taken aback. “Woman, we want to unleash you.”

Mate?

What in the God-fearing fuck?

Pestilence and War’s eyes sharpen on me.

I glare at Famine. “I’m not anyone’s mate.” That sounds horribly bestial. “For the last time, Death is my enemy.”

“What makes you think she’s his, brother?” the dark-haired one says, ignoring my outburst.

I grind my teeth at his phrasing. Do all these Neanderthals think alike?

The blond horseman comes over to me, eyeing me speculatively. He’s slightly less intimidating than the others, but that’s entirely because he has laugh lines around his eyes, and it’s hard to be scared of someone who has laugh lines.

“I found her tied up in this room,” Famine says. He nods outside. “And Death’s horse was down the road when I arrived.”

He was?

“You tracked Death’s horse instead of Death himself?” The dark-haired man looks like he wants to hit Famine upside the head.

Not entirely opposed to seeing that.

The Reaper gives his brother a withering look. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I cannot accurately locate Thanatos when he’s in the sky. So I improvised with the horse.”

The older, blond-haired man moves over to me, ignoring his brothers’ bickering.

“Thanatos bound you up?” he asks, his gaze moving to my wrists, which are still red and raw. I can’t tell if he’s concerned or simply curious.

I lift a shoulder. “We’ve done worse to each other.”

The wheels in his mind seem to be turning, but rather than responding to that, he says, “I’m Victor, though you can call me Pestilence.”

Pestilence.

I almost don’t breathe. But of course one of them would be Pestilence. My eyes look over him anew as so many turbulent emotions course through me.

This is the horseman who killed my birth parents. The horseman who should’ve ended my life as well. And now he’s standing in front of me.

He’s not at all what I was expecting. My throat closes up. “You’re—”

“Old?” he finishes for me, his eyes gleaming good-naturedly. “I was made mortal long ago. And now—I age.”

I have to breathe through my nose to control everything it is that I’m feeling. Never did I think I would ever face down this … this monster, and definitely not under these strange circumstances.

My hand itches to reach for a dagger that isn’t there, and I am so close to crying right now, which is the last thing I want to do, but Pestilence is so damn civilized and he has kind eyes and laugh lines but he killed my parents.

He is my enemy too.

Before I can respond, War ambles over, his eyes scrutinizing me. “So you’re Death’s wife.”

Screw. This.

I walk out of the house there and then.

I stride past the idle horses, down the overgrown driveway with its rusted junk. The rain quickly drenches me, but I don’t care. I’m no longer bound up, I don’t need to stay inside that decaying house with those terrible men, and—

My eyes catch on an opening in the hedge circling the property.

I can escape.

I’ve been so distracted by my present situation that I lost sight of my single most important goal—getting away.

I pick up my pace, afraid the unnatural overgrowth is going to close up at any moment.

“Wait!” I hear heavy footfalls behind me.

My steps falter.

If I leave now, I will slip through Death’s clutches. If I linger, then I might learn why these horsemen are following Death.

I stare at the thicket surrounding the house. Rain drips from all those hundreds of leaves, making the plants glisten everywhere but that one break in the foliage. That opening is mocking me.

“I know we’re a bit much,” Pestilence calls out after me. “My brothers and I are not trying to heckle you. We’re here to stop Death, once and for all.”

I don’t think I breathe.

I spin, facing down Pestilence.

For a moment, I forget about all of the bad blood I have with this horseman.

“You’re here to stop Death?” I say, disbelieving. I mean, they’re the Four Horsemen. All of them are here to destroy our world.

I search his gaze. “Why would you—any of you—” I gesture vaguely to the house where the other two men are, “want that?”

Pestilence sighs. “It’s a long story. One that Famine, War and I are willing to tell you, if you’ll listen.”

I search his face as rain drips from my hair and my lashes. He sounds truthful, and if he is, then … perhaps Thanatos could be stopped, permanently.

I ignore the way dread coils inside me at that thought. Death needs to be stopped. This is bigger than me and my feelings.

Then I remember who exactly it is I’m talking to. This is the horseman who wiped out my first hometown.

“Why do you think I would want to help you?” I say. “You killed my parents.” My voice breaks over that old wound. I have witnessed more recent, more painful deaths at the hands of Thanatos, but oh how I have made him pay for them.

This horseman, on the other hand, he robbed me of the life I might’ve had, and now he wants my help? Because of him, I’ll never know the parents who brought me into the world, I’ll never get to hug them or memorize their faces or learn about who they were and where I came from. And though that life would mean erasing the one I did grow up with—a life full of love and laughter—it’s still a future that was stolen from me all the same.

Pestilence looks taken aback. His eyes search my face anew.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and there is genuine remorse there. I wish I couldn’t sense it.

I work my jaw and look away, suddenly overwhelmed by this confrontation.

“I was a different … man then,” he continues. “Probably not so different from how Death is now.

“We horseman can change our ways. All of us have changed our ways—except for Death. And unfortunately for you and the rest of humanity, he’s the one horseman who gets the final say on whether you all live or die.

“That’s why the three of us, including that odious beast you know as Famine—”

“I heard that, asshole!” the Reaper calls from just inside the house.

“—are here, looking for Death,” Pestilence continues smoothly. “We want to stop him—we are going to stop him. But we could really, really use your help. And I am truly sorry. I cannot bring your parents back, but perhaps together, we can spare many other families the same fate.”

I need to sit. My legs don’t feel like they want to support my bodyweight any longer.

“You’re really trying to stop Thanatos?” I say softly.

I can’t believe it.

“We really are,” he says.

His words—and his apology—hang heavy in the air between us. I don’t want to forgive him—and I don’t want to work with him—but this last year has forced me to deal with all sorts of impossible, horrible circumstances. Hell, I just spent the night in the arms of Death himself, the man responsible not just for my family’s death, but for everyone’s demise.

Pestilence gives me a long look. “Please, come back inside—” He pauses, leaving an opening for me to say my name.

I size the horseman up, not entirely sure that getting my hands dirty in whatever mess they’re up to is a great idea.

Better than staying Death’s unwilling captive.

“Lazarus,” I finally say. “My name’s Lazarus.”

Pestilence smiles.

“Lazarus,” he repeats. “It’s nice to officially meet you.” He nods back to the house. “As soon as you’re ready to get out of the rain, my brothers and I have a lot to tell you, and I don’t think we have much time.”

They do share their story. It all comes tumbling out like some horrible nightmare. How these horsemen came to earth and broke our technology. How they went back into the ground, only to arise again like cicadas. Each one of them has traveled the world, determined to eradicate us all. But each of them changed their minds somewhere along the way.

And, in every single case, a woman was responsible for that.

I realize now why they care so much about my relationship with Death.

“So you see,” War eventually says, sitting back on his haunches as rain plinks on the roof above us, “we cannot let him succeed, and not just because we love our wives and our children.”

Famine stands next to him, arms folded, glowering.

Pestilence adds, “We gave up our immortality and the vast extent of our powers because we believe that despite our task, humans are worthy of living.”

Famine huffs, glancing away.

“Ignore him,” War says. “He’s still bitter that Death didn’t find his motives pure enough to strip him of his immortality.”

“Humans are retched,” Famine says. “I don’t know why I must change my mind about that first.”

I sit on the edge of the worn recliner, reeling from it all.

“Where are these families of yours?” I ask. “The ones you’re fighting for?” It’s obvious enough that they aren’t here.

“Far, far away,” War says, his eyes sharp. One of his hands fists, and I notice with fascination that on each knuckle there are red, glowing markings. “And it will remain that way until Death is dealt with.”

His words draw my attention back to his face.

Dealt with sounds so ominous and final.

“What are you planning on doing to Thanatos?” I ask. It comes out as a whisper.

“Whatever we must,” War says grimly.

Famine breaks away from the group, striding over to the open doorway.

“And you want my help?” I say slowly.

Pestilence nods.

I can barely form the next words. “What would you have me—?”

“War, Pestilence—” Famine interrupts.

“Victor,” Pestilence corrects.

“I don’t care about your fuckwit name. Death’s coming.”

“Oh, so now you know where he is?” I say.

Famine gives me a dark look over his shoulder. He turns to his brothers. “You two need to leave.”

Pestilence—Victor—and War are quiet, but neither of them makes a move to leave.

Famine exhales loudly. “Must I be the sentimental one? You two need to go, now. You’re mortal,” the Reaper reminds them. “This is a fight you’ll lose, and today is no longer the day we make our move.”

My eyes leap from man to man, even as a shiver runs down my spine. I don’t know who I’m more concerned for—Death, or these three.

Reluctantly, War and Pestilence head out front, where their horses wait. The rain is beginning to come down harder, and for once, I’m legitimately grateful to be in this rotting house.

“I’ll come for you,” Famine calls out to them, “after I have a little chat with our brother.”

I get chills at the threat in the Reaper’s words.

“So you’re going to face him alone?” I ask.

The Reaper turns back to me reluctantly. “Would you care to join me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows skeptically.

“I have fought that man more times than I can count. I’m happy to sit this one out.” After a moment, I add, “Can you kill Thanatos—for good?”

A mean little smile spreads across Famine’s face. “Does that frighten you, tootsie?”

“I swear if you call me that again, I will take off my boot and clobber you with it.”

The Reaper folds his arms and leans back against a nearby wall. “Try it,” he says, lifting his chin. “I dare you.” His eyes promise vengeance.

Famine is different from his brother, Death. Thanatos might be violent, but there’s no anger to it. He seems grimly resigned to his duty, which makes him and his task all the more frustrating, but at least he doesn’t relish it. Unlike this deviant. I bet Famine loves killing. He looks as though he does.

Before either of us can say anything else, I hear the familiar, dreaded thump of wings.

Excitement sparks in Famine’s eyes. “Is that your boyfriend I hear?” he says, tilting his head.

I part my lips to spit out a scathing retort when the Reaper suddenly crosses the room in three long strides and grabs my arm—

“Hey!” I yank against his hold.

With his other hand, he picks up his scythe. Then, giving me a swift jerk, he drags me up against his chest.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

Outside the rain is coming down in torrents, battering the house and pelting the floor through the open windows and doorway.

“This is called payback, tootsie.” Famine says softly into my ear. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I open my mouth to respond when the Reaper’s lethal scythe comes up to my neck.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” he says softly. “I don’t plan on hurting you, but if you do something foolish—as you humans so love to do—well, at least it will be a fast death.”

“You bastard, I thought you wanted my help,” I say. Famine doesn’t know that I can’t be killed, which makes this situation all the more twisted.

“Oh, I’m fully convinced those self-preservation instincts of yours will kick in and you’ll be an obedient little woman.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss.

“Hard pass on the offer, but consider me flattered.”

I growl out a response, but the press of that blade keeps me from struggling.

The rain has turned into hail, and off in the distance I see a flash of lightning. Death’s wingbeats grow louder, and then through the doorway I see his malevolent form lower to the ground. His wings fold up and his gaze lands on the open door.

For an instant I swear I see—surprise? Panic? Whatever it is, it’s gone as soon as it comes. He drops something in his hand and storms forward, up the entryway. Thanatos pauses when he gets to the doorway.

THA-BOOM! Thunder cracks and lightning lights up the sky. For an instant, Death’s features flash, a winged skeleton flickering over his face and body, then the illusion disappears.

Immediately, Death’s eyes find mine. They only linger for a second before dropping to the bloody scythe at my neck and, finally, the man wielding it.

“Famine.” There’s a terrifying note to Thanatos’s voice, one that even in our worst moments, I have never heard him use before. And the look Death gives him is downright lethal.

Behind me, I can sense the Reaper practically bursting with giddiness.

He really is a deviant.

Famine’s grip on my upper arm tightens. “Isn’t this a familiar situation?” he says to Death. “Only last time our roles were reversed.”

Ah, fuck.

Whatever’s going on, this isn’t just end-of-the-world stuff, this is revenge stuff. And I’m caught in the middle of it.

Thanatos prowls forward. “I didn’t know you had a death wish, brother.”

In a more menacing tone Famine says, “Come any closer and I will slit her throat.”

Much to my shock, Death stills.

Why is he not coming any closer? He knows I cannot truly die.

The Reaper leans his mouth against my ear. “Look at that, tootsie,” he says. “My brother seems to have a heart, after all.”

To Death, he says, “Painful, isn’t it? Finally you, all-ending Death, know what it’s like to be vulnerable.” His voice is openly gloating.

Thanatos doesn’t look vulnerable. Just full of wrath.

“You don’t think I’m aware that our brothers are a mere mile from here?” Thanatos says, his voice chillingly calm. “That the three of you have been trotting about the globe? Do you think I’m unaware of your plans? Let Lazarus go, and I’ll spare you all—for now.”

Famine sighs, and for one second I think he’s making a show of this just so he can drag the blade across my neck and make the whole thing overly dramatic. But then he removes the blade altogether and shoves me forward.

I stumble just as Thanatos strides forward and catches me. The horseman brushes the hair back from my face.

“Are you okay?” he says softly, ignoring his brother altogether. I look up at his depthless eyes, eyes that are peering at me with concern, as though he hasn’t deliberately and violently ended my life several times.

I nod, more rattled than I thought I was. Now that I’m not about to immediately die, I relax in his arms. Death, too, seems to relax, and I have so many conflicting feelings about that.

His gaze moves to Famine, and I can see dark promise in his expression.

“You are going to regret this,” Thanatos says, his voice feather light but filled with menace.

“Am I now?” the Reaper says, raising his eyebrows. He still appears to be enjoying himself.

Thanatos releases me, moving forward to confront his brother.

“Last I saw of you, coward, you were fleeing from me,” Death says, beginning to circle the Reaper. “Tell me, how is Ana?”

Ana?

My eyes widen when I connect the dots. This Ana must be the woman Famine loves—the one he wants to give up humanity for.

The Reaper begins to move as well, the two men circling one another.

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Thanatos presses.

Now Famine isn’t gloating. He isn’t smiling either.

His upper lip curls. “If you dare—”

“If I dare?” Death says imperiously, his eyes blazing. “You are the one who has dared much. You were supposed to help me. Instead you dragged our brothers out of their dull, mortal lives and forced their aging bodies to go up against me.

“Aw,” Famine pretends to pout, “you still think the world is fair?”

Death smiles. The sight of it gives me chills. “No, I finally see it for what it is. It’s you who seem to still cling to this idea of fairness, or have you forgotten my reach, brother? Your dear Ana is never safe.”

At those words, the Reaper lunges, swinging his scythe faster than my eyes can follow.

Who decided fighting inside this cramped space was a good idea?

Oh, right, that psycho Famine, who apparently makes many, many awful decisions.

Death steps back, dodging the blade with an ease he should not be feeling.

Quick as lightning, Thanatos lunges forward, grabbing the hilt of the Reaper’s sheathed sword. He withdraws the blade, and then the two of them are swinging their weapons.

The scythe and the sword lock, the metal grinding together.

I watch them carefully as I edge my way around them and towards the door.

“Tying your girl up was a nice touch, Thanatos,” Famine says, leaning his weight into his scythe. “But I hope you don’t think you’re special. That’s the one kink we’ve all done.” Famine smiles slyly at his brother as I skirt around them, moving slow enough to not draw attention to myself. “And I must say, hypocrisy looks great on you.”

With a zing, their blades slide apart.

“I didn’t realize you wanted to get hurt again,” Thanatos says.

Famine spins his scythe and he looks like he has the upper hand when, out of nowhere, Thanatos lunges forward. I don’t even see him swing his sword, it happens that fast. In one fell stroke Death cleaves off Famine’s arm.

I bite back my scream as the horseman’s severed appendage flops onto the ground.

Jesus.

Famine bellows, and then he’s on his brother in an instant.

Swords clash and blood sprays.

The earth beneath us bucks violently, throwing me to the ground. Outside, I see the sky flash as rain continues to pelt down from the heavens.

The floorboards beneath me groan ominously. Seconds later, they begin to splinter apart, and mutant plants rise from the ground, growing by the second. Just as quickly, they die, but more are coming and the earth is shaking, and I swear I hear the distant boom of thunder.

My eyes return to Death. His cheekbones seem as sharp as blades, his wings tense behind him. He looks unearthly and he moves with supernatural speed. I have fought this man many times, and never did it look like this. Only now am I seeing the truth.

He went easy on me.

“You hit like a pussy, brother,” the Reaper says. His face, however, is pinched with pain.

“Still can’t control your emotions or the weather, can you, Famine?”

They goad each other as they chop one another up.

I think they’ve forgotten almost entirely about me.

Now’s your chance, Lazarus.

For a second, I hesitate.

The three horsemen wanted my help, and Lord knows it would feel good to make Thanatos pay for abducting me. But Famine was this close to killing me. All so that he could act on some personal vendetta.

Fucker can fight this battle on his own.

I crawl across the room as the house continues to groan and crack, and I’m sure that at any moment Death is going to notice me.

But the fighting doesn’t stop. I creep across the open doorway and ever so silently rise to my feet.

Outside, the wind howls as it whips my hair and rain pounds against my skin. In the short time these two horsemen have been fighting, vines have grown up and around much of the house. The building is splintering apart as even more plants force their way out of the ground and up through the frame of the house.

I hurry down the front yard, skirting around the rusted junk as lightning slices through the sky. A memory of Death’s skeletal features flash behind my eyes.

Got to get away.

I nearly trip over a scattered pile of supplies. Fruit, bread, jugs of water, blankets and more, all of it getting sodden out here in the storm. It wasn’t here when I exited the house an hour earlier.

Death hadn’t left me to kill some town. He’d left to bring me supplies. I mean, he probably did kill the town he got them from, but that’s kind of a given with him.

My heart hammers in my chest as I stare at it all.

Behind me, I hear Famine bellow and the house shriek as beams break in earnest. Death’s velvety voice drifts out, and whatever he’s saying, it isn’t English. The sound of it raises the hair on my arms.

My gaze moves up to the opening in the thicket.

Run girl run.

And that’s exactly what I do. I flee for my life.

I run for miles and miles, my wet clothing sticking to my skin. Every square inch of me is wet, from the top of my head to the bottom of my icy feet. With every pounding footfall, water squishes between my toes.

My breath is ragged, and the cold air is burning my lungs with every breath I take. The rain seems to follow me the entire time.

Get away. Get away. Get away.

That’s the only thought that echoes in my mind. Away from all the horsemen and their violence.

My legs have nearly given out when I stumble into Pleasanton’s city center. It’s a hiccup of a place. Blink and you’d miss it. But the dead lay scattered like freshly fallen snow, and my skin pricks like it can feel Death’s power even now.

I slow to a walk, pressing the back of my hand against my mouth as I pick my way through the streets, ignoring the rain still battering against me.

Now that I’ve burned through my adrenaline, exhaustion is setting in. I don’t know how I made it this far. I’m beyond hungry and thirsty and everything hurts. I glance around me, noticing the houses that line the street.

I need to grab some supplies and find a place to eat and rest in. For whatever reason, the buildings here have been left standing, but I fear that if Death comes looking for me, he’ll start obliterating them one by one. I don’t want to be inside when he does that.

The idea, however, of camping out in some wet field makes me want to weep.

…. aaaah … aaahwahwahwahaaaa …

I freeze at the distant sound. What is that? It’s impossible to make out over the wind and rain—hell, maybe it is the wind and rain.

I begin to walk again, trying to decide which house to break into.

… waaaah … ahahah … waaaaah …

I pause again.

That’s not the weather.

Is it an animal? Perhaps some creature got trapped and is now crying out for help. But there’s something about that sound, something that sets my teeth on edge. A sick feeling pools in my belly.

I find myself moving towards the noise, drawn in despite my own pressing needs.

… wahwahwah … WHAAAAAA!

Oh dear God.

I forget about the horseman and about food and water and the rain battering down on me.

That’s a baby.

Someone else has survived Death.

I run towards the noise. It’s impossible. No one besides me survives Death.

The crying gets louder the closer I get to an olive green house. I run up the driveway, onto the porch, and grab the handle—

Locked.

Shit.

WAHWAHWAAAAAA!

Dear God dear God dear God. I grab one of the wrought iron café chairs sitting on the porch and drag it to a window.

Hefting it up, I slam it into the glass. It takes two tries, but I shatter the window. Kicking the remaining glass shards away, I step into the house.

AAAAAAHWAHWAHWAH!

I sprint across the living room I entered and down the hall, barely noticing the corpse I vault over. I make it to a room—a nursery—and there, sitting in a crib, is a crying baby.

My legs nearly give out at the sight.

I rush over to the crib, lifting the baby out. There’s vomit on the child and they’re trembling badly in my arms.

“Ssh, ssh,” I say, holding the baby close.

The infant is still wailing, its voice hoarse from crying for so long. Its tiny hands fist into my clothes.

My God, this child survived a horseman.

Just like me.

I’m shell-shocked at the thought, and for a moment, all I can do is shush the baby and stare. But the child’s still shaking and how long have they been trapped in that crib? The thought is too horrifying to ponder.

I storm the house, looking for milk. I have to swallow back a sob as I pass the body I leapt over just a minute ago. The woman’s long auburn hair is fanned out around her like a halo; that must be the child’s mother.

I’ve passed countless bodies over the past six months and gotten used to the sight of them. But now my own history overlays this moment, and I have to breathe in through my nose to stop a few careless sobs from slipping out.

When I enter the kitchen, I make a beeline for the icebox. Inside are several pre-filled bottles of milk. Thank God. Grabbing one of them, I bring it to the child’s lips.

The baby drinks greedily, gulping down the milk. And now, I begin to cry. This child will never grow up in this house and will never know the woman lying in it.

But they will live. That I swear.

Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months and I fall into a routine. Somewhere in there, Ben goes from being someone else’s son to my own.

A part of me hates how easily I set aside my purpose, how willing I was to abandon my cause the moment I stumbled across a tiny human who needed help. But then, I look at Ben and I can’t find it within me to regret my actions. The world will just have to take care of itself for now.

I find a doula to apprentice for, one who doesn’t mind having a baby join us for our house calls, and life begins to feel normal.

Until, of course, it doesn’t.

I wake in the dead of night, my eyes snapping open. At first I think it’s Ben that’s woken me, but then I notice that dreaded stillness. The one I’ve become all too familiar with over the last year.

He found us.

I suck in a breath.

Ben.

I trip over to his crib. I can barely see in the darkness, but he’s too still and I’m so afraid—

I reach in and grab him and I have to swallow my sob when I hear his deep inhalation and feel his body move.

He’s alive. The relief that floods my system nearly brings me to my knees. But even it is short-lived.

Run, Lazarus!

If Death isn’t here yet, then he will be soon. Maybe Ben is impervious to him, but maybe I just got lucky and sensed the horseman before he’s struck this town.

I grab the baby harness I bought last month and force my shaking hands to strap it onto me before securing a fussy Ben into it. All of it happens in a panic-fueled daze.

Grab the bug out bag. I’ve kept one for this very occasion. I snag it from the hook it hangs on and, slinging it over my back, I rush out into the chilly evening air.

I grab my bicycle, then hop on.

Please have time. Please all be in my head. I alternate chants, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

I don’t know which way to go; however, down the road I hear a dog yipping. I head towards the noise, panic seizing up my lungs. Five houses down, I hear the dog banging against a rotted wood gate, still baying. Riding all the way up to the gate, I grab the latch, then pause, readying myself.

I glance down at Ben, who has grown quiet as he peers around us.

“We got this, Ben,” I say to him, more for my own sake than his. “Neither of us is meeting Death tonight.”

I unlatch the gate and set the dog free. The creature immediately bolts down the street, and I ride after it. It tears through yards, cuts corners and plows through bushes and several times I’m sure I’m going to lose sight of the thing. But somehow, I manage to stay on the dog’s trail. The whole thing is a blur of adrenaline and instinct. But by the time the sun rises, Alexandria is far behind us and Ben is still alive.

Only then do I allow myself to process what just happened.

He’s hunting you. Perhaps Death never stopped.

And now he’s closing in.

Ben and I find a new city, a new place to stay, and I secure a new job. None of it is quite as comfortable as Alexandria, but I don’t blame that on the new place. My sense of security has been shattered.

With good reason, too. Not a month later, the devil nearly finds me again.

And again.

And again.

I move through Louisiana, then circle back into Texas. I’m afraid to live near the cities of the dead—I still have nightmares about Death’s revenants chasing Ben and me—but traveling east is a dead end, so to speak. Thanatos has wiped out too many swaths of the country over there. So instead, I force myself to head southwest.

If I can make it to the coast, perhaps Ben and I can get passage on a boat heading out to distant shores. And if we can’t, we’ll cut through Texas and head out West, where the land hasn’t yet been touched by Death.

A year ago, a plan like this—one full of uncertainty and struggle—would’ve been petrifying to a country girl like me who spent the first two decades of her life living a comfortable, predictable life. But the bitter truth is that I’m no longer that girl, the one who used to sew daisies onto her jeans and haggle over the cost of produce. Death has altered me in so many fundamental ways.

Perhaps the most shocking aspect of it all is that I wouldn’t want to go back to being that girl I was. Not for the whole world. I’m more resilient, more adventurous and battle-hardened. Death, ironically, has made me come alive.

Ben and I settle into the town of Orange, Texas. The nearest port is tantalizingly close, and I’m already looking into various cruise liners that offer trips to Mexico, the Caribbean and other far off destinations.

A thrill goes through me every time I think of finding a place where Ben will be safe from Death, though I force myself to ignore the odd ache in my chest at the thought of not seeing the horseman again—maybe ever.

All of my imaginings—both good and bad—come to an abrupt halt two weeks later.

It starts out as a simple enough fever, one that makes Ben cry and cry. It lasts for two days, and when it goes, I’m relieved.

But then, it returns—and it comes back with a vengeance.

I pace the small one-bedroom apartment like a caged animal, sometimes with Ben in my arms, and other times empty-handed while my son sleeps feverishly in my bed. I get him medicine to help break the fever, but if it works, it does so only briefly.

The morning after the fever returns, I can tell that something’s truly wrong.

Ben’s inconsolable.

“Sshh, sshh, Ben, sshh, it’s going to be alright,” I say, rocking him in my arms.

He screams, his cries growing louder and louder. He won’t eat, he won’t drink, and even my touch seems to upset him.

The only thing that appears to help are the songs I sing to him. Then his cries die down—just a little—and he watches me, unsmiling and whimpering a little but at least distracted. Once the song ends, his cries begin again.

I can feel my own hot tears slipping from my eyes. I’m so scared my arms are shaking.

I need to find a doctor. Maybe they will have something to give my son.

But that’s assuming they know what’s causing Ben’s fever. And that they have medication for it. And that Ben manages to keep it down.

I’m nearly hyperventilating at the odds.

Still need to try.

I bustle about the house, grabbing what I can while Ben thrashes in my arms. I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to be in my arms, but when I put him down, he’s plainly unhappy.

Just as I’m getting ready to buckle Ben into my bike, a heavy fist pounds on my door.

Grabbing the last of my things, I toss them into the bike’s basket and head over to the door, Ben wailing the entire time.

I open it, then blanch at the visitor standing on my doorstep. Pestilence.

For a moment, I can’t find any words.

“How—what are you doing here?” I finally manage. I have to raise my voice to be heard over Ben’s screaming.

Pestilence’s gaze drops to the baby in my arms. “Ah. So this is why you’ve been running.”

He places a hand on my shoulder and steers me back inside, following in after me. And I just let him manhandle me. The truth of the matter is that seeing a familiar face has my knees weakening. Right when I felt so hopelessly lost, Pestilence found me.

I pinch my lips together to hold everything in, though I can still feel my lower lip trembling.

The horseman steers me towards my banged up table and chairs, but I’m too antsy to take a seat.

Need to get going …

“How did you know I’ve been running?” I ask, as my gaze sweeps over him again. I feel like my eyes must be deceiving me.

Pestilence releases my shoulder, peering down at me. I feel as though he can see all the stress I carry on my face. How it has worn me down over these last several months.

“War, Famine, and I have continued hunting Death—who, we’ve noticed, is traveling alone, despite the fact that we’re all aware of your existence. Combine that knowledge with Thanatos’s circuitous movements and the awakened revenants and well, he’s obviously looking for you.”

My pulse is in my ears. I’ve known Thanatos has been searching for me, but having Pestilence confirm it makes it all uncomfortably real.

“How did you find me?” I ask as Ben keeps wailing in my arms.

Pestilence grips the back of one of my kitchen chairs. “There are not many people named Lazarus, and unlike Death, my brothers and I are willing to interact with the living. It’s amazing how far a few questions will go.”

It’s still more than a little astounding, considering how new I am to Orange.

“How far away is Death?” I ask. I need to know how much time I have.

“Twenty miles, give or take a few,” Pestilence says.

I close my eyes for a moment. That’s far too close, which means I need to head to Port Arthur today and buy us tickets out of here. But Ben can’t travel. Not like this. He needs a doctor. And medicine. And rest. But if we don’t move, it might all be over anyway.

Pestilence continues, “Last time we checked, Death was heading off in a different direction, so you probably have a day—maybe two—before he comes here.”

It’s not long enough. I hold Ben close, even though his cries ratchet up at the action.

“Why are you here, warning me about this?” I say.

Pestilence’s gaze is heavy, and I swear I see some fatherly concern in them as he takes me in.

“Famine, War, and I never finished our discussion with you,” he says. “We would like to.”

The horseman’s gaze drops to Ben, who is still wailing. “But perhaps now is not a good time.” The horseman’s eyes linger a moment longer on my son. “Infection is ravaging his body—and it’s spreading by the hour. He needs antibiotics, Lazarus.”

It’s all too much. My shoulders curl in and I begin to weep, bowing my head over Ben’s.

“Hey, hey,” Pestilence says.

This bear of a man pulls me and Ben in for a tight hug. It’s a firm, quick squeeze that’s over before it’s even begun. But his hand stays on my shoulder and he rubs it reassuringly. “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” he says with such certainty. “Dry those eyes.”

It’s willpower alone that has me pulling myself back together.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, my voice broken.

“Take care of your boy—find a doctor, get him some antibiotics. He’ll be alright. When you’re ready, come find me and my brothers. We’re staying in an abandoned farmhouse just off of Road 3247. It’s slate blue and it has a red door with a big iron star on it.”

I nod distractedly.

Pestilence hesitates, then glances around my apartment. Noticing the pencil and notebook I keep on my kitchen counter, the horseman grabs the two items and begins to jot down the address. He rips the sheet of paper off and hands it to me.

“You have about a day—give or take. Lazarus, I know you’ve been running. And I understand why. But we want you to stop.”

I go directly to the hospital, pushing Pestilence’s absurd final words out of my head. I won’t stop running. I can’t. Not if it might mean Ben dying at Thanatos’s hands.

The wait to be admitted is blessedly short. The nurse calls me in, clipboard in hand, and checks Ben’s vitals. Her lips press together in a grim line, and my heart plummets.

“When did the symptoms start? Has he had anything to eat or drink today? When was the last time he did feed? When was his last wet diaper?”

I answer her questions, all while she keeps her face carefully blank, pausing only to scribble notes on her clipboard.

Once I’m finished talking, she says, “Well, your son is definitely sick.” She tucks the clipboard under her arm and stands. “I’m going to get him started on an IV so that we can get some fluids in him. The doctor will be in here shortly.”

The doctor does arrive alarmingly fast, and while I’m grateful they’re taking my son’s condition seriously, I’m terrified of what that might mean.

“I’m Dr. Conway,” he says, nodding to me. His attention turns to Ben, who’s resting in my arms. “And this must be Ben.” The doctor briefly glances over Ben’s chart, then draws a chair to us and examines my son.

Once he’s done, he leans back in his seat. “It looks like it’s meningitis,” he says. “It’s serious, but we can treat it. We’ll start your son on some penicillin and administer fluids. From there, we’ll wait and see, but he should be alright.”

I exhale, my head bowed over Ben.

He should be alright. I hold onto that.

After Dr. Conway leaves, a nurse leads me and Ben to a room with a crib. She sets up the IV and administers the antibiotic. The whole time I cry alongside my son. I’ve never felt smaller than I do now, helpless to do anything to save my son. Ben’s hoarse wails lance at me. They’re haunting reminders of the day I first found him, when he’d cried for so long he’d worn out his voice.

He’s going to be alright, I tell myself. He’s going to be alright.

I try not to think about the fact that Death is closing in on this city, or that the other horsemen want me to stop running. Every time I do, I can’t seem to catch my breath.

Instead I brush the short wisps of Ben’s hair back, and I sing him lullabies that waver on my lips, my sadness throwing my voice off-key.

An hour goes by, and nothing appears to change. My son is still crying off and on, and while his eyes don’t look so sunken and his lips appear less chapped, he still seems like he’s in pain.

Another hour passes and a nurse comes by. She checks my son’s IV, then his vitals, then leaves.

Another two hours pass, and still nothing much has changed, except that Ben’s breathing has gotten more rapid and his cries have tapered off with his exhaustion.

I stare out the window at the setting sun, dreading the coming night. Time feels like it’s slipping through my fingers, and I can’t do anything about it. I can’t do anything about any of this.

The nurse returns, checking on my son once more. I want to ask her how long it will take for the antibiotics to start making a noticeable change. Or if there’s any way I can administer the rest of the medicine at home—or rather, on the road.

Before I can, however, she rushes off.

Only minutes later the woman returns, an unfamiliar doctor on her heels.

“Hi there, Ms. Gaumond,” the doctor says, reaching out to shake my hand. “I’m Dr. Patel.” Her eyes move to the crib. “And this is—” She glances down at his chart, “Ben.”

Dr. Patel crosses over to the crib Ben lays in. She pulls out a stethoscope and listens to my son’s heart, then checks his head and neck. The action causes Ben to start crying anew.

Exhaling a heavy breath, she turns from the crib to face me.

“What is it?” I say before she can get a word in. I swear she must be able to hear my heart pounding.

“We should be seeing some improvement by now. Unfortunately, that’s not the case.”

My heart seems to stop at those words.

“We’re going to continue to administer the penicillin to Ben,” Dr. Patel continues, “but so far I’m not seeing any evidence that it’s working.”

It’s not working.

“Is there anything else you can do?” I ask.

“Some cases of meningitis are bacterial, and others are viral,” she says. “Antibiotics won’t have any effect on viral meningitis. That could be what your son has. There is a chance, however, that this is bacterial meningitis, and if it is, then at this point we would give Ben more specialized antibiotics—if we had them.” The doctor sighs, rubbing her eyebrows wearily. “However, those are no longer readily available. We will send out a request to see if any of the neighboring hospitals and pharmacies have any on hand, but by then …” She trails off, her meaning clear.

By then Ben will have either beaten this thing, or he won’t have.

I feel like someone has stolen the breath from my lungs.

“The other doctor said he’d be okay,” I whisper.

Dr. Patel nods. “He very well could be. Children fight off infections as serious as this one all the time. He’s receiving the best care we can give him. All we need to do now is let his body do the rest.”

The doctor turns to the door, and I want to grab her hand, I want to beg her not to go, I want to force her to stay here until she heals my son.

“Is there nothing else we can do?” I ask, lost.

“Pray,” she says. “There’s always hope in prayer.”

“Pray?” I echo.

To whom? God? I nearly let out a bitter laugh. God is not going to help us. God is rooting for the other side. The one that’s hunting me and everyone in this town.

Dr. Patel moves to the door, unaware of my tumultuous thoughts. “We will continue checking on Ben and making sure that his body is as healthy as it can be to fight this.”

With that, she leaves, and I’m left alone with Ben and my despair.

I suck in a gasp at the sight of him.

“No,” I whisper low, the word like a prayer, clutching Ben tighter to me. I had prayed for God to spare my son, not to hand-deliver Death to me.

Thanatos stares at me in equal astonishment. “I didn’t believe it,” he says, his voice hushed. “Not until now.”

I force my gaze away from Death. The trick with him is to not look too long or too hard. Otherwise, I might see something beyond my opponent, something real and human.

He steps into the dim, lamp-lit hospital room. “Months I have searched for you,” he says.

Despite myself, my gaze is drawn back to him.

Death’s dark eyes are fevered. “You stopped coming for me,” he accuses.

I don’t have an answer for him. He wants to talk about something that feels like a lifetime ago. But all I can focus on is the terrible situation that’s consumed me for the past day.

As though he can read my thoughts, Death’s eyes dip to the baby in my arms.

“You’re a mother?” Thanatos says, and the surprise is back in his expression.

My heart pounds in my chest. It’s about now that it’s actually sinking in: Death is inside Ben’s hospital room—Death who kills everyone.

I glance down at Ben, so afraid of what I’ll see. He’s frighteningly still, but I hear his faint inhalations.

Thanatos hasn’t killed my son. Has the horseman ever gotten this close to another living soul besides me without taking its life?

“Why are you here?” I demand.

His gaze is fixed to Ben. “I sense every living creature,” he says. “They open their souls to me when it’s their time to go.”

Death’s gaze rises to mine. His ancient eyes are sad—so, so sad.

“No,” I say again, my voice broken, my hold on Ben tightening. My son doesn’t let out so much as a whimper.

“The boy in your arms is very, very sick, Lazarus,” Thanatos says gently, taking a step forward.

I shake my head, trying to banish his words. “He’ll be fine,” I say, trying to reassure both of us.

“No,” Death says softly, taking another step towards me, “he won’t be.”

My face crumples. I hear the truth in his words, even if I don’t want to believe it.

“Please,” I say, tears slipping from my eyes. “He’s just a baby.”

Don’t take him.

Thanatos is quiet, his expression agonized. For me, I realize. He’s agonized for me. I’m not sure any of his pity is for the child.

I begin to shake.

“His soul beckoned,” Thanatos reminds me softly. “It’s his time. I know it, and so does he.”

No. No, no, no, no.

But I cannot escape the truth of Death’s words. If Thanatos can sense Ben, then my son must be mortal after all. If I wasn’t already sitting, the thought would’ve sent me to my knees.

“Spare him,” I beg. “I know you can.” If Thanatos can take lives at will, then I’m sure he can overlook one.

Death shakes his head.

“I will do anything—anything,” I vow. I hate how hollow my voice sounds, how hopeless I already am. But no one else has given me anything to believe in, and there’s no reason why this horseman should be any different.

Death gives me a long, curious look. Something flickers in his eyes, and I remember that the last time I saw him, he was determined to keep me captive.

Now, there’s a spark of hope. I take it as an opening.

“I will live with you—I’ll do it—” I say, “just spare Ben. Please, heal him like you’ve healed me.”

Thanatos has never seen me like this, boiled down to my weakest, most vulnerable essence.

His gaze is heavy on mine. “I only healed you, Lazarus, because you cannot die and I cannot bear your suffering.”

“But I’m suffering now,” I say, tears slipping from my eyes.

Thanatos actually looks torn.

“Please,” I beg, “I know we’re enemies, but … please,” I rasp out, “spare me this.”

Death is quiet for a long moment. I feel those heavy, ancient eyes on me, and I wonder absently if, despite all the death he’s witnessed, he doesn’t know what to make of grief.

Finally, he says, “I will give you what I have given many mothers before you,” he says. “Time. You have a day.”

A day?

My body seems to give out then, and I do crumple out of that hospital chair and onto my knees, holding Ben’s sickly body close to me. Sobs shudder out of me, and nearby, I’m aware of Death’s foreboding presence. He hasn’t left, though I don’t know why he still lingers.

“I hate you,” I whisper. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Death sinks down next to me, and he does something I’m not prepared for: he wraps his arms around me and Ben and holds us against him.

For a moment, his embrace feels unsure, but then I’m leaning into him, like he’s the sun and I’m a flower drinking in his light. And I’m breaking apart. I start to cry in earnest, everything within me coming undone all at once. I’ve been strong for too long, on my own for too long, and I’m now in an impossible situation.

“I thought he was like me,” I admit. “I found him alive in one of the towns you destroyed. I thought he could survive death.”

Thanatos’s solemn eyes meet mine, his face close enough to kiss. “No one is like you, Lazarus,” he says softly.

And I begin to cry all over again because I’m alone, I’m always alone, and everyone I love leaves me, and I shouldn't be jealous of that.

“Tell me he’s going to be alright,” I say, my spirit broken.

“Lazarus, he will be alright. More than alright. No more pain, no more suffering. He will be surrounded by love.”

I’m shaking my head against Thanatos because I don’t believe in that sort of goodness. Not when all I’ve seen of the supernatural is pain and death.

“And when it is your time,” the horseman continues, “he will be there, waiting for you.”

I sob harder because that shouldn’t be the way of things—children shouldn’t die before parents. And I don’t care that I’m technically not his birth mother, or that the people who gave him life have already passed. He’s not even two years old. He has an entire future ahead of him.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. Tears are falling from my eyes like rain.

“Why would I?” Death says. “I have never shielded you from pain.” But he says it so gently, I almost think he regrets that fact.

His hold on me tightens, and the three of us stay like that.

Tomorrow, we will be enemies, but tonight, he’s my solace.

It is the worst day of my life.

I’ve had so many bad ones, I didn’t realize they could be eclipsed by this one.

Ben doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink, and any time he cries, it’s a weak, thready sound; I can hear the grave in his voice. And maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear he’s calling out to that bastard horseman, begging him to take his life away from me.

When I woke this morning to a nurse doing the rounds, the horseman was gone and Ben was back in his crib.

Now I glance down at Ben, who’s once again in my arms.

I stroke his small cheek. “I love you,” I whisper. I’ve shed all my tears. My heart is still breaking, but it’s left me hollow. “Always, always, always,” I promise. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. You deserved so much more.”

I keep stroking his cheek, feeling lost, my lonely future unspooling before me. I’ve always wondered how long I’d get to live if nothing could kill me. Now the thought of it is punishing. There’s no one else out there like me, no one besides the horsemen.

My fingers pause as a thought comes to me, a desperate, hopeful thought.

The horsemen.

Death isn’t the only one with power. The others once had it—maybe they still do.

Famine must. Maybe they can help my son.

I choke on that toxic, hopeful feeling in my chest, and a part of me wants to push it away. But the idea I have … it has claws, and it sinks them into me.

Before I can think better of it, I place my son in the crib and call for a nurse.

Need to get this IV out.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen right away. The nurses don’t want to remove it yet even though it’s painfully clear my son is beyond the help of antibiotics and fluids.

It’s while I’m arguing with the nurse that I realize an astounding detail I missed until now: everyone is alive. The hospital staff, the patients, the people meandering about outside the hospital’s windows. Death gave more than just my son an extra day.

The thought steals my breath. Along with it comes the memory of Death’s arms around me, holding me as I cried. A lump forms in my throat at his strange bits of kindness.

I refocus on the nurse. “My son is dying,” I say, and I resent the hell out of her for making me say those words. “I want to take him home and let him leave this world surrounded by the things he loves.”

I have no intention of letting him leave this world.

The nurse presses her lips together, but reluctantly, she nods. “I’ll have to okay it with the doctor first,” she warns.

She brings a doctor back. They sign off on some forms. Remove Ben’s IV line. Murmur a few stilted platitudes.

I clench my jaw against it all.

After what feels like an eternity, I exit the front doors of the hospital, blinking against the glare of the morning sun. My bike is where I left it yesterday, and it’s a shock to see it there. It feels like I left it eons ago.

I buckle Ben into his seat, cringing at how limp his body is and how little light is left in his eyes.

I stroke his cheek. “I’m going to save you, Ben,” I swear to him with a conviction I shouldn’t feel.

Hopping onto the bike, I peddle for home, stopping only long enough to grab a map I bought a week ago and the note Pestilence left for me. I spend a moment locating the road the horseman spoke of, then I trace the route needed to get there.

I fold the papers up, tuck them in my pocket, and Ben and I are out the door once more. I peddle like a mad woman, desperate to get to the address. The jostling causes Ben to stir a little, and I even hear him let out a weak cry.

Something dangerous like optimism surges through my veins. I’m going to save him. I am.

As soon as I turn onto Road 3247, I begin looking for the house Pestilence had mentioned—I can’t remember if he said it was blue or gray, only that it had a red door with a star on it.

I panic several times, sure I missed it, but eventually, I find the home. It’s blue, not gray, the paint peeling from the wood siding, the windows boarded up. The red front door is faded and the lone star fitted to it has rusted over.

I ride right up to it, then fumble getting Ben out of his seat, my nerves nearly getting the better of me. Facing the door, I pound my fist against the weathered wood.

I can hear murmuring inside, but when no one immediately answers, I pound against the wood again.

Just as I’m about to grab the handle, the door opens. Pestilence’s eyes meet mine for a split second, then they drop to Ben.

“I need your help,” I rush out.

Before he can respond, I push my way into the dilapidated house. War is in the kitchen, fists on the laminate countertop, leaning over what looks like a map.

“Is this about your son?” Pestilence asks behind me.

War glances up. “Lazarus!” he calls. “I didn’t realize you were pregnant the last we met.” When his eyes fall to my listless son, his jovial mood seeps away.

“I wasn’t pregnant,” I say, “but he’s my son all the same.” I turn my attention to Pestilence. “The antibiotics didn’t help. He’s … he’s dying.” My voice wavers, and I have to stop and draw in a stabilizing breath, even as a tear slips out. “Death intends to take him tonight unless—”

“Unless he can be healed,” Pestilence finishes for me, understanding flooding his eyes. He frowns, his gaze remorseful. “I can’t help you,” he says. “Nor can War. It’s true that we’ve kept some of our former powers, but,” He shakes his head, “I no longer have the power to reverse such sickness.”

“But you once did?” I press, holding my breath.

Pestilence stares at me for a moment, then nods his head. “We all have the ability to harm and heal …”

He hasn’t even finished speaking when I swivel around, searching the house for the one horseman who isn’t mortal. The one who can, perhaps, help.

My gaze lands on him lounging back against the wall, a brow arched as he coaxes a sapling in front of him to rise from the splintered floorboards, the tree unfurling before my eyes.

“Famine,” I breathe.

“No.”

I’m too desperate to be so easily discouraged. I stride up to the horseman, Ben in my arms, and gaze down at the pitiless Reaper.

“Death’s going to take my son from me,” I say. My body trembles as I speak.

“And?” Famine says, unbothered.

“Help me,” I plead. “Save his life.”

The horseman leans his head back against the wall. “Like I said—no.”

War mutters behind us, “And to think you tried to give up your purpose for humanity.”

The Reaper’s attention shifts over my shoulder, and I know he’s getting ready to say something scathing.

I kneel in front of Famine so that we’re at eye-level. There’s only one thought filling my head.

Save my son.

I stare deeply into the horseman’s green eyes until they slide back from War and focus on me again. This is not a man who has much empathy—not for me or my son anyway. But that doesn’t mean I can’t persuade him. I just need to figure out what he wants.

“I will do anything,” I vow. “Anything.”

God help me, but there is nothing I won’t do.

The Reaper’s gaze narrows. After a moment, his eyes—reluctantly—dip to my son, who has fallen back asleep.

He shakes his head. “He is too far gone.”

No.

Horror fills me.

No.

No. I refuse to believe it.

I won’t.

“You have torn down cities, crushed thousands in an instant,” I say, my voice strong. “Your power is nearly limitless. Do not tell me you are suddenly too weak to help one tiny baby.”

Famine’s jaw tightens. “Taunting me will get you nowhere, mortal.”

“Please,” I say slowly. “Death—that insufferable brother of yours—cannot be the only horseman with the ability to heal.”

The Reaper stares at me with those reptilian eyes of his, and I cannot tell what is going on behind that face of his.

“I will do anything you want,” I swear again.

I’m not scared anymore. Just resolute.

“Anything?” War says from behind me.

I turn to face him just as he walks over.

“Anything.”

War stares down at me, his own dark eyes full of machinations. “Seduce Death.”

My gaze widens, my heart tripping over itself.

“War,” Pestilence cautions, entering the room behind us.

War’s gaze remains locked on mine. “She said anything.”

My mind flashes to the naked desire I’ve seen in Thanatos’s eyes.

Come with me, Lazarus. Let me know what it is like to hold you instead of fighting you.

I clench my jaw, caught between dread and a twisted sort of desire I’ve harbored for the horseman for far too long.

I don’t have time to argue.

“Done,” I say, feeling only a little ill at ease.

I’ll worry about the implications of this later.

The corner of War’s mouth curls just slightly.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Famine protests.

War’s gaze goes to the Reaper. “Do it, brother.”

Famine grimaces. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

His eyes cut to me, and I can see how much the Reaper dislikes me—or maybe it’s simply what I represent. But when his attention drops to Ben, his gaze softens.

Without asking, Famine reaches out and takes my son from me. He cradles Ben in his arms, and something sad and vulnerable peeks out from the back of the horseman’s eyes as he stares down at my son.

The Reaper places a hand on the side of Ben’s face. Taking a deep breath, his eyelids close.

No one in the room moves. I can sense Pestilence and War nearby, but they might as well be on another continent. All I have eyes for are Famine and Ben.

Nothing happens.

The seconds slip by, then it’s a minute. Then that minute bleeds into two, then four … longer and longer it goes, and no one speaks, no one moves. And yet the air is thick with—I would call it magic, except that makes it sound like whatever is happening is some sort of cheap trick. This is life and death. This is being born from clay and returning to the earth and the world turning and shifting. It feels like I am surrounded by the essence of everything.

The longer I wait, the more unsure I suddenly become. Shouldn’t it be faster? Death snaps his fingers and cities fall. Why is one act of creation—if you can even call it that—so much more drawn out?

But then—

Ben’s breathing seems stronger and his pallor looks healthier. He moves a little, and it doesn’t look weak or painful.

I’ve seen atrocities, I’ve seen despair and unimaginable horror.

I’ve never seen something as miraculous as this.

I’m choking on my own breath, on all my terror and despair and everything else that has beaten me down. And then it’s exiting my body.

Famine opens his eyes, and for a moment, as he gazes down at Ben, the horseman gives him a brief smile.

A sob slips from my lips.

The Reaper’s eyes reluctantly move to mine. “He’s healed.”

Healed.

Tears are slipping from my eyes as I take Ben from Famine. My son starts to cry again, and I shudder out a breath. He was too weak before to cry. As soon as he’s settled in my arms, his cries die down a bit.

I kiss and hug him until Ben is officially annoyed. He’s alive. Alive and healthy when he’d been marked for death. I can hardly fathom it.

War comes over with a canteen and offers it to me. “For your son,” he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “He looks thirsty.”

Grateful, I take the canteen from War and bring it to Ben’s lips. He drinks the water down as fast as he possibly can, choking—then crying a little—before drinking some more.

Pestilence quietly hands me a slice of bread and some raspberries, which are also presumably to give to Ben.

My emotions are a mess. These men who came to Earth to destroy humans saved my son, and now they’re nurturing him.

“Thank you,” I say softly, meeting each rider’s gaze as Ben takes the bread with shaky hands and begins devouring it. My eyes fall on Famine, who glances away, his jaw clenching.

“Thank you,” I say to him in particular. I reach out and touch his hand, only for him to withdraw it.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he says hotly, his eyes flashing.

“I don’t care, I’m still grateful.”

He gets up and, muttering something under his breath about insufferable humans, stalks away.

“Don’t mind him,” War says. “He’s starting to care for humanity despite himself, and he’s pissy about it.”

I nod absently, still holding onto Ben as the little guy devours the food Pestilence gave him. It’s quiet in the room around me, and though a million things should be crowding my mind, it’s oddly empty.

“Your son will have to come with us,” Pestilence finally says, shattering the silence.

My blood runs cold.

“What?” I must’ve misheard him.

Pestilence steps in close. “The only person besides us that Death won’t outright kill is you. Your son is not included on that list.”

“I can keep my son safe,” I protest.

“Only if you continue running. But you’re not going to be running anymore,” Pestilence says slowly, his gaze heavy with meaning.

My own gaze moves to War.

Seduce Death.

I can’t seem to catch my breath around the thought.

“This wasn’t part of the exchange,” I accuse.

“Death is a man of honor and duty,” War says, “and his duty is death. If he sees your son, he will release him from his body, because he must.”

I begin to tremble with every word War speaks because I can hear the truth in them.

“If you truly care for this boy of yours,” the horseman continues, “you won’t risk it—”

“Don’t,” I warn, and there’s violence in my voice. “Don’t you dare leverage my love.”

War folds his massive arms. “I am a father—as is Pestilence. We know how to take care of our young. We will take care of yours as if it were our own. That I vow to you.”

I have to keep swallowing down the emotion that rises within me. Or maybe it’s bile. I feel as though I’m going to hurl.

“But I just got him back,” I whisper while Ben blissfully eats the food, unaware that we’re discussing his future.

“We all have families,” Pestilence says, stepping in. “Families who we’ve had to separate ourselves from. Believe me when I say we understand your pain and your hesitation.”

War cuts in. “Our wives and children are staying together at Pestilence and Sara’s home on Vancouver Island. It’s far enough from Thanatos that he cannot so easily reach them.”

“We will take your son to our families,” Pestilence says smoothly, “and I vow on my life and honor, your boy—”

“Ben,” I say. “His name is Ben.” It’s a dagger to the chest, giving up my son’s name, because I know it means I’m already accepting this on some level.

Pestilence smiles, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling. “—Ben will be cared for and loved until you can return to him. And you will return to him, Lazarus—this isn’t forever.”

I breathe in and out through my nose. All I want for Ben is to survive—it was the entire reason behind us heading to the coast in the first place—to board a boat and get as far away from Thanatos as possible. And now these horsemen are offering up a similar escape—it just happens to be one that doesn’t include me.

The Reaper re-enters the room then, passing by as he heads over to the kitchen.

“I vow the same thing,” War adds, drawing my attention back to the horsemen in front of me. “Your son will be protected and cherished by me and my family as well. My daughters will relish having another child to play with—just don’t be surprised if, when you return, your boy knows Hebrew and Arabic.”

“And Portuguese,” Famine calls out from the kitchen, as though he’s been a part of this conversation the entire time. His voice sounds somewhat bitter, like he hates that he wants to be included in this conversation.

I glance down at Ben, who is fiddling with War’s canteen. A frown pulls the edges of my lips down. “So you three will take my son, and then what? Head off to Canada with him?”

Pestilence inclines his head.

All while I will be … with Death. I try not to focus on the mixed emotions that churns up.

“When will I be able to return to Ben?” I say.

“Once you have fulfilled your side of the deal,” War says, his voice deep and solemn.

My gaze bounces between him and Pestilence. “How will—” I don’t even want to say the word. “How will seducing Death help anything?”

War smirks at me, a humorous gleam in his eyes. “What do you think has stopped each one of us from destroying your world?”

My gaze moves to Famine, who’s pouring himself a cup of coffee that someone brewed, glaring at the cup the entire time. Hard to believe anyone would give that asshole the time of day for anything, let alone love. Immediately, I feel guilty for having the thought, considering he just saved my son—albeit, reluctantly.

My attention returns to War. “You can’t be serious.” This is actually their plan? They’re placing the fate of their families and the world at large in my hands—or rather, certain other parts of my anatomy?

“Come now, tootsie,” Famine calls out, “don’t tell me you doubt your ability to fuck a man into seeing reason.”

“Famine,” Pestilence snaps, scowling.

I glare at the Reaper, but that only seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk.

“Well,” Famine says to Pestilence, sauntering over, his coffee in hand, “the other option is that the three of us brothers band together and destroy Death, but seeing how decrepit you and War have become, I have my doubts about that plan.”

As do I. After all, I saw firsthand just how easily Death dealt with Famine, and he’s the only one of these three who’s immortal.

Famine brings the cup of coffee to his lips. “Besides,” he continues, lowering his mug, “I want to see that righteous asshole fall for the exact same thing that the rest of us have.”

“So it’s agreed then?” Pestilence says, staring intently at me.

I swallow, glancing down at Ben once more. I hate this. I hate this so much. Now that Ben is alive and well, I want to go back on my word.

Ben won’t ever truly be safe until Death is stopped. And that won’t happen unless I stop him. That’s always been my deepest truth.

My purpose settles over my shoulders like a cloak. I’m used to the idea of stopping Thanatos. Only now, I’ll have to use different, more carnal weapons.

Desire curls through me, and I’m unnerved by it. I’ve never dared to give into the guilty, forbidden feelings I’ve had for Death—not even when he captured me.

But now I’m being asked to, and I’m terrified that once I do, there will be no coming back from it.

“Fine,” I say hoarsely. “I agree to it.” Like I ever really had the choice.

Still, I see Pestilence relax a little.

“But,” I add, turning my attention to Famine, “I need you to vow that you’ll keep him safe.” He’s the horseman that I trust the least.

Famine’s flinty eyes stare back at me. After a moment, they dip to my son. Once more, they seem to begrudgingly soften at the sight of the boy. The Reaper’s jaw tightens.

His attention returns to me, his gaze fierce, “I vow it.” And for whatever reason, Famine’s oath to protect my son sounds the most genuine of all.

I take a deep breath, and looking from man to man, I finally nod. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

My apartment feels like a tomb. It hurts to look at the leftover diapers and clothing sitting in a pile on the floor—one of them the very diaper Ben was so recently playing with.

Perhaps what’s worse than seeing that pile is recognizing how pitifully small it is. Traveling often means traveling lightly, and most of my son’s things left with him.

Bending down to that pile, I grab a pair of socks that Ben has already outgrown. I tuck those into one of my pockets, pressing my lips together to stop myself from getting too emotional.

He’s alive, I remind myself. That’s more than Death or the doctors could give me.

I move into my bedroom and grab my blades, strapping them to my thighs. Do I intend to use them on the horseman? No. Would I regret sinking one into his belly if the opportunity arose? Also no.

All those months of trying to raise a baby while looking over my shoulder, of having to drop everything and flee, they’ve more than stoked my anger. Add to that the fact that Death intends to collect my son’s soul tonight, and yes, I’d relish an opportunity to fight this horseman.

Of course, anger is not the only emotion I feel towards Thanatos. I wish it were. That would make everything so much easier. Instead, I have to deal with this insidious desire that smolders within me. And then there’s the fact that Thanatos didn’t wipe out this town last night.

I head to my front door and step outside of my apartment.

“Thanatos!” I call, my gaze moving over the neighborhood.

I wait for some response—a prickling against my skin, a feeling of being watched, that damnable silence—but there’s nothing. If the horseman has been watching me, it seems he’s taken a break.

I reenter my apartment determined to not just sit here and wait for him. I’d much rather draw him out like venom from a wound. And if I orchestrate this right, I’ll even be able to give his three brothers a head start on their travels.

Striding back over to the kitchen I grab the pencil and notebook and scribble a message onto the piece of paper, my agitation making my writing severe.

I grip Thanatos tightly as we rise higher and higher, my heart hammering in my chest.

I’ve given up and given in, and yet I still can’t banish the dread at being in Death’s arms. Everything about him was made to end lives, and this close to him I can feel the wrongness of my continued existence.

Not to mention that the last time he held me like this, he dropped me. And okay, that only happened after I stabbed him, but still, the thought seizes me up.

“You’re not going to let me fall again, are you?” I ask, my voice hushed.

His mouth brushes my ear, his breath warm and his voice low like a lover’s when he says, “Not on my life, Lazarus. That is behind us.”

Does he realize there’s sex in his voice? His words practically drip with it, and my body seems to awaken—my stomach fluttering and my core heating.

We fly for hours, my body clasped tight in Death’s arms. I assumed that even this all-powerful horseman would get fatigued trying to stay airborne while holding a full-grown woman, but I should’ve known better. The being that can kill off a city’s population in an instant is more than capable of whisking away one measly human.

All the while, I’m burning with questions for the horseman: Where is your horse? Where are you taking me? What happens now?

Most of all, I want to ask him whether he left my son alone once he realized Ben was healed. But I’m terrified of drawing the horseman’s attention back to Ben in case my son is alright. I can’t imagine Death likes being robbed a soul.

I focus my attention on the world below me, just to distract myself. It’s hard to see much with my hair whipping about and the wind stinging my eyes, but I do catch some glimpses. Mostly the land is a patchwork of fields with a few houses speckled like freckles across a face. Every so often, however, I see cities—or, in some grim cases, the remains of them. The latter look like a gray smudge on the landscape, the buildings torn down, the roads covered with debris. I bet if I looked hard enough, I’d see bodies too. I don’t bother.

These are the places Death has claimed.

And now he’s claiming you.

I stare down at my hands.

I pinch my eyes shut. I have no answers. No way to understand what Death’s brothers want me to do, or what I want, or anything else.

All I know is that it would be so easy to fall into Death’s arms. He’s beautiful, and for all his killing, he’s not evil. That’s probably what hurts my head the worst. He’s taken my family, he almost took my son, he’s going to try to take everyone else, and yet his heartisn’t wicked.

I’ve seen wicked.

I scrub my face and take a deep breath, my stomach tumbling as my thoughts go round and round.

I’d like to say that resolve is what eventually draws me out of my new room, but the truth is, I catch a whiff of something delicious, and I’m painfully hungry.

Who is cooking? Surely it isn’t Death? That would be one surprise too many.

Also, where is this kitchen?

I leave my room only to lose my way … and then lose it again.

Who even needs this much space?

I still haven’t figured out where the kitchen is when I make it to the living room. I come to a stop when I see Death standing before a wide window, his gaze fixed on something outside.

I swallow at the sight of those massive shoulders and large, folded wings.

Right now, with his back to me and his posture so still, he looks like those stone angels I’ve sometimes seen in cemeteries. The ones that look painfully sad. The whole thing makes me shiver.

“I’m back,” I say by way of greeting.

Death’s wings hike up, just a little; that’s the only indication he gives that I surprised him. When he rotates around, his gaze is somehow both guarded and painfully exposed.

He takes me in for several seconds. “I am surprised you wanted to be alone,” he admits. “I have been alone for so long, I have come to detest it. I assumed the same was true for you.”

“It was,” I admit.

Before Ben, I thought I’d go insane somewhere along those deserted stretches of highway.

Thanatos’s jaw clenches with emotion. Or maybe he’s just unused to anyone relating to him. That’s another type of loneliness—when your deepest truths are locked away and no one but you can hear them.

“It was,” he echoes, letting that sink in. After a moment, he takes a step forward, and I can tell by the sheen in his eyes that Death is about to spill more secrets.

“The only thing that ever helped me was replaying our interactions,” he admits. “And when those ran out, I imagined your voice and a thousand different conversations I might have with you. I yearned to hear my name fall from your lips. I yearned to see your face. To touch your skin.”

My breath hitches at his words. While I spent the last year reminding myself of all the reasons why Death was awful, he’d been doing this.

He looks me over. “Now that you’re here, however, I have this deep, abiding fear that this isn’t real—that you’ll fade away in the night. And for all my power, I cannot shake the feeling.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I remind him.

Thanatos gives me another one of his long looks. I’m pretty sure he’d stand there all day staring at me if I let him.

But then he surprises me.

“You must be hungry,” he says, coming forward.

“I am,” I say warily.

The horseman reaches my side and takes my hand.

I close my eyes at the sensation. I don’t think either of us has truly been touched in a long, long time, which makes every bit of physical contact that much more potent. And with Death’s words still echoing in my mind, I know that this simple touch must mean a lot to him as well.

“Come, my fallen adversary,” he says softly, tugging on my hand. “I have a victory dinner to attend, and you are my guest of honor.”

I open my eyes to look at him, but he’s already moving ahead, leading me through this massive house he’s clearly familiar with.

How long has he been prepping this place for me?

Thanatos leads me into a grand dining room that I missed because it lays on the opposite end of this mansion. Like the rest of the house, it is ornately furnished, with another crystal chandelier and a gilded mirror hanging above a massive fireplace. The table itself is an enormous thing. I count twelve chairs tucked around it, the wood’s dark surface polished to a gleam.

Resting on it are several steaming dishes and two place settings—one at the end of the table and one adjacent to it.

Death releases my hand, letting me make my way into the room. My fingers drag along the table’s smooth surface. I glance back at the horseman, only to find him watching me, his eyes caressing me like a touch.

“How did you learn about cooking?” I ask, gesturing to the dishes set out. Technically, this is far more than just cooking. Every platter of food seems to be perfectly catered, and the table settings have been arranged with precise care.

Death lifts his chin. “Does it please you?” he asks curiously.

There’s that question again.

“Does it matter?” I whisper, afraid to tell him the truth—that this far surpasses any expectation I had.

“You already know the answer to that, Lazarus,” he says.

I can’t seem to look away from him. He’s mesmerizing.

He nods towards the table. “Go ahead,” he finally says.

I do. I make my way to the proffered seat, and after a moment’s hesitation, I pull the chair out and sit down.

Only then does Death move, silently making his way towards the remaining place setting at the end of the table. It’s only now that I notice his chair back has been cut away.

The horseman pulls the seat out, his wings lifting just the slightest so that he can situate himself into it comfortably.

A week ago I was beginning to look into traveling overseas with Ben. Two days ago I was sure my son would die. A day ago I bargained my life away for his. And today I was taken by the angel of death for the second time in my life.

And now I’m sitting at a table with him, about to eat a meal like any of this is normal.

I look over the spread of food. There’s bread and cheese, but there’s also a tossed salad and a creamy pasta and stuffed peppers and breaded chicken.

“Who made this?” I ask.

Death’s eyes slide to a nearby door. It’s closed, but as I watch, the knob turns and a skeleton steps out, carrying an open bottle of wine.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say as the thing moves over to us. “A dead person made this food? Tell me I’m wrong.”

The horseman gives me a curious look. “You’re not.”

My gaze moves over the dishes. “How?” How did a mindless skeleton make all this?

As I speak, the skeleton pours wine into my glass. It then moves to Death and fills his glass before setting the bottle down on the table.

Thanatos lifts a hand and gestures to the creature. “I tell them what they must do, and they do it. But I don’t confess to understand how human food is prepared, or—” he grimaces at the dishes in question, “what you find particularly appealing about it.” As he speaks, the skeleton quietly retreats, exiting out of the door it entered.

“Well, normally, food is appealing because, you know, it keeps us alive,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Says the woman who cannot die,” he interjects.

My attention returns to the dishes in front of me. I wish I had no appetite. I wish what Thanatos just admitted would make some sort of difference, but the truth is, I haven’t eaten much in the last several days, and right now, I’m willing to try corpse-made food.

“Is it going to taste normal?” I ask.

“I expect that it will taste exactly like food made by the living,” Thanatos says.

I let out a shaky breath.

Alright. I’m doing it.

I reach for the pasta first and place a little on my plate. After a second’s hesitation, I add a little to Death’s plate as well.

“What are you doing?” His curious eyes are fixed on me.

“Serving you,” I state. “You’re the one, after all, who invited me to your ‘victory dinner’.”

His eyes are hard, but he still somehow looks wickedly pleased, though I imagine it has more to do with the idea of this victory dinner than the actual food itself.

I end up putting a little of everything on both of our plates while the horseman leans back in his seat, watching me with a devious, calculating expression.

Once I’m done, I sit back down in my chair and survey the table. “So this is what mighty Thanatos is using his dark powers for—getting revenants to cook for him,” I say.

He gives me a dark smile. “Would you prefer I simply let the dead sack cities and kill the living?” he asks. “War made quite a name for himself doing just that.”

I feel my eyes widen with shock. The War I know—and I admit I don’t know him all that well—seems like a reasonable man, even if he did throw me under a horse cart by forcing me to agree to this situation. He definitely doesn’t seem like someone who’d do something so … gruesome and perverse.

“You didn’t know,” Death states, reading my expression. “I assure you, every one of my brothers has killed entire regions of the world. And unlike me, most of their actions were cruel and full of suffering.”

I search Thanatos’s face, looking for the lie. Instead I find an unsettling truth.

And I sent Ben with them.

“Is my son okay?”

Death’s brows pull together at the change of subject. Or maybe he’s simply confused by my question.

“He’s alive,” he states. “And healthy. I can sense no more than that.”

My body falls back heavily against my chair. Ben is not dying. Whether or not he’s okay is another matter entirely.

I force away my fears. I have met these men, and I learned their motives. Perhaps they were once monstrous, but I have to trust that they aren’t any longer. They have humanity’s best interests in mind. If they didn’t, they would’ve let my son die and Death and I continue on as enemies.

Despite my own reassurances I still have to take a few steadying breaths.

Thanatos studies my expression, and I swear he’s noticing every little tick as though they were words on a page.

“Where are my brothers taking your son?” Thanatos eventually asks.

In response, I press my lips together.

Death continues to study my features. “Do you think I want to hurt him? That I seek to cause you pain? I seek to cause no one pain. I am the end of it, kismet.”

He has yet to realize that you don’t have to cut someone to make them bleed. Take away the most precious thing they have, and they will suffer.

Death settles back in his chair. “So, my brothers scheme. I cannot fathom what it is they hope to gain by having you surrender to me.”

War’s words ring out in my head.

Seduce Death.

I keep my thoughts to myself. But then the seconds stretch on, and the only thing punctuating them is a distant shuffling sound that must be Death’s skeletal servants. The entire time, the horseman stares at me.

“It’s rude to stare,” I eventually say.

“I don’t care about your silly human taboos,” he replies. And he continues staring. And staring.

I want to look everywhere but him, but if he’s not going to follow social etiquette, then fuck it, neither am I. So … I decide to look my fill.

Almost instantly, I realize my mistake. He’s utterly perfect. Like something crafted out of my deepest yearnings. That black hair is beckoning me to run my fingers through it, and those sad, solemn eyes are begging for connection that only I can give. And those lips … how I ache to taste them again.

The longer I look, the more my blood seems to heat. I can’t help it. I’m not made to withstand men this pretty.

But it’s not just his beauty. My attention returns to those ancient eyes, which hold all sorts of secrets. The longer I look, the more I seem to fall into their depths. And the longer he looks at me, the more heated his gaze becomes. Fuck me, but my pulse is hammering away and this cavernous dining room suddenly feels too small.

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.”

I exhale, feeling oddly unburdened.

The heat is back in the horseman’s eyes.

Seduce Death.

“I hate that I am drawn to you,” he admits.

Now I lower my glass.

When he sees my shock, Thanatos says, “Surely that can’t come as any surprise to you?”

It’s always going to surprise me that this … this … this monstrous angel is interested in me, the girl who never outgrew her hometown and never made much of a mark.

“I was better off before I met you,” he says. “There were few thoughts in my head then besides traveling and vanquishing. I spent no time musing on your eye color, or the savage expression you wear when you’re determined. I never replayed the way your body moved when you fought.”

I swallow, and I know I have a look in my eyes, the same one wild animals wear when they know they’re trapped.

I force myself to tear my gaze from him, turning my attention to my plate. Only this man could make me forget that I’m a starving woman sitting before a feast.

Setting down my wine, I lift my fork and take a bite of the pasta. There’s a moment where the sauce and the noodles gross me out—where all I can think about is that a dead body made this—but then the flavor hits and it tastes upsettingly good. I have another bite, and another, and pretty soon I don’t much care who made this because I’m ravenous.

I can feel Death’s eyes on me. I’m sure I look like a savage. I’m beyond caring.

Eventually, I do come up for air.

Next to me, Thanatos looks mildly horrified—which I take a gleeful amount of pride in—as well as very curious.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask him.

“Food of the living?” he says, his gaze fixed to my mouth.

My mouth quirks at his words. “That’s a weird way of putting it,” I say. “Do you eat food of the dead, then?”

“I’m a death deity. I don’t need sustenance at all.”

I look him over—from his dark, wavy hair to his chiseled features, to the black wings and shirt that seem to devour the light.

“Have you ever tried food?” I ask.

“What would be the point?”

He hasn’t. He’s never bitten into a ripe apple or twirled pasta around his fork, or had a bite of bread with melted butter.

I’ve known for a while now that Death doesn’t have human needs, but to have never—not once—tasted food?

I set my fork down.

He’s still watching me with burning curiosity when I push myself out of my chair and approach him. Ignoring Thanatos for a moment, I pick up a slice of bread. I grab the bottle of olive oil that rests nearby and I pour a little of it onto a small plate that seems to have been set out for such purpose.

I dip the bread into the oil and then I turn to the horseman. Bread and oil is one of the most basic foods; it seems like a good place to start.

I take a steadying breath. Here we go.

Before he can do anything at all, I sit down in his lap. I hear Thanatos’s sharp inhale, but then his hands fall on my hips.

“If you try to stab me—”

“With what, the butter knife?” I say teasingly. More serious, I add, “I’ve left that behind, Thanatos.”

His fingers press into my skin at the sound of his name.

I hold up the bread, a line of oil sliding down its flaky crust. “I want you to try this.”

Death grimaces. “Perhaps I would prefer a good stabbing.”

I bite back a laugh. Only this man would say such a ridiculous thing.

“This is bread and olive oil. Humans have been eating it for thousands of years. It’s good. And I want you to try it.”

His chest rises and falls. “Why?” he asks. “Why do you care at all?”

“For a year now, you have forced me to experience what death is like. Maybe it’s time you experienced a little life for a change.”

He hesitates, looking half convinced.

“It won’t kill you,” I say.

“An unfortunate truth,” he murmurs. “Death, I am comfortable with. This … I am not.”

I’m trying really, really hard not to snicker at the fact that this man—who has been shot repeatedly by me—is afraid of a little bread.

“This is your victory dinner,” I remind him. “And dinners are meant to be eaten.”

He frowns.

“And,” I add, “if you try it—” I hesitate, my gaze dropping to his lips, “I will kiss you.”

His starry eyes flash. In an instant his hand closes over mine, and he brings the bread I hold up to his lips. He stares at it for a moment, scowling.

“Everything in me revolts against this,” he admits.

“Then you must really want that kiss.” I say a bit breathlessly. I’m trying to make light of it, but inside, I feel raw.

Death’s eyes meet mine. Yes, they seem to say.

While our gazes are locked, he brings the bread the rest of the way to his mouth. Without looking away from me, he takes a bite.

That seems to break the spell.

His face twists into a grimace, and I see him gag a little as he awkwardly chews, then forces the bite down.

“It’s awful,” he gasps out.

I can’t help it, I start laughing—I laugh so hard my entire body shakes with it.

“It’s really not,” I say, quieting down.

His eyes have returned to my face, and despite looking a little queasy, he stares at me like he’s never seen anything like me before.

“Do that again,” he says quietly.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Laugh.”

I give him a confused smirk. “I can’t just do it on call. Tell me a joke and I might.”

He stares at my lips some more. “Hmmm …” Rather than telling a joke, he takes my hand and tries another bite of the bread—and proceeds to gag again.

“I can’t—eat this,” he admits. “It’s … atrocious.”

He grabs the wine his skeletal servant poured for him, presumably to wash the taste out, but it’s wine he’s drinking, not water, and this too, is an acquired taste.

Thanatos nearly spits the liquid out, only stopping himself by pressing his fist to his mouth. Behind that fist, his face looks sickly.

His throat works over and over before he manages to swallow it all down.

“Devils, woman,” he wheezes out, his face twisting at the taste. “What is that?”

But now I’m laughing again. I shake my head, unable to tell him.

Death is doing his best to wipe his mouth with his hand, even as he watches me intently. “And you’d have me believe that life is enjoyable,” he mutters.

With one last grimace, he drops his hand, his eyes fixed to me, and I’m pretty sure he only took a second bite of bread to hear me laugh again. That thought sobers me up, even as unwelcome warmth spreads through me.

I take his glass and drink from it. I mean, it’s good wine and he’s not going to enjoy it.

He marvels at me. “That is really wine?” he asks skeptically.

I lower the glass from my lips. “Yeah, it really is.”

Death is the picture of disillusionment. “I have seen and heard much about wine over the ages. I did not imagine it would taste so … disappointing.”

“I bet the bread was a letdown too.”

“Not entirely,” he says. He reaches out and takes the wine from me, setting it aside.

I give him a baffled look, not sure where he’s going with this.

Rather than responding his hand goes to the back of my head. Thanatos draws me to him and it’s only in the seconds before my lips touch his that I remember.

The kiss.

Then his mouth is there, firm against mine. I suck in a breath because—

It’s exquisite.

Holding his hand was one thing, but to be caught in Death’s embrace, his lips seducing mine—I’d forgotten that kissing him was an entire experience.

My mouth opens just the slightest, and he seems to be following my lead, his own lips parting. My tongue presses against his and Death’s fingers dig into my hair and he’s holding me to him like he doesn’t plan on ever letting me go. His tongue strokes mine and he kisses me with all the savagery that his reputation seems to promise.

I am sucked under.

My hands come up, cupping his face, cheeks, and I only promised a kiss, I can stop this. I should stop this.

I don’t.

I throw myself wholly into the kiss. I can taste the wine on Death’s tongue, and I’m sure he can taste the wine on mine, but he’s not gagging—in fact, by all appearances, he seems to like the stuff well enough after all.

The hand of his that’s still on my hip digs in, and he grinds himself against me.

I let out a breathy moan when I feel his erection against me.

Is he even aware of erections and arousal? I bet he isn’t—not in any real sense. I’d wager money that this is another bread-and-wine thing, where Death knows, but he doesn’t actually know. I doubt he has any real idea what he’s doing or why things feel the way they do.

The thought makes me smile against his mouth.

“I like that,” Thanatos growls, his voice rough.

I pause, breaking away just a little. “What?”

“The smile you gave me while your lips were on mine—and the other thing, the sound you made just a moment ago.”

The moan. Dear lord.

This is all supposed to be happening this way. I’m doing everything right, yet suddenly—

I pull more fully away from him, my breathing labored and my heart racing like mad.

Death’s eyes are hooded when he stares at me, and he might not have any real experience with sex, but it’s clear he’s driven wild with want. That look is all it takes for me to once more feel like a cornered animal.

I slide off his lap, swaying a little on my feet as I gain my footing. I haven’t slept well in several nights, and it’s all catching up to me. The wine doesn’t help either. I back away, even as my body cries out in protest.

Thanatos watches me, the desire in his expression banking until all that’s left is a yearning so deep I can almost feel it. Or maybe that’s my own lonely soul seeking out connection, even though Death is the last person I should find it with.

“Don’t go, Lazarus,” he pleads.

But I do. I flee him then like I have so many times before.

The trouble is, I have a yearning within me that rivals the horseman’s. And I’m not ready to face it—not yet.

But I’ll have to, and soon.

I rub my eyes the next morning as I pad through the house. I didn’t get great sleep last night. I kept waking up feeling as though I was forgetting something, only to then remember that something was Ben.

Even though my mind knows he’s gone, instinct keeps demanding that I perform the same old parental habits I’ve done for the last six months.

I cut through the dining room, which has been cleared of last night’s meal, and enter an enormous, industrial kitchen, lured in by the smell of breakfast. I stop in my tracks when I see several skeletons hard at work in the room.

Just how many of these revenants are there?

One of them is frying eggs in a skillet, another is cutting fruit. And oh God, dead people really are preparing food and I have never dreaded my own hunger as much as I do now.

At least the revenants are nothing more than bones. If they were still fleshy … I don’t think I could stomach that. Unfortunately, there’s a faint smell that clings to them, one that I have no name for, but it must be what old, desiccated things smell like. That, or this kitchen has a funky odor all on its own.

One of the skeletons pauses their work and turns to me. I stare at the undead servant for several seconds before I realize—I think it’s waiting on me.

I clear my throat. “Um, good morning.”

Why are you saying good morning to the skeleton, Laz?

“Uh,” I continue, “you wouldn’t happen to have any coffee, would you?”

The revenant swivels around and heads for a French Press that I didn’t notice earlier.

I marvel.

It understands me.

The skeleton grabs a mug hanging in a nearby cupboard and fills it with the rich liquid.

Behind me the door to the kitchen swings open, and I sense Death a moment before I hear his deep voice.

“I see you’ve taken to my servants’ cooking, after all,” he says from behind me.

I spin around, my breath catching at the sight of him. Those dark eyes all but beckon me to come closer.

That’s when I register that from the waist up, Thanatos is naked. No armor, no shirt. Just hundreds of strange, glowing tattoos that bathe him in silvery light. I suck in a breath at the sight.

How have I never noticed these before?

Except … War had tattoos like this along his knuckles. Only his had been red.

I study the markings. They look like … language, though none I’ve ever seen, and they cover every inch of skin from the base of Death’s neck to his wrists. By the looks of it, the strange markings continue down beneath the waistline of his pants.

I try not to dwell on where else these tattoos might be.

“Where’s your shirt?” I say breathlessly, my gaze still pinned to his bare chest. The horseman is truly built like a god, his physique heavily muscled.

“Elsewhere,” Thanatos says.

Death’s gaze shifts over my shoulder, and I glance behind me, only to see the skeleton approaching me with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, a porcelain creamer in the other. Behind it, the other skeletons are still busy at work.

I reach out for the coffee. My fingers brush against the skeleton’s finger bones, and I nearly drop the mug.

Get a grip.

Steadying myself, I take the creamer, giving the skeleton a tight smile, feeling like I’ve gone mad.

I sense Thanatos, meanwhile, watching it all with a perverse amount of pleasure, though perhaps I’m just assuming he enjoys my discomfort.

I pour a little cream into the drink, then hand the creamer back, proud that my hand doesn’t shake. I have seen and done many disturbing things, yet this is what spooks me. A skeleton.

I all but elbow Thanatos out of the way to escape the undead, pushing through the door and heading into the dining room. Only at some point since I entered the kitchen, undead servants have entered this room too. Two of them are beginning to set out more platters of food while another cleans drapery that already looks spotless. Through the windows I notice another two revenants tending to the shrubbery that surrounds the house.

I stare at them all in abject horror.

“Don’t tell me there is something my wild-hearted Lazarus is scared of,” Death says, studying my face as he steps up beside me.

My wild-hearted Lazarus. A shiver courses through me, and I tell myself it’s from the sight and not his words.

“Make them stop,” I say, uncaring whether or not they are capable of taking offense. This is wrong.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Thanatos replies just as fervently.

I rotate to face him, my coffee half-forgotten.

“Do you not remember, kismet?” he says, tilting his head. “You told me I didn’t know how to take care of you. So I learned.”

All the air seems to escape my lungs at his admission. I had assumed as much, but to have it confirmed …

My gaze sweeps over the skeletons once more, and now instead of seeing the horror of their existence, I see—I see a horseman trying to prove his worth to a woman who scorned him.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” he continues. “I want you to be comfortable. I gave you a reason to run last time. This time, I want to give you a reason to stay.”

My throat bobs.

“How long have you been getting this place ready?” I ask softly.

“This house in particular?” he asks, looking around us. “A month. But there were other houses I found and prepared and other servants who assisted me along the way. I have spent our time apart amassing all the … necessities you might need—clothes, food, and a dwelling fit for a queen.”

My God. Meanwhile, I’d resented the hell out of him. I mean, I had good reason to—he was making my life a living nightmare. But still.

I rest a hand on a chair back near me, sagging against it a little.

The horseman’s eyes flick over my form. “Care to sit?” Thanatos gestures towards a fainting couch in an adjacent room.

Distractedly, I head over to it, taking a seat and setting my coffee down on a nearby side table. The horseman follows me over. Only when he sits down next to me do I realize that this piece of furniture may have very well been one of the items the horseman took with him to this home; the shape of it allows for Death to easily sit while accommodating his wings.

I want to ask about those wings, which are so large that they drape on the floor behind him like the train of a gown. I want to ask about the glowing markings too, the ones my eyes keep dipping down to. I find I want to touch them badly, and I have to clasp my hands to stifle the urge.

Death catches me staring, and embarrassed, I force my gaze away. I can feel his inquisitive eyes on me.

“How do these skeletons even know what to do?” I ask, nodding to one of them bustling by. Anything to distract myself from the fact that I want to unravel this man—and lick his tattoos while I’m at it.

“I already told you, kismet, though the soul might be gone, there is still an afterimage of the person who once existed.”

“What does that have to do with cleaning?” I ask. Up until yesterday I’ve never just sat next to the horseman and shot the shit with him. It’s almost as destabilizing as watching these revenants work.

“You’re asking questions that don’t have nice, orderly human answers, Lazarus. The dead clean because I tell them to.”

“But they know how to clean and you don’t.” That’s weird, right? “Do they have higher thinking?”

“Their spirits are gone, kismet,” he says softly. “What is left is not self-aware. But their bones still remember what their minds once knew.”

He gazes at me as I process that. And then he continues to gaze at me, even when the silence stretches out between us.

“It’s still rude to stare,” I say, picking up my coffee once more.

“I still don’t care,” Thanatos replies smoothly.

I turn to face him a little better. “What are you thinking of when you stare at me?” I dare to ask.

“That I could look at you for a thousand years and never get bored,” he says without missing a beat. “I am used to seeing a person’s essence, not their features, and I have taken the latter for granted.”

I give him a small smile, though he’s unsettled me.

“And when I look at you,” he continues. “I wish I could fully sense your soul the way I can other humans. I’m sure I would find that it is strange and lovely. It—you—are a mystery to me, and I am unused to mysteries.

I sit there, not knowing what to say. Because I don’t have anything reciprocal to say, except, perhaps, that beneath his powers, Thanatos is also strange and lovely.

“Come,” the horseman says suddenly, rising from the couch. He reaches a hand out for me. “I never showed you the outside of the house.”

I take his hand and let him lead me away from that fainting couch. We head across the room and through a door that opens to an expansive back patio. Death is quiet as he leads me on, his tattoos shimmering in the sun.

A pool glimmers in the distance, and that should be the most appealing feature on this warm day, but my eyes catch instead on the extravagant garden set at the corner of the house.

Now I’m the one who’s tugging on his hand as I lead us towards it. I wind us through the rows of raised garden beds, eyeing each one. When I notice the fruit trees running along the back of the garden, I make my way to them.

I stop in front of an apple tree, its branches laden with fruit. There’s a metal bucket sitting at the tree’s base, as though someone was thinking of harvesting these soon.

“This is what you wanted to see?” the horseman says from behind me, inspecting the tree like it holds some decipherable secret.

“I’m hungry,” I tell him.

“My servants have made—”

“I know what your servants have made for breakfast,” I tell him, suppressing a shudder at the thought. “But I wanted something a bit—” less death-touched, “more palatable.”

Thanatos’s gaze narrows. “I have spent months sourcing the most skilled servants when it comes to preparing food. I assure you, kismet, they can fulfill all your needs.”

“I know,” I say softly. That doesn’t stop me from still recoiling at the thought of those bones touching the food I eat.

My gaze flits over the apples. Spotting a ripe one, I reach out and pick it.

“You know,” I say, staring down at it, “our relationship began with an apple.”

This stupid, innocuous piece of fruit. It was there leading Adam and Eve into temptation, and now here we are, come full circle. From the first supposed fall of humankind to the last.

If, of course, the Bible is to be believed.

A part of me wants to chuck the fruit as far as I can and burn this entire orchard to the ground. Instead, I dust the apple off on my shirt and take a bite.

It’s just an apple, after all.

After I swallow, I offer it to Death. “Want a taste?”

He grimaces. “Not unless you have another kiss to bribe me with.”

I lower the fruit, tilting my head a little. “Would you really want that?” I ask.

His eyes move to mine, shining with intensity. “I would want more, kismet. But I will settle for taking what you offer.”

I keep my gaze trained on him. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, Thanatos.”

“Perhaps I don’t,” he says, his expression magnetic. “But I do know of the things humans do when they cannot stay away from one another.”

He doesn’t move any closer to me, but it feels like there’s no distance between us and no air to breathe in. It doesn’t help that he still hasn’t found his shirt, and his glowing tattoos are making him look particularly unearthly.

“And that’s what you want?” I ask again softly, my heart rate beginning to pick up.

I can’t believe we’re talking about this. Or that the man who thinks bread sucks is open to being intimate.

“I already told you, kismet. I would want more. Your flesh promises much, but for me, it is merely the beginning.”

I need to start making good on my promise to the horsemen.

Seduce Death.

That was the deal.

I pull myself out of the cold bath I drew for myself, grabbing a nearby towel and wrapping it around my body. Water puddles at my feet as I cross the bathroom and enter my bedroom, the world beyond the windows dark.

The massive closet gapes open, and I catch sight of all those clothes neatly hung up inside. Curiosity tugs at me. Just what did the horseman—or his undead servants—think to pick out for me? Grabbing a nearby lantern, I head over to it.

The flame flickers in the glass container, making the shadows dance along the various materials.

My fingers drift over the clothing, the sizing and styles all over the place. My hand pauses when I come to a black dress, one that appears to be form-fitting. I pull it out, noticing that a slit runs up the side all the way to mid-thigh.

It’s perfect for my needs.

It looks like it’ll fit too. I grab it and pull it on. The dress is a little tight, and I’ve gotten so used to loose, practical clothing that I tug on it absently, trying to make it less constricting.

There are a dozen pairs of shoes stashed away in the closet as well, but only two of them are even close to my size, one a knee-high riding boot and the other a worn pair of flip-flops. Neither really matches the outfit.

I glance down at my bare feet.

Fuck it. I’m going shoeless.

Also in the closet are several shallow drawers which contain some random jewelry, including a single gold bangle and a delicate chain anklet—both of which I put on as well. I cannot tell if these were items owned by whoever lived here before me, or if—like the clothing—they were odds and ends that Death had his servants pick up.

I guess it doesn’t really matter either way. The dead no longer have need for them, though I do.

Entering the bathroom once more, I find a stash of makeup in one of the drawers.

This is trickier.

Used makeup cannot hurt me any more than anything else, but it’s still somewhat off-putting. Luckily, I find a couple lipsticks and some gold eyeshadow that look untouched, and I put those on instead.

The end result … robs me of breath. I stare at my reflection. I haven’t worn makeup in a long, long time. So much of the last two years has been about survival—Ben’s survival and humanity’s—that I hadn’t put much thought into physical appearance. But now my skin shimmers where I put the eye shadow on, and my lips are rosy. I even added a hint of both to my cheekbones, and the overall effect is …

I look feminine. Pretty and feminine.

Not even my damp, unstyled hair can take away from that, though I do my best to make even my hair as presentable as I can.

Hopefully this works.

I cannot believe I’m actually trying to seduce anyone at all—let alone Death. I’m a better archer than I am a temptress.

With that encouraging pep talk, I leave my room, forcing myself to find the horseman before I can chicken out again.

Thanatos is already in the dining room, waiting for me. He has a full plate of food in front of him and a glass of wine, but I doubt any of it will go between his lips.

Not unless I can convince him to give it another try.

It’s worth a shot. All of it is worth a shot. Eating. Sleeping. Seducing. Saving the world.

All it takes is a little convincing.

As soon as he sees me, his eyes burn with some inner fire. But then his gaze sweeps over me, from my made-up face to my form-fitting dress, to my bare feet, and a hunger grips his expression.

Oh God, he looks like he wants to devour me.

Maybe this was a bad idea, after all.

I steel myself and walk into the room like I’m headed into battle. I’m not the only one. At some point between when I last saw him and now, Thanatos has found his shirt and his armor. He looks ready to lead an army and vanquish his enemies.

Here goes nothing.

I head past my seat and over to his. Setting his plate aside, I hoist myself on the table and sit where his food should be. Tonight, I’m the main course.

Granted, this is not as drastic as sitting on his lap, like I did last night, but then I wasn’t planning on actually getting carried away.

Tonight I am.

“Isn’t sitting on tables breaking some arbitrary human rule?” Death says with a twist of his lips. He looks absolutely delighted at the notion.

Instead of answering, I pick up his fork. Spearing a scalloped potato from his plate, I pop it in my mouth, trying not to think about the entity that made the dish.

I set the fork back down and, after a moment, I put one foot, then the other, on Death’s lap.

Breaking etiquette rules is actually kind of fun. I think I could get used to this.

Thanatos stares down at my legs. Ever so slowly, he moves a hand to one of my calves, resting it there. The black material of my dress has slipped away, revealing my bare flesh.

“It will always cause me no little wonder to see you withstand my touch,” he murmurs, staring at where his pale hand touches my skin.

“Oh, your touch does do things to me.” I don’t know what possesses me to voice that thought, but the words are out before I can think twice about them.

Death’s gaze flicks to my face, even as that tantalizing hand of his slides up my leg.

He has no idea what he’s doing.

I pick Death’s fork back up and spear another slice of potato, trying to ignore my rising anxiety.

“How’s the food?” he asks, his penetrating gaze on me.

“I haven’t found any bones in it yet, so good.” I’m only half joking. I’m actually more than a little terrified that someone’s thumb is going to show up in one of the dishes.

Thanatos’s hand continues moving up my thigh, shifting my thoughts from one disturbing topic to another. He must know how intimate his touch is, he must—

All at once Thanatos removes his hands from my legs, but only so that he can grab me by the waist and haul me onto his lap.

I let out a small yelp, my fork slipping from my hand and clattering onto the ground. And then I’m back where I was last night.

Death’s face is so close that I can see those strange silver flecks in his night-dark eyes and how his pupils dilate at my nearness. His cold, unyielding armor bites into me, and I can smell the smoky scents of frankincense and myrrh drifting off of him.

Ever so slowly he raises a hand and wraps it around the back of my neck. He pulls me into him.

Death has a hungry, predatory look on his face.

He’s going to kiss me.

Only … he doesn’t.

He brings my ear to his mouth. “Last night we talked about all the ways you hated me,” he says. “Tonight it’s my turn to pick the game.

I go still in his arms.

He draws away from me so he can look me in the eyes. “No more dancing with words, Lazarus,” he says. “I want your passions and your truths all laid bare. I will ask you questions, and you will speak to me plainly.”

“This is your game?” I say, skeptical. I don’t think I like what he has in mind.

“Yes,” he says with relish.

His hands resettle on my hips, one of his thumbs stroking the soft material there. “Tell me what you feel when you look at me.”

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.

Death is so tall, even sitting, that I have to rise to lift the black shirt over his head and off his arms. Once it’s free, I drop it among the growing pile of discarded items.

I glance down, at Thanatos, at his bare chest and glowing tattoos.

Do it, he’d told me. Kiss and touch and take.

I lower myself once more on his lap, feeling his eyes on me. My own attention moves to his torso.

If Death’s face is that of a tragic hero, his chest is that of a warrior. Thick bands of muscle curve around his frame, his torso tapering down to a narrow waist.

I reach out again, this time to trace one of his glowing tattoos. My finger tingles a little, as though there’s magic just in tracing the symbol’s shape.

Thanatos makes a pained noise at the contact.

“More, Lazarus,” he whispers.

I place both my hands on his skin, letting myself discover the shape of his shoulders and arms. I shiver a little. I’ve never been with someone who felt like this. He seems cut from stone.

I run a hand over his abdominal muscles, each one clearly defined. Soon, touching isn’t quite enough. I hadn’t been lying when I said I wanted to kiss his flesh.

I lean in. The moment my lips touch his skin, he groans.

He cups the back of my head, lightly holding me there against his skin. This close to him, he smells like the incense he burns from his torch, only now I have to wonder whether the smell came from the smoke itself, or whether it’s a more innate part of him.

My mouth trails over several of the glowing symbols.

I cannot believe I’m actually doing this.

I press another kiss to his flesh, this time, tonguing his skin just a little.

Death hisses out a breath. “Do not tell me we could’ve been doing this the whole time I chased you,” he says.

“We’ll never know,” I breathe against him.

He closes his eyes and tips his head back. “But I have you now,” he murmurs, stroking my hair. It sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself.

“You can touch me too,” I say. I mean, I know he already has been touching me, but there’s touching, and then there’s touching. I’m offering him the latter.

His eyes open, and he tips his head down to look at me. “Where?” he says, his voice scraped raw.

Ah, that’s right. He likes more literal answers.

I study those strange silver freckles in his irises. “Anywhere.”

He holds my stare for several seconds before his eyes drift down to the rest of me.

Thanatos moves his hand from my hair and trails his fingertips over my cheekbones then down to my jaw.

“How I’ve wanted to hear those words fall from your lips,” he admits, his voice desire-roughened.

Despite his words, he’s holding back. I can practically feel his body trembling with his restraint, and I imagine it’s because the places he wishes to touch are hidden.

I press my palm over his hand, which still cups my face. For a moment I lean into the touch. When I feel the cool brush of metal against my flesh I pull his hand away to inspect what it is.

On his finger he wears that strange ring, the one with the coin fixed to it bearing the face of Medusa.

I move his ring back and forth. “What’s the story behind this?” I ask. By now I’ve discovered that everything adorning the horseman has a deeper meaning.

“Charon’s obol,” Death says, distracted. When my brows furrow, he clarifies, “A coin of the dead.”

“Why would the dead need coins?” I ask.

“They don’t. It’s merely one of the gifts I’ve been given over the centuries.”

“Who gave it to you?” I ask, my voice carefully light.

It doesn’t work.

Thanatos arches a brow. “Why do you care, Lazarus? They have long since moved on.”

I stare levelly back at him. “Now you’re the one dancing with your words.”

Death gives me a smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Though I can recall the shape of their soul, the person who gave me this coin holds no more meaning to me than anyone else … except for you.” His gaze is intense as he says this last part.

“I have known no one as intimately as I know you,” he continues. “No one. I cross paths with some individuals over and over again during their lives, but I cannot know the living. Not like this.”

Not as a living, breathing man.

The two of us stare at each other.

I don’t know who moves first, but our lips collide, the ring long forgotten. The kiss should feel like a lie. It should feel wrong, coerced—everything but what it does feel like.

Like brushing up against heaven.

My lips move hungrily over his. I knew he was yearning for this, I didn’t expect the reverse to be true as well.

Thanatos falls into the kiss with all the intensity I’ve come to expect from him. But just when I feel like his passion is going to consume us both, his hands move up to my cheeks, cradling my face. He slows his movements, and the kiss goes from passionate to intimate.

“My kismet,” he murmurs against my lips, “my Lazarus.”

I pinch my eyes at the endearments, wanting to shut this part out—the part where he slips his way under my skin and sinks into my bones.

“How can I make you like me as I like you?” he says in between strokes of his lips.

I would laugh if I didn’t find the thought so alarming.

I pull away and lean my head against his. “It’s not that simple.”

Our kiss might’ve ended there, but the horseman isn’t done with me. He peppers light kisses along my jaw, then my neck. He moves his mouth to my shoulder, his lips dragging over the skin. His fingers grasp the thin strap of my dress, and he pulls it away, his mouth sliding over my flesh.

Aren’t you tired of fighting?

His long ago words taunt me. I am tired, and not just of this battle between earth and whatever lies beyond.

I’m tired of pushing back against this attraction to him. I’m tired of my head overruling my heart. I’m tired of everything being so damned complicated when it doesn’t have to be.

This is the apocalypse. All rules have gone out the window.

So I lean forward, pressing my lips to his ear. “Touch me,” I demand. Only now, as I lean back, it’s me who reaches for the straps of my dress.

I’m not wearing anything under the dress, so when I pull them down, I expose my breasts.

Thanatos sucks in a breath, entranced, and then he’s gathering me to him, lifting me a little so that my chest is closer to his face. He does touch me then—just not with his hands.

His bows his head, pressing a kiss to the soft flesh above one of my breasts. He draws his teeth over the skin, and I can’t help the goosebumps that break out along my flesh.

I thread my fingers through his wavy hair, enjoying the silken strands, which are nearly as soft as his wings.

And now Death’s hand does come up to my other breast. He squeezes it lightly, his thumb gliding over my nipple, causing me to gasp.

Thanatos groans, leaning his forehead against my chest.

“My God, kismet, you feel better than words can tell.”

I tilt his head up, my eyes meeting his.

This is where I fall.

My lips crash against his. This isn’t like our other kisses. Maybe the change is from the carnality I’ve awoken in Thanatos, or maybe it’s my own. Either way, I’m stripped free of my inhibitions.

I grind wantonly against him, drinking up the guttural sounds he makes.

Thanatos grabs my hips, keeping that pressure between us.

“Lazarus.”

I can’t tell if he’s saying my name as an admonishment or as a plea. I’m not sure he can either. But his hands are pinning me in place, and his eyes are hazy with desire.

I grind against him again, more to goad him than anything else.

“What … is this sensation you have wrought from me?” he says, pulling away a little. He still holds my hips prisoner.

I flash him a sly smile. “Come on, Thanatos, you must have some idea.”

He closes his eyes and tips his head back. I see him swallow.

“Merciful God.” He opens his eyes. “But this isn’t sex.”

“No,” I agree, “it’s not.”

I lean forward, my lips inches from his. “You know of what humans do together. Do you still want that—with me?”

There is a moment, a single moment, where I feel exposed. He could reject me now, I have given him the power to—

“Always,” he says, his face brilliantly alive. “I will always want that with you.”

I smile at him again, though this one is genuine. It’s hard not to feel genuine when the horseman is so unapologetically so.

His eyes flash at the sight of my grin and he leans forward, capturing my mouth again. “Your smiles ensnare me, kismet.”

I kiss him back, still smiling like an idiot against his mouth. Thanatos begins falling into it, but no, no, no, I don’t intend for us to stay here.

Breaking off the kiss, I begin to slide off of the horseman. He catches me, and I can’t help the soft laugh that slips from my throat.

“Trust me, Thanatos, for this, you’ll want me off your lap.”

“I doubt it,” he says, his eyes stormy.

My hands move to his pants.

“These need to come down,” I say.

For the first time, Death appears alarmed. It’s that single look that dispels some of my own tension for what I’m about to do.

“Don’t be shy,” I tease.

“I am not shy,” he says, a little affronted. “What I have is yours.”

He’s making a lot of pretty pledges to me. I don’t know if I should be moved or alarmed.

Thanatos stands, his expression both curious and challenging as he lowers his pants and whatever lies beneath them.

His cock springs free, already hard—and large. Very, very concerningly large. It’s also adorned in the same markings as the rest of him. Holy shit. His maker put markings on his penis … and the rest of him, by the looks of it. More glowing glyphs cover his abdomen and run down his thighs.

Before Death can begin to remove his greaves and his boots and take his pants fully off, I place a hand on his shoulder and press him back down into his chair. I kind of like the idea of his pants keeping him pinned in place.

“Kismet, please tell me—”

My hands fall on each of Death’s inner thighs, and his words cut off, like a life drawn short.

My bravery has washed away; my heart is pounding a mile a minute. I am no seductress, and I feel my confident façade crumbling away.

I kneel.

One last breath before I cross that line I drew for myself a year ago.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I take his straining cock into my hand.

The action causes Thanatos to hiss in a breath.

“You can always tell me to stop,” I say, heat burning just beneath my skin.

My core throbs, and my nipples have tightened despite the fact that Death’s the one being touched. I’m turned on and embarrassed of the fact, and somehow that only seems to heighten it all.

I hold Death’s gaze. His cheeks are flushed, he still looks alarmed, but he also looks frenzied for more.

And he doesn’t say stop.

I give his shaft a pump.

He bucks helplessly against me.

“Lazarus,” he pants. “What are you—?”

“Relax,” I say soothingly. “This is the fun part.”

And then I lean forward and take him into my mouth.

Thanatos nearly comes up off the seat. He looks thunderstruck.

That won’t do.

Gently I put a hand against his chest and push him back down.

“Lazarus,” he breathes, his voice pained. His chest is rising and falling fast. He looks frantic and bewildered, like he had no idea a human body could feel like this.

Has he never gotten himself off?

I pause, my mouth slipping from his cock.

“You can always tell me to stop,” I remind him.

“Never,” he says with all the conviction of a true believer.

The corner of my mouth curves up, then I take him back into my mouth. He groans, one of his hands making a fist on the armrest.

I can’t fit all of him into my mouth, so I fist the base of his shaft, pumping in time to the slide of my lips—up, down, up, down.

I take him as deep as I can. There’s not much finesse to what I do. To be honest, it’s all I can do to ignore my gag reflex and the dull ache in my jaw. Despite the discomfort, my pussy throbs for the horseman.

I glance up at him as his cock glides between my lips. Thanatos’s breathing has grown heavy and ragged. One of his hands is still fisted; the other one moves as though to touch me, but he draws it back, instead gripping the armrest for dear life.

I grab that hand of his and bring it to my hair.

You can still touch me, I want to tell him. My breasts, my face—anywhere. For now, it is yours.

Death’s fingers delve into my locks, his other hand moving to my head as well.

He stares down at me with wonder.

“What is—” He cuts off as another stroke of my mouth leaves him breathless. “What is this?”

I grin around his cock, and the sight causes a shudder to roll through him.

“The sight of you kneeling—between my legs—kismet,” he says roughly. “It is … erotic.” He says that last word as though discovering it for the first time.

I don’t respond, not when I’ve found a rhythm. I pick up my pace, and Thanatos is now matching me stroke for stroke. His fingers have tightened in my hair.

His movements grow frantic, his face pinched in what looks like agony as he stares down at me, his hands fisted in my hair.

“Lazarus, something is—” He swears. “Lazarus!” he bellows.

Hot jets of cum coat my mouth as he finds his release. I swallow it down, even as Thanatos keeps coming and coming, his body jerking with every thrust.

I can hear his harsh breaths as his thrusts slow. The man sounds like he met his maker. Almost reluctantly his hands slip from my hair.

My mouth slides down the length of his shaft once more, and then I release him, sitting back on my haunches, my breasts still exposed.

Death, normally so rigid and poised, is sprawled out in his seat, his chest rising and falling. He looks completely undone. He stares at me like I’m a specter.

I discreetly wipe the corner of my mouth, licking off a final bead of cum, and I push myself to my feet.

I hope I still look confident because on the inside, I am quaking.

I just went down on Death himself. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the crazy laugh that wants to bubble out of me.

I pull my dress back up, slipping my arms through the straps. Turning from the horseman, I grab a loaf of bread and the open bottle of wine. Then, casting him one last, heavy-lidded look, I retreat.

For once, I’m not fleeing the horseman. A conqueror doesn’t flee from their conquests, they do as they please. And right now, I please wine and bread and a bed where I can deal with this sharp throb between my legs.

“Lazarus!” Thanatos calls out to me, a hint of some new emotion in his voice.

“Goodnight,” I say over my shoulder.

Tonight was only the first real taste of what I have to offer. I plan to make this slow and excruciating. By the end of it, I intend to have the horseman wrapped around my finger—body, mind, and spirit.

For humanity, nothing else will do.

I’m not surprised to find the horseman pacing the next morning in the house’s living room. Death strides up and down a line of windows that overlook the backyard. Right now his back is to me, his wings opening and closing with agitation.

Around us, skeletal servants move through the rooms, carrying crates and other odds and ends.

“Good morning,” I say.

As soon as he hears me, Death goes preternaturally still—even his wings pause.

At last, he turns. His eyes first meet mine, then they slide down to my mouth—the same mouth that was wrapped around him last night. One of Death’s hands fist and I see his throat bob.

I know he’s remembering what I did to him. I bet even now he’s trying to figure out just how to slide that cock of his back between my lips and pick up where we left off. That’s the trouble with seduction; one person holds far more power than the other. And for all Death’s omnipotence, I’m the one in control.

“You left,” he accuses. It’s an echo of an earlier accusation—that right when he thinks he has me, I run. I can see his loneliness in his eyes, along with his frustration—he has built walls and makeshift prisons to hold me, yet still I slip through his fingers.

“I was tired,” I say.

A muscle in his jaw jumps, and his eyes keep returning to my mouth.

“I have been here for hours, replaying what we did—what you did,” he admits. “The sight of you in the candlelight, the feel of your mouth around me—” Death’s wings hitch a little, like he’s recalling it even now. “I didn’t know the human body could feel things like that.” He releases a ragged breath. “Why did you do that?”

I lift a shoulder. “I wanted to taste you.”

That muscle in Death’s cheek flutters again. “But then you ran.” His wings open and resettle.

I decide to go for a little truth. “I’m still not completely comfortable … with you.”

For an instant his features flicker, and I swear the horseman looks crushed. Then it’s gone again, his features wiped clean. “How do I make you comfortable?”

“That’s for you to figure out.” I’m not going to do the work for both of us. Seduction is hard enough as it is.

He takes a step forward. “Do all humans … do what you did?” he asks, his gaze back on my mouth.

I can feel a flush creeping up my cheeks.

“I mean, not all of them.” I mean, there must be some pious motherfuckers out there who wouldn’t dare. The rest of us, however, …

Death gives a slow nod, processing that.

“And does it go both ways?” he asks.

My brows come together. I don’t understand.

“But it must,” he says, more to himself than to me. “Can I make you feel the same sensations you made me feel?”

My eyes go wide. Oh.

“It’s a little different,” I begin, noticing how sharp his features are. He’s hanging onto every word. “I don’t have the same anatomy,” I gesture vaguely to my pelvis, “but generally speaking, yes.”

Death’s eyes light like an inferno. He takes a step forward, intention written into every solemn line of his body. “So you tasted me and gave me pleasure but didn’t stick around long enough for me to return it. I would’ve.” Another ominous step forward. “That I can swear to you.”

By the look in his eyes, I believe it.

He takes another step. “You must ache as I ached—as I still do ache. Let me ease it.”

Ease it?

The thought of my fingers in his fine hair as those supple lips stroke my core—the very ache he speaks of now blooms within me.

“What would you do if I said yes?” The words are out before I can stop them.

Why did I say that?

Now Thanatos prowls forward, his eyes blazing. “Let me show you.”

I nearly trip over my own feet I back up so fast.

I put an arm out. “Wait—wait!” I say.

Very, very reluctantly, he pauses.

My mind is racing. I didn’t mean for him to actually act on the question, though now that the thought is in my head, I can’t get it out.

Who knows what would’ve happened if, right then, two skeletons hadn’t cut across the room, hoisting a chest between them.

I’ve been so focused on the horseman that I forgot about the dead moving around us, but now that I look, I see signs of them everywhere, stacking dishes, carrying crates, wandering down the halls.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Thanatos doesn’t look like he wants to answer.

“Packing,” he bites out.

My eyes move over them again. “Why?”

“Are we not going to finish our previous conversation?” he demands.

“There’s nothing to finish,” I say.

“On the contrary, there is the matter of finishing your pleasure.”

More heat rises to my cheeks. He takes another step forward, as though to resume.

I put my hand up again. “Oh my God, Thanatos, stop. I don’t want that right now!” I say this even as my pussy throbs in protest.

“I disagree,” he says vehemently, as though he can sense it as well. “I think you’ll find that any experience I lack in this I will happily make up for with enthusiasm.”

He thinks I don’t want this because he’s inexperienced? I want to laugh. Being a giving lover far outstrips any inexperience. It’s his eagerness that has me backpedaling. I can feel the power I wrested from him last night now slipping through my fingers, and I’m unwilling to part with it.

“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” I say, throwing out the first excuse I can think of. “And your servants are packing—why are they packing? What’s going on?”

Death might not concede defeat all that easily, but I can see that my words have stopped him—for now.

His jaw clenches. “You have your instincts … and I have mine.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“I need to keep moving.” The confession comes out quiet.

Moving … and killing.

The thought chills my blood.

“Us horsemen were made to travel and destroy,” he continues. “I could snap my fingers and wipe out humanity in less than a day—”

Fear curdles in my chest.

“—but I won’t,” he continues. “That is not the task set before any of us horsemen. All four of us brothers must understand the creatures we are annihilating. That is why I visit each town. Only once I’ve truly come to understand humans can I make my ultimate decision on them.”

I stare at him aghast as it hits me all over again that he holds the power to destroy or save us all. And I am somehow supposed to change his mind.

“But you don’t know anything about us,” I say softly. “You kill a town before you even ride through it.”

“All the same, I must ride through them.” He glances at the walls around us. “And now, you will ride with me too, Lazarus.”

Death not only makes good on his decision, he extends it a step further. The travelers we cross paths with on the road are spared. They stare at the two of us with wide, petrified eyes as we pass.

Wait until you see the procession of dead behind us.

I reach down and thread my fingers through the hand that holds me fast, giving it a squeeze. I hadn’t realized how much this small compromise actually meant to me until now.

Behind me, I feel Death lean in, his lips brushing my ear.

“You like my mercy?” he says softly as, ahead of us, a man turns on his heel and sprints back the way he came.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I say.

He says nothing to that, though his hand squeezes mine back.

We ride in silence until, up ahead, buildings come into view.

A city.

I tense, though I don’t know why I do so. Thanatos isn’t going to destroy anyone. Maybe it’s simply that I haven’t actually hashed out what I should show Death, now that I’ve gotten him to agree to leave this city alive for a time.

We pass more and more people—people who scream, people who run, and people whose fear roots them in place. The only thing they all have in common is their palpable fear.

“Tell me again how this is a good idea?” Death says as he steers his steed off the highway.

“It’ll be fine,” I reassure him.

Now, what human experience should I introduce him to? A restaurant? A shop? A place of worship?

I don’t know.

Once we’re on city streets, we see even more frightened people. Alarmingly, I notice several who are armed. More than one of them places a hand over their sheathed weapons.

“Kismet,” Death says, “if this is what you wanted me to see, I could’ve saved you some trouble. I know this is how humans react to me.”

I exhale. Of course he’s right. People aren’t exactly known for being friendly towards things they don’t understand—things that have already destroyed much of their world—I just assumed that once they saw Death and realized he wasn’t actively trying to hurt them, they’d lose their fear. And to be fair, some people do look curious rather than scared, though they are definitely the minority.

Despite the chilly response, I swing a leg over the saddle.

“What are you doing,” Thanatos demands, his hold tightening around my midsection.

“Getting off your horse—if you’ll let me go.” As I speak, I pry at the horseman’s hand. It doesn’t budge. “You cannot experience humanity atop a horse.”

I sense more than see Death’s grimace. “This is a bad idea, Laz,” he says, his voice low. But he lets me go, and I slip off the horse. Seconds later he’s dismounting as well.

“Now what, kism—?”

“Stop!” someone shouts from behind us.

The sound has me swiveling around.

A line of individuals streams out from behind a faded strip mall down the road. Each of them clutch a bow and a nocked arrow in their hands.

“Don’t move or we’ll shoot!” This comes from the same voice that called out the first time.

Death moves in front of me. “I will do as I please,” he says, his voice carrying down the street.

Bystanders are pinned in place, fearful yet transfixed by the scene unfolding before them.

And this is why my plan was too good to be true. I assumed the best parts of humanity would be at work, but in that assumption was the belief that best meant bloodless and empathetic, when clearly right now it means brave and protective. These people are willing to defend the lives of their community, even against a supernatural entity that cannot be stopped.

“Turn back the way you came,” one of the men instructs, raising his bow in warning.

Unfortunately, turning back is the one thing Death won’t do.

He prowls forward, and with every step he takes, I see my plan slipping further and further from my grasp.

“This is your last warning!” the man shouts.

The line of archers are now poised across the street, their arrows nocked and ready.

I jog forward. “He’s not here to hurt you!” I call out as I catch up to Death.

Well, he’s not planning on hurting anyone yet.

My words fall on deaf ears. I see the lead archer’s hand move, and then he releases the arrow.

I don’t know what I’m thinking. Maybe I’m not. All I have eyes for is that arrow arcing through the air, headed straight for Thanatos. That’s literally it. The sum total of my thoughts.

I lunge for the horseman, crashing into him. He staggers a step, caught by surprise.

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.”

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.

I push myself onto my feet to get a better look at them.

“What are you doing?” the horseman asks, beginning to rise as well.

I place a hand on his shoulder to keep him sitting. “I’m looking at your injuries.” Lightly I trace around one arrow’s entry point, the surrounding feathers congealed with blood.

“Would you like me to remove these?” I ask.

Thanatos goes still at the offer. Finally, he glances over his shoulder at me. “Is that an honest offer?”

I hold his gaze. He’s so used to my tricks and the pain I inflict, that I can tell this throws him.

Slowly, I nod. “It is.”

Thanatos stares at me for a bit longer, then faces forward, draping his arms over his knees.

“Then yes,” he says. “I’d … like that.”

He stays still, his face turned away from me. I continue to study the arrows piercing his wings, feeling around them a little before I start. Death’s feathers make his wings look thicker than they really are, but the flesh itself is no more than a thin membrane.

Since that is the case, the easiest thing would simply be to pull the arrows all the way through. I grab the first arrowhead. Something about my grip has Death’s wings hiking up.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says, turning his head a little towards me.

Slowly, I pull the arrow out through the hole it made in his skin. He doesn’t react to the sensation, though I can’t imagine it’s pleasant.

“I do, though,” I insist, giving the projectile one final tug to force the back end of it through. “I wouldn’t be pulling arrows out of you if you hadn’t agreed to my plan.”

It’s quiet for a few long seconds.

“You have an exceptional heart, Lazarus,” he finally says. “You shouldn’t apologize for it.”

I stare at the back of Death’s head, swallowing down the strange mixture of emotions rising in me. I see the best in humans, and he sees the best in me, and I’m not sure whether we’re both fools for it.

I said I didn’t want him to touch me, but I’m a liar. This is the only truth I know in the mess of our relationship.

I fall into the kiss, my arms snaking under the horseman’s, my fingers brushing against the base of his wings.

He groans at the touch, pulling me tighter against him.

Stop pretending we’re normal. We are not.

I think I needed that reassurance. I needed to be dug up from all of the assumptions of right and wrong that I’ve held my entire life.

While my lips glide against his, he bends. One of his arms slips under my knees, and never breaking off the kiss, he lifts me into his arms. He begins to move, and distantly I’m aware that he’s heading for the house.

I’m only pulled from the kiss when Thanatos makes it to the front door. He lifts a leg and—

Crack, he kicks the door in, the wood ripping from the hinges.

I jolt at the sound, tearing my lips away. With a firm hand, Death turns my head towards him and reclaims my mouth.

Thanatos crosses the threshold, his footfalls echoing through the house as he resumes striding forward, still holding me close. I’m distracted by the kiss, but not so distracted that I fail to notice when we enter a bedroom, a massive bed on display. My stomach tumbles at the sight, even as my pulse pounds.

I’ve been so focused on seducing Death, that I never really gave much thought to him seducing me. But it’s clear enough that’s where things are headed.

He sets me on the bed, backing up only to watch me as he begins to remove his silver armor bit by bit.

“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly, pushing myself up on my forearms.

His eyes gleam. “Claiming what I should’ve long ago.”

Arm guards, off, breastplate, off, greaves, off. He removes it all, and then he reaches for his clothing.

“You can always tell me to stop,” he says, echoing my earlier words. It draws a smile out of me, even as my nerves buzz.

He pulls off his shirt, casting it aside.

My breath catches as I take in all of his glowing tattoos. They cover his skin like leopard spots.

With his armor on, Death looks like an angel of God; without it, he looks like something more. More than angelic, more than otherworldly. It’s hard to believe he can even somewhat pass for human most of the time; it’s so obvious to me right now that he’s something else entirely.

His hand moves to his boots, and he pulls them off one by one.

I almost think that he’s going to stop there.

He doesn’t.

His pants—and whatever lies beneath—come off, and he is completely, gloriously naked.

Thanatos returns to where I lay on the bed, still fully clothed. He places a fist on either side of my head, bracketing me in.

All I can see are miles of rippling muscle and tattoos, and I can’t think straight. My hands twist in the blanket beneath me. I feel like everything between us has been flipped on its head, and all that power and control I collected last night has been siphoned away.

He leans in close. “I have given you so much pain, kismet. Let me give you pleasure to match.”

As the two of us stare at each other, his hands move to the collar of my shirt and—

Riiip.

I suck in a breath as he tears the fabric apart, exposing my bare skin beneath. My heartbeat is quickening. Pain and pleasure will always go hand in hand with Death. I have too many memories of fighting him for it to be otherwise.

I begin to sit up, an action the horseman takes advantage of. He leans in and kisses me roughly. Despite myself, I laugh a little at how exploitive the horseman is.

He groans against my mouth, nipping at my lower lip. “If I could, I would devour that laughter of yours. There is nothing sweeter.”

My smile fades away. Every time Thanatos says something like that, an unnerving warmth blossoms under my sternum.

To distract myself from it, I break off the kiss and undo my bra, sliding the undergarment off. I lounge back against the bed, though there’s nothing relaxing about this. I’m taut with tension.

Death has a wild look about him, and his eyes are transfixed on my breasts. Reaching out, he cups one.

Thanatos makes a noise low in his throat. “I cannot get over how soft you are,” he breathes. “Or why I find that so damn alluring.” As he speaks, his thumb sweeps over my nipple.

I hiss in a breath, my skin so sensitive.

Death grins and runs his thumb over my nipple again. Unthinkingly, I arch into the touch.

“You like that?” he asks.

Before I can answer him, he begins drawing circles around my nipple, staring intently at me. And damn him, but I can’t not react to those deft fingers of his, my chest rising and falling faster and faster.

“I know I like it,” he continues. “And I really like that look in your eyes.” Death’s voice has gone rough, and this is a wholly unfamiliar side to him.

What look do I have in my eyes?

“But,” he adds, leaning towards me once more, “I want those wicked lips of yours back on mine.”

That’s all he has to say for me to rise up to meet him once more. My arm wraps around his neck as I resume the kiss. Thanatos falls into it eagerly. His lips part my own, and then his tongue sweeps against mine, claiming every last inch he can.

His hips rock against me, and Jesus, I want to do bad, bad things to this horseman.

I bring a booted foot up, in between us, forcing him back. The man looks half feral as he gazes down at me, lust thick in his eyes.

“What could possibly make you wish to stop?” he asks.

“Take the rest of my clothes off,” I demand softly.

If there was heat in Death’s eyes before, it ratchets up now as his gaze descends on my lower half. Without responding, he grabs the foot holding him back and, casting me a wicked look, he removes my boot, then the sock beneath.

He glances down at my foot. “Even your toes delight me, Lazarus. What a wonder you are. What a wonder this is.”

This.

That last line has my heartrate jackknifing.

I want to tell him that he’s the wonder, with his glowing tattoos and wings and deadly magic. But I’m afraid that if I speak, if I give into the churning mass of thoughts that he elicits, I’ll slide right into my feelings for this man and I’ll never get myself out.

Death removes the other boot and sock, and then his hands are traveling up my legs and just that sensuous touch has me panicking.

How have we gone from enemies set on destroying each other to this?

The thought has barely crossed my mind when I feel Death undo my jeans and begin to pull them down. His fingers snag on my panties, and those come along too. Inch by tantalizing inch, he removes the last of my clothing. He tosses it all aside, his gaze feasting on me.

“Lazarus.”

Looking like a man possessed, he prowls onto the bed. His lips and a few locks of his hair skim along my skin as he moves up my body. Death doesn’t stop until the two of us are face to face.

His eyes search mine. “You rob me of breath.”

“It’s you who robs me of breath,” I say. I can’t not admit that at the very least. Death is the most beautiful, unearthly thing I’ve ever seen.

Death’s gaze lowers to my lips. “I have wanted to kiss you from the moment you first ambushed me and demanded I end my ways,” he says. “It drove me mad, this need I felt but didn’t understand—a need I still don’t understand. I thought my brothers were weak for succumbing to it.”

I exhale slowly, trying to process all of that. “You’ve wanted to kiss me this entire time?” I ask.

His eyes fill with mirth. “Among many other things.”

“What other things?” I say curiously.

He trails a finger down the slope of my nose, over my lips and chin. “I wanted to steal you away the first moment I laid eyes on you. I wanted you completely. It was an agonizing, awful experience. I thought it only further proved how wicked humans were, to have desires like that, desires I was now forced to feel.”

My heart thunders to think he’d wanted me even then. I can hardly imagine it, given how everything between us played out.

“And when you didn’t die—” Thanatos continues, his fingers skimming down my side, stroking my bare flesh, “when all my power proved useless against you—I knew you were mine, kismet. Knew it as surely as you know your own name.”

This should be terrifying—especially in light of the fact that even after he had these realizations, he hurt me, again and again.

But I’m not terrified. Not at all.

There is no one like us.

“Why did you finally give in to your … human desires?” I ask.

Now his expression softens, and I’m finding it hard to breathe.

“All those lonely months on the road, the monotony of my task only interrupted by your meager attempts on my life—”

“They weren’t meager,” I say, forgetting for a moment that a very naked horseman is pressed against me and that we’re about to do filthy things to each other.

He flashes me an indulgent grin like I’m being cute.

“Fighting you became hard, and then it became agonizing,” he admits his smile slipping. “But as bad as the fighting was, the parting was worse. I spent months wondering about who you were, and what it was about this miserable human existence that you found so worthwhile.

“And then, eventually, I wanted to know other things, human things, about you. Things that even now, I struggle to name because everything about living is so very different than dying. I wanted—I still want—to know about you—what brings you joy, what makes you sad. Wilder still, I want to be one of the things that brings you joy.”

My throat tightens at his confession, and I cannot look away from the dark depths of his eyes. He’s told me some of these things before, but in the fading light of dusk, with my body held against his, it hits me differently.

“Somewhere between all of our confrontations, Lazarus, I came to care about you, and leaving you behind became unthinkable.

“So I stopped fighting that wicked desire to take you, and I gave in. And here we are,” he says.

“Here we are,” I echo.

The moment stretches on, until finally, I can’t stand it any longer.

Moving beneath him, I let one of my legs fall open.

The horseman lifts his body a little to look down between us. I see his nostrils flare, and after a moment, he runs a hand down my flesh—down, down, down—until he gets to my pussy.

Now he moves back to his haunches, his black wings hanging over the edge of the bed as he studies my sex, his eyes burning.

His gaze returns to mine as he deliberately runs his finger down the seam of my slit.

I suck in a breath, my hips moving against him.

“Do you like that?” he asks.

I part my lips to answer, but he’s already running his finger back up my folds again. The moment his finger strokes my clit, my hips helplessly move once more.

His eyes alight and his touch backtracks to my clit.

“What is this?” he asks, brushing it once more.

“My God, Thanatos,” I gasp out. His light touch is driving me mad.

I reach for his cock, which already looks painfully hard, his strange glyphs glittering along its shaft. The horseman catches my hand and pins it back against the bed.

“No, Lazarus. Let me learn you.”

My body is taut like a bowstring and I’m pretty sure I’m the one who looks agonized. I shudder out a breath and reluctantly nod. He’s never explored another body before. I can be patient with this. I just have to calm down my own raging libido.

Death’s fingers continue to explore my body. They travel down my clit, right to my core. Almost by accident, one of them dips inside me, and I let out a gasp.

Really have to calm down that libido.

In an instant, the horseman’s eyes have honed in on me and my reaction. His finger, meanwhile, retreats—only to slide back in, this time a bit farther.

I writhe underneath his touch, and Thanatos’s expression darkens with desire.

“I think I’m beginning to figure out how this works.”

After several more tantalizing strokes of his finger, it slips out of my core and his hand continues traveling back until his finger finds something else altogether.

“Please don’t make me tell you what that does,” I say breathlessly as he traces my other opening.

Death’s eyes gleam, his expression somehow both intense and amused. “I don’t really care what it does—only whether you like me touching you there.” As he speaks, he presses a finger against it.

I bite my lip because that is my asshole. Despite myself, I’m still aroused.

Thanatos watches my expression, his gaze searching mine. “You do like that.” But then his hand retreats and he turns his attention back to my pussy.

His hands slide over my legs, his attention fixed between my thighs. All at once, he grabs one of my legs and hoists it over his shoulder, his feathers tickling the pad of my foot.

I swear I see a shiver rack through him at the contact, but he pays it no mind. Instead, he places my other leg over his other shoulder.

I stare up at him, somewhat confused by this particular turn of events.

“What are you … ?”

Before I can finish, Death leans forward and places a kiss against my clit.

My body jerks at the sensation, my hips rising to meet those lips of his.

“Thanatos.”

He smiles against my flesh.

I nearly die at the sensation of that grin against my skin.

“You like that,” he says, a note of wicked triumph in his voice.

“It’s—”

But he doesn’t let me finish.

His mouth returns to kissing my clit, only now he begins doing something with his tongue that—holy shit. My hips buck against him, the sensation so sharp it’s almost painful.

I reach for his head, my fingers threading through his black hair. I mean to push him away, but there is no budging this man. And that tongue of his …

I go from moans to panting real quick.

How is he even doing that? He’s had no practice.

Death pauses, “I was wrong earlier when I said there was nothing sweeter than your smiles,” he says. “This is sweeter.”

I’m not going to muse on the fact that the man won’t eat bread but he’ll gladly eat me.

I make a senseless, pleading noise because he got me all worked up and then he stopped.

The horseman’s eyes blaze with masculine pride. And then his mouth is back on my clit, his tongue laving over it again and again.

“You have to move around,” I beg him. “Please—”

“I’ll do what I want, kismet,” he murmurs against my flesh. “And you’ll endure it.” And then he’s back to devouring me.

Filthy, bossy man. I’d hold it against him if it wasn’t my pleasure he was demanding.

The pads of my feet slide against his wings as I writhe, and the horseman makes a satisfied sound as though he enjoys the sensation.

He moves down a little, his tongue slipping into my core.

I yelp.

Oh, that is dirty.

“Death.” It comes out as a moan.

I am aching.

He gazes up at me from between my thighs and he drinks in my expression. Whatever he sees there causes him to flash me a wolfish grin. Thanatos pauses his work to rest his chin on my pelvic bone, looking infinitely pleased with himself.

“What happens if I continue on like this?” he asks, a spark of knowing curiosity in his eyes. “Will you unravel just as I did?”

Yes, and probably within the next thirty seconds, too, if he keeps on doing whatever it is he’s doing with his tongue.

“It’s called an—”

Thanatos dips down and nips me, causing me to yelp again.

“I know what it’s called.”

“Please,” I gasp.

He glances back up at me. There’s an inferno in his eyes, yet I can also see his hesitation.

He’s never done this before.

I begin to sit up.

It’s as though he knows where my mind is at. Moving up my body, he captures my hands and pins them on either side of my head, his erection brushing my thigh.

“You are to stay here,” he commands me, his expression fierce.

“But—”

“Must I bring down the rain and lightning or draw the roots and the dead up from the ground? Or make the earth quake and buildings fall to remind you who I am? I set my sights on you a year ago, but I haven’t fully taken you—not yet. So lay back, kismet, and let me show you what it means to be mine.”

Death is magnificent then, his wings spreading wide behind him, his tattoos glittering in the candle-lit room, his blazing eyes promising things that even I know nothing about.

I hold his gaze, then subtly, I sink back into the bed, relaxing.

His expression doesn’t seem to change but his gaze looks oh so pleased.

His hands are still holding mine down, and now his fingers thread through mine. Death leans in, his mouth taking my own once more. Only, there’s no mistaking the carnality of this kiss as his tongue slips between my lips. His mouth is searing. It’s like a fire has been lit beneath my skin. And I’m kissing him back, and the two of us are going from gentle and sweet to hot and heavy real fast.

Rain begins to patter against the house, just like he threatened only moments before.

Thanatos releases one of my hands and grabs my thigh, aligning our bodies. I feel his cock then, right at my entrance. Thanatos breaks off the kiss, his hand tightening.

This is it.

The two of us gaze at each other as Death shifts his hips and begins pushing in.

He’s big—really, really big—and even though I’m plenty wet, it’s still an adjustment. My fingers tighten around his, bracing myself against the sensation of being stretched.

Death goes still, his cock throbbing as it rests partially inside me.

“Tell me to stop and I will stop,” he reminds me. His pupils are blown wide, and his jaw keeps clenching and unclenching with the effort of keeping absolutely still, and I’m sure the horseman would learn what true suffering is if I did take him up on the offer.

But I don’t. I’ve never experienced anything like this. I feel as though this must be what electricity was like—sharp and blindingly bright.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe, dreading the thought as much as Death must. Already, my flesh is adjusting to his girth.

No sooner have I spoken then he simply gives in. With a groan, the horseman thrusts forward, sheathing every last inch of his cock inside me.

My lips part and my fingers squeeze his to the point of pain. I’m throbbing—or maybe he’s throbbing. It’s hard to say; there’s so much more sensation down there than I’ve ever felt before.

Death’s gaze devours mine. There’s a sharp edge to his features and a muscle in his cheek keeps clenching and unclenching. Outside, the rain pelts down, and in the distance, thunder rumbles.

I pull my captive hands free so that I can hold him close to me. “This is living.”

He gives a soft laugh, though his features quickly sober up, especially as he withdraws, only to thrust back into me a moment later. My hips rise to meet his.

I let out a moan at the intensity of it all. Death does it again, a shudder coursing through him at the sensation.

“How I have yearned for this moment.” His knuckles graze my cheek. “And yet none of my wildest yearnings could’ve prepared me for the sight of you beneath me, or the press of your skin against mine.”

I shift a little, the action causing him to make a noise low in his throat.

“And the feel of you clenched around my cock like you don’t want it to leave.”

“I don’t,” I admit.

The ground trembles at my response.

Death’s thrusts begin to pick up speed, his breath hitching as he finds his pace. A line has formed between his eyebrows and I’ve never seen anyone as sexy as Thanatos is in this moment, all his exquisite agony on display.

“I can’t get over the feel of you.” His fingers skim over my flesh. “And the taste of you,” he adds, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “You are how I expected wine to taste.”

His wings flex with each thrust, and I can’t help but reach out and run my fingers over the inky black feathers.

He groans, driving deeper into me. His cock pistons in and out—again and again and again.

I spread my legs wantonly, moaning. This is definitely worth the direct hit my morals are taking.

“Thanatos.”

His eyes flash. “Say my name again,” he demands.

“Thanatos.” I barely get it out. I’m all sensation.

Rain is battering against the house, and outside lightning flashes. For an instant, I see strange, skeletal markings overlay Thanatos’s skin and wings, then they’re gone. Somehow, the terrifying display only adds to his dangerous appeal.

I’m writhing against the horseman, my entire body moving with each throbbing thrust, barreling me towards an orgasm.

Not ready.

Not nearly ready.

This is the best sex of my life and I want to last more than a couple minutes.

But Death is having none of that. He’s given himself over to pleasure completely, pumping into me with abandon as he devours my expression. Somewhere along the way this went from soft and sensual to primal.

Can’t put it off any longer—

“Death!”

My orgasm explodes through me, my vision darkening in the wake of it.

The floor trembles, rattling the bed, and then Thanatos bellows, his wings spreading wide. His hips slam into mine, his cock sinking deep within me. The earth shakes and lightning flashes again, illuminating that skeletal overlay. Outside I hear strange, fearsome noises over the rain.

The two of us come down slowly from our orgasms. The horseman’s wings fold back up and his thrusts turn languid. Eventually, he pulls out. But then he’s kissing me all across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose, my eyelids and forehead, and finally my mouth.

I feel my throat tightening at how gentle he’s being, how cherished he’s making me feel.

“Lazarus, Lazarus, Lazarus,” he murmurs. Outside the rain is subsiding. “Tell me that was the most amazing experience you have ever felt—because it was the most amazing thing I ever have.”

Tell this virgin that he just gave me the best sex of my life? If I wasn’t so mind-blowingly satisfied, I’d be annoyed at the sheer audacity Death has to not fuck up the most fuck-up-able first-time act.

My fingers slip through his hair and I catch his mouth with mine. And then I nod against him. “It was.”

He pulls away, his dark eyes intense. His gaze moves down my body, his expression hazy with possessive pride. His gaze stops at the juncture between my thighs, and he must be seeing evidence of his own orgasm.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “This is very, very strange to me, Lazarus.” He runs his fingers over my pussy, smearing his cum. “Strange and enthralling.”

Now that my skin’s cooling and the deed’s been done, my heart begins to pound, my stomach knotting up as I look at him.

I don’t know what to do.

In the past, I had so many reasons to push Thanatos away. But now, those have evaporated. More than that, I have a deep seated fear that somehow, this is what breaks the spell that’s come over Death. Now that he has been inside me, whatever force that drove his obsession with me will wither away.

Yesterday, I left Thanatos after I had finished him off. I brace for him to do the same.

Instead, he withdraws his hand from between my thighs and stretches out on his side. A moment later he pulls me to him, his face achingly close.

My heart is still pounding, but that sick feeling is evaporating away, particularly once he throws one of his legs over my own.

I reach out and touch that perfect face, with his enviable cheekbones, and I stroke his pale skin. He really does have the sort of face that myths are made of. I’ve never in my life seen someone who looks like this, and I could never imagine what it might feel like to have them look at me the way Death is looking at me now—like I am the only thing worth having in this world. His eyes are devouring me, the candlelight making them look like water in the moonlight.

I don’t look away. I stare and stare and let this terrifying feeling between us build.

“Lazarus,” Thanatos says softly. He wets his lips, and the two of us are balancing on some precipice.

I don’t respond, ensnared by his eyes.

“Kismet, tell me you are mine,” he says softly.

I’ve spent so long fighting, it’s a strange feeling, giving in.

“I am yours.”

For better or worse, I am.

I wake to the press of Death’s mouth against my body. I’m already arching against him, my flesh hungry for more of his touch.

“I tried to let you sleep—I did—but I cannot get this fire you’ve stoked out of my veins,” he whispers against my skin.

Why hadn’t I thought to give in to the horseman earlier? This is so much preferable to fighting.

As Death moves up my body, trailing kisses in his wake, I feel the brush of his erection. He stops only when the two of us are face to face, his hips nestled between mine.

“Tell me you no longer want me like I want you,” he says, searching my eyes. “Tell me I am mad.”

“You are mad,” I say.

Something flickers in his eyes. Disappointment?

“But then,” I add, “so am I.”

With that, I pull him to me.

Neither of us leave the master suite for days. Now and then a skeleton brings in food and water—none of which Death partakes in. Other than that, all of our needs are encapsulated in the four walls around us.

Every so often the horseman’s full regalia appears on his body by some invisible hand. It’s never on him for very long before he casts it off again. Even his torch makes an appearance, the scented smoke giving the room a cloying, perfumed smell.

The days blur together. But, the more time goes by, the more frenetic the sex with Death becomes and the more often it occurs. It seems he’s desperate to drive off his need to travel by leaning into his need for me.

I don’t know what day it is when I slide out of the horseman’s clutches and venture into the closet. I can feel his heated gaze on me as I look through the clothing, picking out a white shirt and a pair of jeans that I don’t hate.

Death doesn’t say anything until I’ve finished putting on the clothes and reach for a pair of boots.

“Where are you going?” he asks lazily, his eyes beckoning me back to him. It’s almost enough to convince me to rejoin him in bed.

“My pussy needs a break, Thanatos.” How many times has he slid into me today? Five? Six? More? I have been wrung dry of orgasms and it’s still the morning. At this point, I need to ice my vagina.

“Do you ache?” Death says. “Come here, kismet. I will soothe it.”

I know exactly how he plans on doing that.

I give him a look, even as I nab a pair of socks and begin putting them on. “I know you need to travel again. No amount of sex will change that.”

He frowns. Whatever his reasons are, Death is trying to stave off his duty. I doubt it’s because he has some bleeding heart for humankind—but I am moved by it all the same.

Still, just like many other aspects of this horseman, I cannot keep up with his sexual appetite. Not when it’s in overdrive like this.

“I don’t want this to end,” he admits.

I give him an odd look. “It won’t.”

“But it will. I will carve a path through the next several towns and you will witness it all, and you will remember that beneath every gentle touch we have shared, you still hate me.”

I swallow. I can feel the truth in his words.

“Why does that even matter?” I ask, grabbing one boot and pulling it on.

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

I stare back at him, unsure what to say. One moment he’s omnipotent, and the next he’s vulnerable.

This is your chance. The one Death’s brothers were hoping for when they struck that deal with me. Death doesn’t want me to hate him; there’s an easy way to do that—

“Don’t kill the next town, then,” I say.

His black feathers ruffle a little. “You know I cannot.”

I didn’t expect him to say anything different.

“Then at least hold off on the killing until you have moved through the town and seen what life is like,” I say, focusing on putting on my other boot so that I don’t have to look at him.

“Kismet, I’m not doing that again.”

I glance up at Death just in time to catch him staring at my chest, right where that arrow pierced me. I get the uncanny feeling that he’s remembering how I dove in front of him, and how he held me as I died.

“You wanted me to catch a glimpse of humanity,” Death continues. “I caught it—it’s the same glimpse I always see. They want me dead and they don’t mind hurting you to accomplish that.”

My throat thickens with emotion. He’s being protective of me. Context aside, it feels good to be cared about.

“Thanatos,” I say softly, “if everyone was truly like that, I wouldn’t be fighting for our survival.”

He gives me a penetrating look. “No,” he reluctantly agrees, “you wouldn’t.” After a moment, he adds, “And you’re right, not all humans are like that.” He studies my face for a moment.

Drawing in a deep breath, he nods. “I can deny you little. Just please don’t make me regret this.”

We head north, retracing our long ago steps through Austin.

Or at least, what remains of it.

The buildings have fallen, and Death has to navigate us around debris scattered across the highway. I don’t see much of the damage up close since we never move onto city streets, but I don’t see another soul, living or dead.

The smell, however, lingers in the air, and the deep rooted stench of it makes me think that there were recently dead carcasses lying about that either scavengers dragged out of sight … or Death had.

I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. I know he feels our newfound romance is fragile, and he probably wants to do everything he can to not mess it up—which would include hiding bodies.

Ah, horseman chivalry. What a concept.

We move through Austin, and continue on. The sun has just set when I start seeing standing structures in place of collapsed ones. Untouched land. Even then, however, the houses are sporadic.

“I have made a mistake,” Death admits, out of the blue.

I glance over my shoulder at him. “What is it?” I ask.

“I have been so keen on passing the land I’ve touched that I have forgotten to find a place for us to stay.”

Touched? That’s what he’s going to call the destruction around us?

I’m quiet.

“I don’t like this silence of yours,” he admits. “It feels … accusing. Tell me where your mind is at.”

“I’m thinking that you still understand very little about me,” I say. “Otherwise, you’d know that I’m not upset about the thought of sleeping under the stars.”

Behind me, the horseman pauses.

“But when I first took you, you hated being outside. You were cold—”

“I was uncomfortable,” I agree, “but mostly, I was trying to shame you into letting me go.”

Death’s hold tightens on me. “Never,” he vows.

I grimace as an electric thrill courses through me. I hate that I like that declaration.

I clear my throat. “I’m fine sleeping in a normal house—or outside, provided I have bedding to keep me warm,” I say. “And I was quiet a moment ago because I was thinking of all the cities you’ve … touched,” I say that word derisively.

It’s Thanatos’s turn to go quiet.

“I will find you a … normal house for tonight,” he says softly, not bothering to address the other part of what I said. “But I do not plan on making this a habit. I cannot give you what you most want,”—an end to the killing, he means—“but I can give you this, at least.

It’s late. Or maybe I’m just exhausted from being in the saddle all day. Either way, my eyes are drooping before we’ve found a house to stop in for the night.

I fight to keep my eyelids open, and I think I’m doing a good enough job, except I’m drifting … I’ll just rest a moment—

I jolt awake when Death catches my body slipping nearly off of the saddle.

“Lazarus?” Thanatos says, a note of worry in his voice. “Are you alright?”

“What?” I blink, forcing my thoughts to focus. The smoky smell of Death’s torch is thick in my nostrils, the scent oddly comforting. “Oh, yeah, just tired.” Even as I say it, I can feel myself drifting back off.

Death pulls his steed to a stop, then swings off.

“What are you doing?” I’m still too sleepy to be alarmed.

Rather than answering, I hear the clink of the horseman’s silver armor. He casts his breastplate off, then his vambraces and greaves. He doesn’t stop until every last piece lays in the dirt off to the side of the road.

Silently, he returns to the horse, swinging back on.

I stare at the armor, the metal giving off a dull gleam even in the middle of the night. “Why did you remove it?”

The horseman settles himself around me. “I’m still looking for a suitable house, kismet. In the meantime, you can sleep safely in my arms.”

It takes my slow mind another minute to realize that he removed the armor for my comfort.

Don’t feel it, don’t feel it, don’t—

Warmth spreads through my core, and I’m touched at the gesture, even though I don’t want to be. It’s not the same weightless feeling I’ve been getting around him more and more frequently. This feeling has depth to it, and it’s far scarier than anything else I’ve felt for Thanatos up until now.

Death clicks his tongue, his steed starting forward again. I settle against the horseman, still unnerved. Thanatos drapes an arm over my shoulder and across my chest, like some sort of makeshift horseman seatbelt.

I lean my head against that arm and let myself drift off.

I stare at the world around me from atop Death’s steed, the two of us on the road once more. There’s dead grass and clusters of trees and some rusted cars off to either side of us. Every so often we pass a trading post or a farmhouse or a boarded up building that’s long since lost its use.

No birds chirp, no bugs buzz. Even the air is still. It’s all as quiet as the grave. That’s how it’s been since Thanatos took me captive, and yet sometimes the wrongness of that silence creeps up on me all over again.

“When you travel, is there ever a particular destination in mind?” I ask.

“I go where the most souls call to me,” he says.

I remember assuming as much, back when I tracked him.

“And where are they calling you now?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“West.”

I have to quell the panic that rises at that thought. West is where Ben is. Specifically, the Pacific Northwest. We’re still thousands of miles away, I tell myself, just to calm my nerves.

“Why did you and your brothers all come to Earth in the first place?” I ask.

“God peers out at the world through many eyes. Yours, these shrubs—” he gestures vaguely to the plants growing near the highway. “The animals fleeing us somewhere off in the distance.

“If you understand that God—or the Universe, if you prefer to call Her that—is everything, sees everything, feels everything, and humans have, up until recently, been annihilating much of this earth—then you realize She has been hurting.

“You can think of your end as the Universe amputating a festering wound rather than letting infection take her whole. That is why my brothers and I were sent here. We must stop humans in order to save everything else.”

Why did I ask this question? The answer is so heavy.

“But your brothers feel that humans should be saved,” I argue. They told me so themselves. There must be something to us that is worth sparing.

“Yes,” Death agrees. “They did. But their opinion is not the one that matters. Mine is.”

And he’s made it abundantly clear what that opinion is.

I try to imagine the world a hundred years from now, cities full of skeletons of an extinct race, the buildings collapsed and overgrown with foliage. It’s not hard to picture—we’re already halfway there.

“What would happen if you decided to spare humanity?” I ask.

“What use is it to talk of such things, Lazarus?” he asks. “I will not change my mind. Not even you and your brilliant mind are capable of such a feat.”

This isn’t the first time Death has made his opinion known, and normally, I would take his answer as a challenge. Now, however, his words worm their way under my skin.

I still haven’t stopped him. Death is still killing, and still as adamant as ever about his need to kill. I’ve had sex with the horseman—many, many times—and it hasn’t shaken his resolve.

I sit there in the saddle for several seconds before my hurt melts away to anger.

What is the fucking point of all of this?

I’m not usually rash, but right now I swing my leg over the saddle and hop off Death’s still-moving horse.

Thanatos is surprised enough by the action that by the time he tries to grab me, I’m already off the steed and walking away.

“What are you doing, Lazarus?” he calls out after me.

I don’t bother looking back at him, my mind and my heart in turmoil, my blood heating with my anger.

Behind me, I hear Thanatos dismount, but nothing else.

“Do you really think you can escape me?” he says conversationally.

I ignore him.

“There is nothing out here besides me.”

Still ignoring him.

I hear the rustle of the horseman’s wings as they spread, then the heavy beat of them as they lift Death into the air.

His shadow moves over me. He turns in the sky, facing me, sunlight gleaming off of his armor.

The horseman lowers himself to the ground, those dark wings smoothly folding behind him.

“What is going on, Lazarus? Is this because of what I said?” he asks. “That was not supposed to—”

“What are we doing, Death?” I cut him off. “What really are we doing?”

I’m weary—I have been for a long, long time. I’ve pretended my exhaustion away because I had to, but now the full brunt of it all comes crashing down on my shoulders.

“You’re ending the world and I’m what? A little amusement along the way?” My eyes prick as I force those words out.

“Of course you’re not amusement, kismet. I care for you above all others.”

“People bend, Thanatos,” I say fervently. “When they care for each other, they bend.”

“I am not human,” he says.

Ah, his old failsafe.

“Fine, you’re not human, and none of the rules apply to you,” I agree. “Just let me go.” I indicate to the road behind him. “Let me part ways with you once and for all.” Then I can find my son and live out whatever brief time we get together.

Death’s jaw clenches.

I begin to walk again, uncaring that I’m going to have to brush past him.

“No,” he says, his wings flaring. “I won’t let you go.”

I throw my hands into the air.

“So you want your human experience and you want your heavenly task,” I say. “And I suppose you want me to just shut up and go along with it all.”

He takes a step forward. “This is beyond me—”

“Stop,” I say. “Stop this whole ‘I’m not a human,’ ‘This is beyond me,’ ‘I’m just following orders.’ You have mocked your brothers for making a decision—”

“The wrong decision,” he corrects me.

“At least they made one. Meanwhile, here you are, thinking that you can play house with me while you end the world? You are the biggest hypocrite.”

“What would you have me do?” he demands, his voice like thunder.

I could tear my hair out. “Make a goddamned decision for once in your life!” I say hotly. “And don’t do it for me—or even God. Do it for yourself. You. You’re evil and loving and gentle and merciless and refined and naïve and wise and complicated. That’s the human in you. Stop pretending it’s not there and acknowledge it.”

He stares at me for a long time, his jaw working.

And this is the tale of how I, Lazarus Gaumond, fucked over the world.

“I am unbending because I am old,” he admits. “I am uncompromising because I have always—always had to be this way. No one escapes death. No one.”

Except for me. Though, considering my situation, one might argue that I haven’t actually escaped death at all.

“But,” Thanatos continues, seeming to weigh his words, “I hear what you’re saying. I have not questioned my own assumptions. I have not thought to until now, when you have asked it of me.” He nods. “I will try. I will do this for you.”

We spend a long moment staring at one another.

“I will not promise humanity some happy ending,” he says, his dark eyes sad. “I cannot give you that. But I can give you happiness. I want to give you that. So, Lazarus,” he says carefully, “what would make you happy?”

It takes me a moment to actually process this turn in the conversation. He actually wants to give me something. Unbendable Death is trying to bend.

I regain my composure.

“Ben,” I finally say, finding my voice. “Ben is what would make me happy.”

“Your son,” Death says carefully. “You would like him by your side?”

“Alive and by my side.” My heart pounds madly. Why am I even entertaining this? It’s a mad, mad idea.

I see Thanatos swallow delicately, and that muscle in his cheek flexes again. Shit, that reaction alone means that he’s serious.

“Then once we hit the West Coast,” Death says carefully, “we will travel north and get your son.”

I can’t breathe, I’m choking on my own hope.

“And then what?” I force the words out.

“And then your son will be with you, with us—alive and well—until the very end.”

I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel the tear slip off my cheek.

Across from me, Death’s harsh features soften.

In several long strides he closes the distance between us. Reaching out, he brushes away my tears.

“Is this a good cry or a bad one?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“A good one,” I admit softly.

Ben won’t die.

I pull away. “I thought …” The words catch in my throat, “I thought you made no exceptions about killing humans.” As much as I want to see Ben again—to hold him again—I want him alive more.

“You have asked me to bend. This is bending, right?”

I don’t know what it is, but I don’t much care, either. The thought of having Ben back in my arms has my knees going weak.

Death seems to sense it too.

He scoops me up like he’s some valiant hero and I’m some helpless maiden. And for a moment, I can believe in that fairytale.

“Come, kismet,” he says, walking us back to his horse. “Let’s make good on my vow.”

When we do eventually stop, it is truly out in the middle of nowhere. The land is a patchwork of wild elm trees and grassy expanses and little else.

“You are sure you don’t want to stay inside a house?” Thanatos asks for the twentieth time. The setting sun is casting him in the softest light, and it’s tempering all his hard edges.

“This is fine,” I insist, trying to ignore what the sight of him is doing to me.

He frowns like he doesn’t believe me.

Death unfastens his breastplate, casting it aside. I can see in his starlight eyes that he relishes unburdening himself of it.

Like taking off a bra at the end of the day.

A big-ass, metal bra.

My gaze returns to the breastplate as he works on removing the rest of his armor. On a whim, I move over to the discarded piece of metal, kneeling down next to it so I can study the images hammered into it. There are roses and gravestones and skeletons and a boat drawing people onward. There’s what looks like an egg and a snake eating its own tail. There are crescent moons and spirals, and right over the heart is that image of the woman caught in a skeleton’s embrace.

I run my fingers over the strange and seemingly unrelated images. The longer I stare, the more I find, and I’m so confused by it all.

“What are all these designs?” I say. I’ve seen similar detailing on Death’s saddle.

The horseman tosses aside another piece of armor.

“They’re chthonic images.”

I stare at him blankly.

“Images of death,” he says.

“They don’t all look like death.” Skeletons and graves aside. “There’s an egg on here,” I say.

“That’s the cosmic egg, from which everything was born.”

I frown, staring at the image. “Did everything start from an egg?”

“They are human symbols, kismet, not heavenly ones,” he says, removing the last piece of armor and coming over to my side.

My attention moves away from the egg, towards the image styled over what would be the horseman’s heart, if he were wearing the armor. I trace that unsettling image of the skeleton and the woman wrapped up in each other’s arms. Life and death, the lovers.

“They are inextricably bound in each other,” Death says now, noticing where my attention has wandered.

As I muse on that, Thanatos’s procession of dead arrives at our camp. The skeletons and their wagons encircle us, creating a wall of sorts with their bodies and the carts. Already they’re pulling odds and ends out of the wagon beds, shaking out blankets, uncorking wine, uncovering and lighting lanterns. When they’re finally done setting up, I am left breathless.

I have slept out in the elements before with little more than a pack as a pillow. I know what that is like. What I’ve never experienced is … this.

They’ve covered the ground in blankets and placed lanterns around the edges, giving it a soft, romantic glow against the twilight sky. There’s a tray with travel-friendly food artfully arranged on it, and I try not to think of the skeletal fingers that meticulously placed each item just so.

I believe this is what glamping is.

“You didn’t have to have them set this all up,” I say.

“Yes, Laz,” Thanatos says very seriously, “I did.”

Under the glow of the lanterns, Death looks like a saint, his body and wings dusted by the soft amber light. It glitters in his eyes as well, making them look molten.

For the second time since we stopped, I’ve been caught breathless by the mere sight of him. Has he always affected me this way?

Every last inch of self-preservation within me wants to say yes, but the truth is, this feels different. It’s been feeling different, like my eyes are finally seeing something my heart already knows.

As though he can hear my thoughts, Death moves to me.

“Serious, beautiful Lazarus,” he murmurs. He studies my face like he wants to immortalize it in his mind. “You snatched my loneliness from me,” he breathes, “and I hope you never give it back.”

With that, he kisses me. The horseman’s wings wrap around me until Death is all there is.

I hear every soft sound our lips make, and I feel as though my heart is on blatant display.

The kiss is long and lingering, and when he eventually pulls away, I can see his desire stretched taut like a bowstring.

“Lazarus, what is happening to me? I cannot slake this thirst I have for you.”

My heart pounds harder as I stare up at him. “That’s what it’s like for humans,” I say. When they fall in love. I’m too terrified to utter that last part.

So instead my hands move to Thanatos’s clothing, because physical intimacy is much, much easier than talking about love with my old enemy. I tug on the horseman’s shirt until he helps me lift it over his head.

That’s all the encouragement Death needs. His hands find the collar of my shirt—

Riiiip.

I gasp as he tears the material down the middle, exposing my bra. His hands move for my jeans, but I snatch his wrist before he can destroy these too.

Good jeans are hard to come by.

Under Death’s heated gaze, I remove my boots and socks, then unbutton my pants and step out of them, kicking them aside. The horseman casts off the last of his clothing, leaving him bare—save for the glowing glyphs that cover his body from neck to calf. There are so many that they give the illusion that his insides are nothing more than pure white light.

Thanatos kneels, his long, deft fingers gently peeling away my panties before returning for my bra. That, too, he removes with precision, letting it drop to the ground. Then he scoops me up and carries me to the makeshift bed.

It’s just as he’s laying me down that I notice the clatter of bones and remember the dozens and dozens of skeletons around us.

“I can’t do this with your revenants watching,” I whisper.

Thanatos gives a husky laugh. “Lazarus, they don’t have souls or minds. They cannot comprehend what we do.”

Despite Death’s words, an instant later, the skeletons fall to pieces, their bones clattering as they hit the grass.

“Better?” he asks.

I nod, then shiver as the cool night air caresses my skin.

I’m only cold for a moment.

Death drapes himself over me, his wings brushing against our legs. Just when I think things are about to heat up, the horseman instead places a soft kiss at the hollow of my throat.

“Give yourself to me, Lazarus,” he whispers against my skin.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” I say, my fingers threading themselves in his silky hair.

He laughs against my flesh, where he trails more kisses down my sternum. “I’m not talking about sex.”

“Then what are you talking about?” I ask, feeling suddenly ill at ease.

Slowly Thanatos’s gaze lifts, and when it settles on my own, I see it in his eyes.

I want your love.

He doesn’t say the words, but he doesn’t have to.

I’m shaking my head, my throat closing up. “I can’t.” I barely get the words out.

He took my family from me. He almost took my son from me. I don’t care that he is Death and it’s his job. I don’t even care that he gets no enjoyment from the act. He has still done it, and he will continue to do it. That’s a hard line for me.

“You can’t what?” he says softly.

He’s going to make me say it.

“I can’t love you.”

For an instant, the horseman looks wounded. Then the expression is gone like it never existed at all.

I see his shoulders rise and fall as he takes in a deep breath. “You can’t or you won’t?”

I hesitate.

Thanatos notices.

“Ah, you won’t.” Triumph flashes in his eyes and his lips curve into a cunning smile. “I’m correct, aren’t I?”

I don’t bother denying it.

“Why are you smiling?” I demand instead.

“It would be one thing if you couldn’t love me—that you were incapable of it,” he says. “But you won’t love me, and that is a choice.”

“Exactly.” I’m choosing not to love him.

Why does he still look so pleased?

He answers as though he heard my thoughts. “I don’t need your mind to change, kismet, simply your heart.”

My pulse is climbing. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Your mind is strong, Laz, but your heart is stronger still. All I need to do is convince your heart that this is real and true, and your mind will follow.”

“I still won’t change my mind,” I say stubbornly. He’s seen how long I can hold onto a cause.

Now his expression is downright wicked. “You and I are immortal. Even if it takes centuries, even if you and I are the last creatures in existence, I vow to you this: I will get you to love me—mind, body, and heart.”

The days sift away like soil through my fingertips and the road stretches on before us. Some days we don’t leave the home we’ve occupied or the camp we’ve made—sometimes we don’t leave our bed at all. Death might have no appetite for food, but he’s nearly insatiable when it comes to sex. I’m hardly better.

I tell myself I’m buying the world a little extra time—or perhaps, if this mad plan actually works, an end to this apocalypse altogether—but the truth is that I’m just as greedy to give into this desire I’ve ignored for months and months.

However, when we do get back in the saddle and continue on, guilt presses in on me. I’m supposed to be encouraging Death to travel as fast as possible to get to my son. Anything less feels like a betrayal to Ben. But not even that guilt is enough for me to change my ways, especially when every extra hour in the horseman’s arms brings me that much closer to convincing him to stop the killing.

And so Death and I travel at a slow, leisurely pace.

The farther west we head, the more the cities thin out. This part of the country is truly empty. Just miles and miles of harsh desert. It’s a sharp, strange landscape, empty of color save for the low-lying shrubs and the blue sky above me—though even these, too, seem to be muted, as though the sun bleached it all of color.

I long for the verdant land where I grew up.

We still rest in homes if we come across them, but Death has had to give up on his quest to house me in sprawling estates. The truth is, this bone-dry earth is too harsh to make much of a living on. Based on what little evidence I’ve seen, the only steady occupation in these parts comes from the ranchers and cowboys who drive wild herds of cattle across the plains, and they are not living like kings.

Of the houses we do pass, most of them are left over from the time before the horsemen. As the sun begins to set, we stop at one of these abandoned dwellings. It’s a weather-worn, dull thing; the sun has bleached its bones and the home’s well has long since dried up. The inside is full of fine dirt and a couple of frightened lizards.

I move through it as I have a hundred houses before. I notice some peeling wallpaper, a broken television, a few ripped children’s books, and some glow-in-the-dark stars that must’ve once been on the ceiling but now lie scattered on the ground.

I pause and really take it all in. A quarter of a century has gone by since this house was affected by the horsemen’s arrival. The child who read those books or stared up at those stars is now an adult—if, in fact, they are still alive. An entire generation—my generation—grew up with our lives upended. And the next generation might not grow up at all.

I hear Death’s footsteps from down the hall.

“I don’t want to stay here.” My voice comes out like a croak.

He pauses in the bedroom’s doorway. “Alright, kismet.”

It’s as simple as that. Five minutes later we are back on Thanatos’s horse.

Behind us, the house collapses. It feels like an old, worn-out dream finally crumbling for good—something sad but long overdue.

I force my mind from the family that once lived there. I have too many ghosts that haunt me already.

I really don’t need any more.

I’ve heard that humans can get used to just about any situation. I don’t know if that’s true, but I have gotten used to this way of life—traveling, then camping, then traveling some more.

I’ve even gotten used to Death’s and my … relationship.

“Tell me another secret,” I say, leaning back on the blankets that cover the ground. A plate of food and wine sits off to the side, and around us the skeletons and their wagons have circled our campsite.

Thanatos lays on his side, wearing only his pants. His tattoos illuminate all the sharp planes of his face.

“Hmm …” He’s been trailing his fingers over my features, but now his hand moves to the buttons of my shirt. “I won’t tell you a secret,” he says, “but I will show you one.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

Thanatos unbuttons my shirt then and slides it off my arms. Then he removes my bra. Then my pants—then his.

A laugh slips out. “What are you doing?” I ask. There is nothing about this that is much of a secret between us anymore.

Death finishes undressing me, then pulls me into his arms. He wraps my legs up around his waist, locking us in this intimate embrace.

“You’ve shown me how humans have sex,” he says, lifting me as he rises off the bed. His black wings spread wide behind him. “Now it’s time I show you how angels do it.”

No sooner has he spoken than he leaps into the air. His wings beat at his back, each powerful stroke bringing us higher and higher into the chilly night sky.

I cling to Thanatos, my arms wrapped around his neck and my cheek pressed to his. The horseman’s dark hair tickles my skin. It doesn’t matter that Death has flown with me in his arms before, my fear still rises. The earth is a long way down.

“Relax,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

I try to, I really do, but then the heavens rumble around us as a storm rolls in, and I tighten my grip.

“Lazarus, I’ve got you,” he says, running a hand up and down my back. “I swear it.”

Reluctantly, I loosen my grip on him. I manage to even pull my face away when the sky flashes. For a moment, that skull superimposes itself over Thanatos’s features. Then it’s gone.

“Your face …” I trail off. I’ve seen this several times before, but it never gets less unsettling.

“Life and death are lovers, kismet,” he whispers, shifting my hips to align us. “We are lovers. It has always been this way. It will always be this way.”

With that, Thanatos drives into me. A gasp slips out as I grip him harder. There’s nothing to hold onto but Death himself, and it’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

His cock stretches me, and has anything ever felt so good?

“I want to hear your moans, kismet,” he breathes against my ear.

When I don’t immediately reply, his lips drop to one of my breasts. He kisses it hard, his teeth grazing against my nipple.

Now I do moan, shifting my legs a little to better accommodate him. He drives into me again and again while, at his back, his wings pound against the wind. He feverishly guides his cock in and out, in and out.

“Thanatos.” I moan his name.

“There is nothing better than being buried in your tight warmth,” he says. He kisses the underside of my jaw. “I want to fill you up with me and make sure you never forget that I was here.”

I pull his lips to mine and steal a kiss, one of my hands tangling in his hair.

Angel sex is wild.

One of Death’s hands slip between the seam of my ass, until his fingers are touching that other hole.

Breaking off the kiss, I go tense in his arms. The action causes Thanatos’s cock to jerk.

He makes a pained noise. “Relax, kismet. You can tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” He waits for me to do so.

A part of me considers it, but another part of me is far too curious to stop things now.

When I say nothing, one of Death’s fingers presses against my back entrance until it gives way.

I suck in a breath, even as the pressure somehow coils up within me. Each thrust of his becomes much more sensitive.

“I can’t believe this was your idea,” I say.

In the darkness, I can see the gleam of the horseman’s dark eyes as he takes in my expression. “Next time, it can be yours.”

“You are filthy,” I breathe.

In response, he presses his finger in farther.

Jesus. I feel impossibly full like this, and having him work me from both sides is causing sensation to rapidly build … and build …

“Thanatos—”

It’s too much.

With a cry, I shatter, my orgasm exploding through me.

He groans as I come, and then his hips are pumping feverishly against mine. Moments later, I feel him thicken inside me. Death bellows my name as he comes, his cock slamming into me again and again.

Our climaxes seem to go on forever, but eventually, I feel him withdraw his finger so he can clutch me close.

I go boneless in his arms, my body shaky and spent.

Slowly, Thanatos lowers us back to the ground, landing at the foot of our makeshift bed.

He lays me out on the sheets before draping himself against my side.

Death looks at me and my breath catches. For an instant, a strange feeling passes through me, like everything I thought I understood was all a mirage, and that the curtain that separates life from death is so thin I might actually catch a glimpse—

“Lazarus.”

My gaze focuses on Thanatos. The markings on his skin glitter like stars and they seem ancient—he seems ancient. Ancient and otherworldly.

“You are exquisite,” he says. He leans forward and kisses the pulse at my neck, his dark hair tickling my skin. “Exquisite and troublesome and curious and alive.”

“I thought you didn’t like the fact that I was alive.”

He gives me a soft smile. “Even angels can be wrong.”

I wake to the sound of echoing howls.

I sit up, my eyes scanning the darkness for whatever animal might make that noise. I can’t see past the wall of carts and the revenants around us, though those strange cries seem to be close.

Wait, howls?

But all animals flee death …

The wooden carts shake and now I can make out whoops and bellows, and fuck, those aren’t wolves.

They are the battle cries of marauders.

I suck in my scream just as Thanatos rises next to me, his hair mussed. I don’t have time to read into that before, around us, dozens of figures materialize from the darkness.

They descend on our camp like a swarm of locusts. One man jumps on a cart, causing it to nearly overturn. Another smashes through a skeleton.

Death lifts his hand, but before he has a chance to unleash his lethal power, an arrow pierces him through the heart. A split second later, another slams into his head.

“Thanatos!” I scream, lunging for him as, all around camp, the remaining skeletons crumple, their bones clattering against the ground.

I catch the horseman as he falls back and cradle him in my arms, even as our attackers stream towards us.

“Death,” I say again, cupping his face.

I know he’s dead, I know the self-persevering thing to do is drop his body and fight, but I’m seized by a paralyzing panic at the sight of my horseman limp in my arms. A sob slips out.

How many times have I seen him die? A dozen? More?

Never have I felt this way before. Like the world is collapsing around me. I can barely breathe around it.

Another arrow whistles by, grazing my shoulder. I cry out, reaching for the wound. That snaps me out of my grief.

Get up, Lazarus.

I force myself to my feet, my hands and forearms slick with the horseman’s blood. It’s a small favor that I actually decided to slip on an oversized shirt and a pair of underwear. I don’t always when I lay with Death.

“Do not harm the woman!” someone shouts.

That’s when I really notice the men approaching me, weapons drawn and aimed.

I have stopped wearing blades on me. What’s the need when I’m now bedding my mortal enemy? He was the only person I ever kept them for.

Only now, as I see dark figures dismantling our camp, I regret it. I can hear them going through our things and whistling as they find this or that.

“Is the creature dead?” a deep male voice calls.

“He better be,” another responds.

“Grab the woman!” yet another orders.

I shift my weight, readying myself as I watch those forms in the darkness. I may not have my blades, but I’m not entirely defenseless.

The first man to reach me grabs my forearm, but just as soon as he’s touched my skin, his hand falls away, and a second later I hear the thud of his body hitting the ground.

I glance his way in confusion, but then another man reaches for me. I lash out, slamming my fist into his nose.

“Motherfucker!” he shouts, his hand slipping from me.

Another tries to grab me from behind, and I shove my elbow into his stomach. He grunts, stumbling away. I spin and approach him. I can see the hilt of a holstered blade at his side, and I make a desperate lunge for it.

My fingers brush the hilt of it for a split second before another man tackles me from the side.

I hit the ground hard, my teeth clicking together as my head whips back against the earth.

Still I struggle. Better to fight to the death than endure whatever plans these people have in store for me.

My attacker grabs one of my arms, but then he falls away from me, limp. I have no time to worry about him before another man kneels down on me, and I thrash about, trying to throw him off of me.

“Stop—fighting—bitch,” he says, bringing his face close to mine.

I slam my forehead into his nose as hard as I can, smiling when I hear a crack. He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a howl and a groan.

I don’t see his fist move, but I feel it slam against my face. My head snaps back, and the pain is so intense it robs me of the breath I need to scream. Before I can even process that hit, his fist connects with my cheek again—and again and again. I try to cover my face but it’s useless, that fist keeps hitting me.

“Don’t kill her! Don’t kill her!” somebody shouts.

The man doesn’t respond, nor does he stop. Not until someone pulls him off of me.

Another man drags me onto my feet. I sway there as all around me, the night gives way to a deeper darkness, one I happily fall into.

The revenant claws its way out, even as some of the braver men and women are grabbing machetes and hunting knives and moving towards the creature. Shane is one of them.

In the distance, I can hear more screams starting up, along with wet, meaty sounds. It’s enough to spook my guards. One of them releases me, sprinting back down the path. The other man hesitates, then releases me, backing away before turning on his heel and fleeing as well.

Overhead, I hear the great roar of wings. My heart pounds madly as I look to the sky. I catch sight of Death’s dark form heading towards us.

I smile again.

“I’d run if I were you,” I say to Shane’s back.

All around us, the screams are increasing. People are beginning to run every which way. I can hear someone shouting, “Zombie! Zombie! Zomb—” The voice cuts off in a gurgle.

Shane swivels around to face me just as the revenant finishes dragging itself out of the earth.

He eyes me as I rise to my feet.

“I’ll deal with you in a moment,” he says, pointing his blade at me.

“You won’t though,” I say as the horseman lowers himself to the earth several yards behind Shane. “Death will kill you, and then, if you’re particularly unlucky, he’ll force your corpse to serve me.”

Thanatos lands, standing amongst the carnage like a true angel of the apocalypse. His black wings fold behind him.

I know Death’s aware of me, but his wrathful eyes are focused on Shane. He walks towards the man just as Shane turns around. He nearly loses his footing when he catches sight of the horseman.

“Lazarus is right,” Thanatos says. “You will die, and then you will serve my mate.”

Over Death’s shoulder, the newly risen revenant grabs a man with a ginger beard and stringy red hair.

The bearded man swings the blade he grips at the revenant, slicing through desiccated sinew and shattering several rib bones. The zombie grabs him by the head and twists.

Snap.

Shane curses, staggering back. Meanwhile, Death watches him, a cold, forbidding look on his face.

Seconds later, the bearded man rises, his neck bent oddly, his eyes unseeing.

“Jackson?” Shane says to the man.

Jackson strides towards Shane, his weapon still gripped in his hand. Shane barely has time to block the blow.

“What the fuck, man!” he shouts. But Jackson comes at him again. And then the mummified zombie and a few other newly dead men close in on Shane until he is the center of all their attention. I hear one bone break, then another. Shane cries out in pain, and I can see him struggling against all these new adversaries.

He glances over his shoulder, true terror in his eyes, as they begin to rip him apart.

It takes less than a minute for Shane to die, then only seconds for him to come back to life. His eyes are dull and lifeless; gone is that hot temper and the cruel confidence. Now he moves mindlessly with the others.

The group of them head towards me, but rather than attacking like they have everyone else, the undead circle me, standing guard.

Death’s gaze falls to mine, and I see his vengeance dissolve away into relief.

“Lazarus.”

He strides forward, and the circle of revenants parts to let him through. He takes me into his arms. His hands slide over my back and across my bindings.

“What is this?” As he asks, he rips them apart.

I collapse against him, my body feeling boneless.

Death pulls away long enough to take in my face. His gaze pauses over my swollen eye and my cheek.

For an instant, there’s murder in his eyes, and it might be my imagination, but I swear the screams around us ratchet up.

He reaches out, gently caressing my wounded flesh. “I’m sorry, Lazarus, so sorry.”

Beneath his touch, I feel warmth spread out beneath my skin. My flesh tingles as the pain in my face lessens.

I lean into his hand. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” We were ambushed in the middle of the night. He was a victim every bit as much as I was.

“I should’ve been on guard,” he insists. “I shouldn’t have …” fallen asleep. He can’t seem to get that last part out.

A high, feminine scream drags my attention away from the horseman. All around us, the rest of camp is still getting slaughtered.

The women. My breath catches.

Shit.

I turn back to Thanatos. “Please, stop your revenants.”

His jaw hardens. “Why?”

“Just please do it.”

All at once, the dead fall to the ground.

I shudder out a breath.

“Thank you,” I say. I slip out of Death’s embrace, then rush back down the path.

“Lazarus!” Death calls out after me, but I don’t stop and I don’t respond.

Where are they? Where are they?

Every inch of this place looks the same—just tents and dirt paths and more tents—and I’m disoriented by it all.

I slip in a puddle of blood, nearly going down before I catch myself and continue running.

“Cynthia!” I shout. “Morgan!”

The rest of the camp is silent. Too silent.

I run and run and run.

Eventually, I do find the women. I’m just too late.

They are still tied to their posts—Cynthia, Morgan, and so many others—their bodies slumped over, their lifeless eyes open.

All at once, my knees give out. I let out a frustrated cry, tears pricking my eyes. They deserved better. So much better.

I hear the thump of Death’s wings again, but all I have eyes for at the moment are these women.

I’m breathing hard as the last of the dust around me settles, the silence almost painful.

When I asked Death to stop his revenants, he hadn’t just done that. He also killed off the last of the living.

“Lazarus, what are you doing here?” he asks, approaching me. “Are you—crying?” He sounds shocked by the sight, as though the thought of me crying over anyone in this camp is preposterous. And how would Death know that these women weren’t the bad guys? There’s still so much about us humans that he doesn’t understand.

Tears are dripping from my eyes. “These other women, they were victims, just like us,” I say.

Thanatos glances at the women in question.

“And that matters to you,” he says. It’s not a question, and yet there’s confusion folded into it. They were strangers only a day ago.

“They didn’t deserve to die.”

“Kismet, everyone deserves to die—even that abominable man I cut down only minutes ago.”

He kneels across from me and reaches out, caressing the skin that he just so recently healed.

“To live is to die,” he adds. “That was the agreement you made when you came into this world. You cannot have one without the other.”

Death stands. “All your life, all your suffering, all your loss—it was all for this.” He gestures to the dead around us, his wings spreading wide. “You all have been running towards me your entire life.”

I assume that the camp I was held at was the last I’d see of the Sixty-Six—or whoever the hell those people were.

But … nope. A week after our last encounter, we run into more trouble.

Off to the side of the highway ahead of us is a large, abandoned warehouse. It’s one of the few structures we’ve seen on this lonely stretch of road.

We’re no more than a hundred yards from it when a flurry of arrows streak away from the structure towards Death and me. I’ve seen enough aerial attacks to know their trajectory is too shallow to hit us, but it still makes me catch my breath.

The projectiles clatter against the weathered road in front of us.

“Halt!” a deep male voice calls out, stepping away from the warehouse. “We have more arrows trained on you.” He points his finger up, towards the top of the building.

My gaze moves to the structure’s roofline. Only now do I notice the dozen men and women posted there, their bows trained on me and Death.

Thanatos’s grip on me tightens, and I know this is their end. I hold my breath, waiting for their bodies to hit the roof.

Instead, Death stops our horse.

“You know,” he says softly, “I have really come to despise bows and arrows.”

The man on the ground continues to stroll out, one of his hands lightly resting on a sheathed blade at his hip. I don’t know what he means to do with that blade; he’s too far away to even throw it at us.

“This here is a toll road,” he calls out, gesturing to the highway. “No one passes without paying.”

Up on the warehouse’s roof, I very clearly hear one of the archers say, “What in the name of the devil … Are those wings?”

A hush falls over the entire group of us—me, Thanatos, the archers. Even the man on the ground just stiffened, like he heard it too.

“Horseman,” I hear someone hiss. That’s followed by low, frantic murmuring.

Death bends his head towards me, his lips brushing my ear. “I take every man to the grave,” the horseman says. “I have compassion for all souls. But I have none for behavior like this. They desecrate what sacredness I do hold towards life, and they desecrate me.”

Thanatos straightens in the saddle. “You will all die,” he announces. “But I will make you suffer for it before I lead you on.”

That’s apparently all the encouragement the spooked group needs. The man on the ground sprints towards the warehouse, disappearing inside just as the archers fire another volley of arrows.

A gust of wind blows the projectiles away. Already the group is reloading and releasing another round. The wind blows these away too.

Heedless of the weapons trained on us, Death guides his horse forward.

“Why aren’t you killing them?” I ask softly as the group reloads once again.

“So eager for their deaths?” Thanatos asks, grim amusement in his voice.

I turn and give the horseman a look. He cracks a smirk, but the moment his gaze returns to our assailants, it dissolves away. I get a chill, gazing on that pitiless face of his.

Just as yet another round of arrows is released—then promptly blown off course—I hear a choking sound come from one of the men on the roof. I glance up just in time to see our negotiator—the man who had fled back into the warehouse—stagger near the edge of the roof. He clutches his throat, then collapses, disappearing from sight.

“Vince!” shouts a woman near him.

Another calls out, “Get your ass up man!”

Vince, however, doesn’t get up.

Two archers leave their posts to check on the fallen man, while the others keep firing arrows and Death keeps blowing them off course.

We’re nearly upon the warehouse when I hear the people above me start to shout.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“What the fuck, Vince?”

I can’t tell what’s going on, not until two people move to the edge of the roof. One of them—our former negotiator—has his hand wrapped around another man’s throat.

Now I know what’s happened to Vince.

“Vince, let Roy go!”

But Vince isn’t Vince anymore.

Roy claws at Vince’s hand where it grips his throat, and the others are trying to pry the two apart, but then amongst the chaos, another man seems to stumble and choke, then fall from view. A moment later, he too rises.

Thanatos stops our horse and watches this all calmly from where he sits behind me.

“Thanatos,” I say.

“Ah, I do so love it when you say my name like that,” he replies.

This time, however, I’m scandalized for an entirely different reason, one that has nothing to do with sex.

“Stop this,” I say.

“Violent lives lead to violent deaths, kismet. This is the tithe I will force them to pay.”

I assumed that being with me was causing Thanatos to soften towards humans, but after Death’s last show of power and now this, I’m not sure anymore. I think perhaps instead I’ve made him human in the worst way.

I reach for his hand, gripping it tightly. “Please.”

My plea falls on deaf ears.

It takes another minute for them all to die, and it’s horrible, so very, very horrible. I can hear their screams, and I can only imagine their confused terror as their former friends kill them. It’s a senseless sort of betrayal.

Once every last one of them dies, and that silence sweeps in, that prickling, jarring silence. All I can hear is my own ragged breathing.

“You could’ve just killed them all at once,” I say. Even though they extorted us and threatened us and likely would’ve hurt us, I’m still unnerved by Death’s cruel power.

“I could’ve,” the horseman agrees.

He clicks his tongue, and that’s apparently all he has to say about that.

When will we leave this cursed desert? We have spent weeks crossing it, and as far as I can tell, we’re still smack dab in the middle of it.

The day starts out hot and the temperature only seems to climb. I sweat, and sweat, and sweat. Just as quickly as it comes, the sweat evaporates away.

I think this corner of the world burned the memo that summer ends.

Death passes me a jug of water from one of the saddle bags. Wordlessly, I take it, swallowing the liquid down.

We’re running out of water. The last two pumps we passed were dry, and I have no clue when we’ll come upon another. It doesn’t help that we just passed the skeletal remains of a horse, its bleach-white bones picked clean by scavengers. In the last few weeks we’ve passed many areas that were largely uninhabitable, but for some reason, I hadn’t felt as close to death then as I do now.

Perhaps it’s simply because it’s been so long since I have seen fields of green grass and moist earth. It feels like we’ve traveled to a place where things go to die.

My panic rises, and I have to tell myself that neither the heat nor the lack of water really matters—I’ll grimly survive it all. But it’s fucking uncomfortable all the same.

As though reading my mind, Death says, “We’ll need to find you water soon. This is no place for you, my Laz.”

My Laz. My heart leaps at the endearment. It shouldn’t, not after all I’ve seen the horseman do, but try telling that to my stupid organ.

I know Death is waiting for me to give in to that rush of emotion I feel for him. I know he wants me to call him sweet things as well—for me to show any sign that this is more than just flesh and lust coming together. And I know he’s willing to wait.

Even if it takes centuries, even if you and I are the last creatures in existence, I vow to you this: I will get you to love me—mind, body, and heart.

His words still echo through my mind.

And I feel it happening. It has been happening.

I shove those feelings down. Instead, I study the ring Thanatos wears as he holds me in the saddle. The one fashioned from a coin of the dead.

“How does it work?” I ask, running my finger over the face on the coin. “How do you lead people on to the afterlife if you’re also here with me in the saddle?”

I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to voice this question. It’s one of the first ones I ever had concerning the horseman of death.

“I keep telling you, kismet. I am not truly human. I can do things that defy human nature and logic. Just as I can release thousands of souls from their flesh with a single thought, so too can I lead them onwards while sitting here in the saddle with you—just as Famine can make crops thousands of miles apart spoil at the same time. Just as Pestilence can spread disease in several places—and several species—all at once. It is an intrinsic part of who we are.”

I sit with that for several moments.

“Tell me about all the people you have met across time,” I start again.

His lips brush my temple, and I can feel his smile against my skin. He likes my questions and I think he also delights in answering them. Up until he captured me, his thoughts were his alone.

“That would take lifetimes, Lazarus,” he says softly. “I think you want a shorter answer than that.”

He is so literal.

“Give me the highlights—you have met everyone, haven’t you?” I say. “George Washington, Cleopatra and Marc Antony, Genghis Khan …” I could go on.

“For a moment, and nothing more,” he says.

“What is it like? What are they like?”

“Souls are different when removed from their flesh. You want their humanisms—I can’t give that to you any better than your own written histories can, though I will tell you this: George Washington was at peace when I came for him, Marc Antony and Cleopatra mourned for the lives they left behind, and Genghis Khan was grimly satisfied with his end.

“And those people we encountered back there—” he gestures behind us, “what most of them felt was shock. They had trouble processing the fact that they were dead.”

I’m fascinated by this—to be able to hear about the thoughts of people who died. My mind wanders to my own family. Naturally, grief wells up, just like it always does. But it’s a strange sort of gift to hear about their personalities continuing on, even after death.

“So,” I say, “my brothers and sisters, my mom and my nieces and nephews …”

“They were confused for a moment because their deaths came without warning or pain. After that, there was peace.”

I force down the sudden rush of emotion.

“What is it like, taking souls?” I ask, turning the subject away from my family.

Death gets real quiet, and for several moments, all I hear is the clop of the horse’s hooves.

“I blink and ages have passed,” he finally says. “The man I took only a moment ago has decayed to dust. The roads of the town I just visited have altered their paths. Round and round the wheel of time turns, faster than even I can make sense of.”

“Does it still feel like that, even now?” I ask.

There’s another long pause.

“No,” he concedes. “Being human has made me experience time much differently.” After a moment, he adds, “I used to hate it. Each minute felt like an eternity, and the only thing to punctuate the monotony of my existence was the clop of my horse’s hooves. I thought I might go mad.

“But then,” he says, his hand finding the edge of my shirt. His fingers brush the skin beneath, “things changed once I found you. Now, I am absurdly grateful when the sun takes its time setting or rising. I’ve come to savor it like I do your skin, kismet. Every minute that drags on is one more spent with you, and I cannot imagine life ever returning to the way it once was.”

My throat closes up. No one has ever spoken to me this way—as though the world only turns because I am in it—and it makes me breathless. I can barely process that Death feels that way—and that I react to it. This would be so much easier if Thanatos wasn’t also responsible for all my grief.

I press my lips together, and though my thoughts are racing, I say nothing at all, and the two of us are left to ride in uncertain silence.

We do end up finding water shortly after we enter California. My heart pounds when I realize we’ve just about hit the western edge of the United States. I’m farther from home than I ever imagined I’d be, and I’m that much closer to seeing my son again.

We’re also that much closer to the end of the world, and there are many, many people living on this side of the country. I spent all my time resenting the large swathes of barren land we crossed that I never took a moment to revel in the fact that then, there was no one for Death to kill.

The same cannot be said of the West Coast.

“What would happen if you just let people live?” I say softly. It’s an old question, but one that bears repeating.

“I cannot,” Thanatos responds, and there is true remorse in his voice. “You have your instincts, I have mine.”

After a moment, he adds, “This is the same urge Famine fights even now.”

The thought gives me goosebumps. Ben is in his care. To think that this need to kill and destroy still lingers inside him …

My breath hitches.

“Is it just Famine who feels that way?” I ask, grasping at the hope that the other brothers will temper Famine’s … instincts.

“War and Pestilence are different,” Thanatos says. “Their drives have been cleaved away from them along with their immortality. But Famine … he is still immortal.”

“Why is he still immortal?” I ask. I’ve heard enough of the story to know that he wanted to give up his purpose and his immortality. And he’s proven that he wants to stop Death every bit as much as War and Pestilence do.

“My brother tried to set aside his task for his own personal reasons,” Thanatos says grimly. “It had nothing to do with humanity, which he still wants to burn.”

Does he though? I’ve witnessed enough of Famine’s anger and resentment to believe Death, but then, I saw the unguarded way he looked at my son, and I know there’s more to that thorny horseman. I think Death knows it too.

I frown. “But if Famine believed giving up his mortality for a single human was worth it all the same, shouldn’t that still count?” That says so much about the power of love. Is it being selfish then to choose that over destruction?

Death doesn’t respond, but I don’t think it’s because he’s reconsidering. We ride for the rest of the day in silence.

That night, I wake from sleep to one single thought. The most obvious, stupid realization, one I’ve been too blind to acknowledge.

It’s not going to end.

I can hear my soft breathing, and I can feel the warm press of the horseman at my back. He hasn’t yet realized I’m awake. All around us, I can just make out the bones of the dead that follow us around. Blessedly, Shane is not one of them. Despite Death and I’s earlier vows, the man’s body was left to rot in the desert.

Things with the horseman are not going to end. Not if I want him to give up his purpose. Because the thing is, if I convince Death to turn his back on all the killing, he’s not just walking away from his task, he’s choosing me over it.

My deal with the horseman doesn’t just end with that choice. I’ve been such a fool to believe otherwise. If this works as the other horsemen hope it will—as I hope it will—then I will be spending the rest of my life with Thanatos.

My breath catches at that. I should feel horror—or at least the crushing weight of reality. Instead, warmth spreads through me. I … hadn’t anticipated a lifetime of this.

If, of course, Death picks me over his task.

And that’s a big if.

Humanity is so close to annihilation, and it doesn’t seem to matter what I do—I can kill Death over and over again, I can make love to him. But so far, none of it has been enough. I am terrified that even once I have Ben in my arms again, beautiful, frightful humanity will still fall.

And there’s another equally frightful thought that I hadn’t considered until now. Bringing Death to the horsemen’s doorstep means exposing Thanatos to the other horsemen’s wives and children. And then there’s the fact that the horsemen are coming back for me and Death. That had been their time limit.

If they find us before I’ve convinced Death to give up his task …

We’re all screwed.

My panic rising, I begin to calculate the time Death and I might have until we could run into said horsemen. It only serves to frighten me. We’ve moved slow and lingered for days at our rest stops.

In that time, Death’s brothers have surely already dropped Ben off—perhaps they’ve long since dropped him off. I don’t know how much time we have left before they close in on us.

Why did I not consider this sooner?

It wouldn’t have mattered, a small voice in my head says. The time would’ve passed all the same.

I take several deep breaths to calm my racing heart. There’s still time to change Death’s mind. He just has to pick me over his task.

He has to pick me.

My breath hitches.

At my back, the horseman’s hand moves to my hair, stroking it back.

“I’ve got you, Lazarus. It’s just a dream. It will pass,” he says, unaware that I’m awake.

I have to bite my lip. Here he is, soothing me from a bad dream in the middle of the night. And it sounds like he’s done this before—murmured sweet things to me when I’ve been restless.

I’m glad he can’t see me, this man who lies awake at my side for hours just to be close. This man who I’ve fought and killed many times and who has hurt me in return. This man who, despite it all, has chosen me over and over again.

There is no one like us.

Even now, when I think of him, I can feel that lightness within me. I’ve accepted riding with the horseman, and I’ve accepted sleeping with him. But I have never given myself permission to love him.

I’ve been so afraid of what it would mean to give him my heart if he still decided in the end to kill us all. But if I actually give in to the hope that the world won’t end, truly, I lose nothing.

So as I lay out there in the desert, our undead entourage spread out around us, I let that last wall around my heart fall.

It’s only after I’ve eaten breakfast and I’m preparing to get on Thanatos’s horse that the horseman’s earlier words echo in my head.

I am the one who can take the living and raise the dead. The one who can resurrect souls.

I pause mid-step.

The one who can resurrect souls.

I suck in a sharp breath.

My attention shifts to Death, who stands on the other side of his horse, packing up my water jug and a blanket into one of the saddle bags.

“You can resurrect people?” I ask, my voice hushed.

“Lazarus, you already know this,” he says. He doesn’t even pause in his work.

“No,” I say carefully, my skin pricking, “I know you can reanimate a person’s remains, but you said earlier that you can resurrect souls.”

That gets the horseman’s attention.

He pauses what he’s doing. After a moment, his gaze moves to me. His face is as cold and uncompromising as I’ve ever seen it.

“You can,” I breathe, reading the truth on his features.

I don’t know why, but the thought closes up my throat. Maybe it’s hope at Death’s abilities or maybe it’s resentment that he must’ve deliberately kept this from me until now. Had I not even caught the nuance, would he ever have admitted as much?

To be able to resurrect souls … That opens an entire realm of possibilities. Perhaps I don’t have to simply settle for Death giving up his task. Maybe he can also undo the damage he and his brothers have wrought.

All those people who have passed …

I could get my family back. All of them. My mother, my brothers, my sisters, their spouses and children. Even my biological parents, who were taken from me when Pestilence first rode through, perhaps they too could return …

I stride up to him and I’m desperate, so desperate. And of course this is why Thanatos never spoke about it. I grab his hand, holding it to my chest.

“The day I first met you, you had just taken over a dozen family members from me,” I say breathlessly. I can only imagine how feverish my expression must be.

Death casts me a wary glance. “And you want me to bring them all back for you,” he says.

Yes.

He’s already shaking his head. “Lazarus, you do not know what you are asking.”

“You’ve showed me every other one of your powers,” I squeeze his hand, “show me this one.”

“It is a damnable, unholy power,” Death’s voice rises. He removes his hand from mine.

“And your others are not?” I challenge. I’ve seen him kill off cities, collapse buildings, grow plants, change the weather, and raise the dead.

“No.”

“You are wrong,” I tell him fervently. “This one, this power, is a miracle.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. “You think you understand my powers better than I do?” Death says hotly. “You think I am so blinded by my purpose that I cannot see the truth for what it is?” His nostrils flare. “There is a reason life begins with birth and not resurrection. This is no miracle,” he vows.

I don’t believe him, I do think he’s blinded by his purpose.

“Please,” I say, even though it’s futile. The man who won’t spare a single city definitely won’t bring someone back from the dead.

I feel my hope splintering apart, but I won’t let this go. I won’t.

The horseman stares at me for a long moment.

“Fine,” he growls.

I open my mouth, ready to argue—

Fine?

… Does this mean he’s going to do it?

“Seriously?” It comes out as a hoarse whisper.

Death looks as incensed as I’ve ever seen him. Incensed, but resolved. “I will show you the futility of what you ask,” he says darkly.

I close my mouth, my pulse pounding so fast I feel vaguely ill.

He’s going to do it.

“Who would you like me to bring back?” he demands, the same angry gleam in his eyes.

My lips part as we stare each other down. There are so many people I could choose. My friends, my neighbors, my birth parents, my siblings.

But in the end, I choose the one person who saved me. It’s my turn to save her.

“Jill Gaumond, my mother.”

A muscle in Death’s jaw flexes. He turns on his heel and walks away from me, his boots crunching over the dead shrubbery. I stare after him, wondering if he’s unwilling to do this after all.

“Are you coming or not?” he calls over his shoulder.

Oh.

I follow him, feeling more and more uneasy with every step I take. There’s nothing out here—just miles and miles of desert brush and lonely hills. I glance around me, but all is as it always is.

Thanatos stops and holds a hand out towards the ground. He still looks angry, and the sight unnerves me. I step up next to him, unsure what’s about to happen.

Then I sense it.

My skin pricks as a cool breeze sweeps through, rustling the nearby shrubs. At our feet dirt begins to rise, creating a human-sized mound. Dirt sloughs off the mound, and the hairs along my arms rise as, out of the earth itself, the body takes shape. Hips and legs and shoulders, breasts and fingers and toes and a face.

A face.

I barely have time to care that the woman is naked before I fall to my knees next to her, a sob slipping from my lips. I can’t look away from that face—my mother’s face. One I was sure I would never see again.

For a moment, she lays there, unmoving.

Death glances over at me, his lips pressed together grimly.

And then—

My mother’s chest rises as she takes in a deep breath, and then her eyes flutter open.

“Mom.” My voice breaks, and then I’m helping her sit up, the last of the dirt slipping from her body as I do so.

I should probably give her a second, but just seeing her eyes blink and her body move—seeing her alive—I can’t help but do the one thing I’ve wanted to do since I lost her.

I hug her tightly to me.

“I love you,” I whisper. I barely manage to get the words out before I’m crying. “I’ve been so lost without you.” So, so lost. All of my long-held strength comes crashing down; I’m just a kid who needs her mom.

I feel the light, almost confused press of her fingertips against my arm. Then, next to my ear, my mom lets out a wail. The sound raises the hairs at the back of my neck.

It trails off into a whimper.

“Wh—what is this?” she whispers.

I pull away in time to see her looking at her arms and hands with spooked eyes.

A keening sound works its way up her throat. “What’s happening? Why am I here?” She reaches for her hair, then pulls on it, like she’s considering ripping it out.

“Mom,” I say, glancing frantically at Death, but he’s standing stiffly off to the side. “Mom,” I say again. I catch her hands and squeeze tightly. “It’s me, your daughter.”

To Thanatos, I say, “Can you get her a blanket?”

Without responding, he turns on his heel and heads over to his horse.

My mom’s frightened, wild eyes shift to me.

She sucks in a breath. “Lazarus.”

I press my lips together to hold back another sob, and then I’m nodding, even as tears slip down my face.

“What is going on … ?” Her words trail off into another moan, and my mom’s eyes unfocus. She pinches them shut, shaking her head as she starts rocking back and forth.

“Mom—Mom.” I’m trying not to panic, but I feel my anxiety rising. She seems so distressed. “It’s okay, I’m here.” I practically choke on the words. Just like that, I force myself to gather together my strength once more.

Behind me, I can hear Death’s boots crunching over the parched shrubs as he makes his way to us.

Wordlessly he steps up to my side, handing me a blanket.

“Thank you,” I murmur, shaking it out and wrapping it around my mother.

My mom doesn’t seem to notice. She’s still rocking back and forth, a distant, haunted look in her eyes. As I watch, she brings a hand up to her face and begins to sob.

My heart plummets as I stare at her, feeling both helpless and terrified.

I glance over my shoulder at Death. “Why is she acting like this?” I ask, my voice high and panicked.

“I already told you why,” Death says, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. “Your mother doesn’t belong here. She knows it, I know it. It is only you, Lazarus, who cannot accept that the dead do not wish to return to life.”

His words are like a physical blow.

I rotate back to my mom and place a hand on her back. “Mom. Mom,” I say. “You’re alive.”

“No,” she moans again, shaking her head and closing her eyes like she can shut out the truth.

I stare at her, aghast, something sick churning in my stomach.

“Death brought you back. He took your life unfairly,” I say.

She begins to laugh, and I think she’s lost it completely, but then she opens her eyes and they sharpen on me.

“Lazarus Gaumond, my beloved daughter, shame on you for doing this.”

For a moment, I don’t react to her words. I simply can’t. Once more I’m that lost, confused child, my heart breaking.

“Now you listen to me,” she says sounding just like her old self. My chest aches—it aches so damn bad—because this is my mom. Not the wailing creature I held in my arms, but this lively, take-no-bullshit woman. And clearly this situation has gone sideways, but only yesterday I would’ve given anything to hear her scolding me.

And now I get that.

“Whatever you have done to bring me here, you undo it.” Her eyes move to Death. “You undo it,” she repeats to him.

He stands motionless.

She turns back to me, her body trembling as though in shock. “I don’t want to be here, Laz. I lived, I loved, and I died,” she says carefully. “And you don’t get to change the rules.”

I suck in a sharp breath, and my tears, which never really stopped, are coming faster now.

She reaches out, uncaring that the blanket has slid off her shoulders, exposing her once more. She cups my face in her hand. “I love you, Lazarus. You are strong and brave and I know you have endured so much more than what should be asked of you. You do me proud. But right now baby, you need to let me go.”

“Mom,” I protest.

“My time has come and gone. Let me go, my sweet girl.”

I begin to sob, my whole body shaking. My mother pulls me in for a hug, and I can feel her own body trembling.

“Let me go,” she murmurs to me over and over, stroking my hair. “Let me go.”

And I’m sobbing in her arms and this is all I get, and I know it’s more than anyone else gets, but I still feel robbed.

Reluctantly, I begin to nod. “Okay, Mom,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

She releases me, and I rise to my feet, backing up. I suck in my cheeks and force myself to stop crying, even though tears continue to well in my eyes.

I glance over at Death. He stares back at me stoically.

Letting my gaze fall in defeat, I give him a nod.

I sense his own gaze soften on me before he turns to my mother. He doesn’t say anything, but I see the moment his power takes effect.

For an instant there’s a flicker of relief in my mom’s eyes, and then her features slacken as Death releases her. My mother’s body disintegrates before my eyes, skin and muscle and bone turning into earth once more. A gust of wind whips up, blowing it away until there is no trace of the woman who was here a moment ago.

I fall back heavily onto my ass. It feels like it was all some sort of horrible dream, but I know it happened, I know that Death called my mom here because I asked him to, and then he released her because I asked him for that as well.

I press my palms to my eyes, and suddenly, horrible, wretched sobs are falling from my lips, and I am violently crying, my entire body shaking from the effort.

I didn’t get to mourn my mother’s death—not really. I threw myself into hunting down the horseman, and it left me so little room to mourn. The only time I grieved was during those quiet hours when I traveled, but even then, it came second to my purpose: to find—and stop—Death.

Now I’m forced to relive my mom’s death all over again, and the wound of her passing cuts sharper than it did the first time.

Thanatos moves to my side, kneeling next to me. Then he’s wrapping his arms around me, holding me close just like he did the night Ben was dying. Then it was comforting, but now it mocks me. He’s the one taking all my loved ones away. I don’t want his comfort, I want him to stop.

I push Death away. “Don’t touch me,” I tell him.

The horseman frowns, but that anger that simmered beneath his skin is now gone. He looks as though he’s the one carrying the heavy burden.

“I see your pain,” he says, “and I hear it, and I don’t like it. It makes me frantic.”

I ignore him, my head bowed as I weep.

After a moment, Death stands. “Bringing the dead back—truly back—is a curse, Lazarus. I know you are grieving, but it is in vain. Your mother is in a better place.”

I pause to look up at him. “My grief is in vain?” I whisper. He’s taken my family from me and now he thinks that the one thing I have left—my grief—should go too?

I laugh at him, but I’m so angry. “How dare you say that. You don’t even know what loss is,” I say hotly, rising to my feet. “You’ve never loved anything enough to care if it goes.”

“Lazarus,” he says, his face fierce, “nothing actually goes. It transforms, but transmutation isn’t actually lost or gone at all. You were you before you had a body, and you will still be you when you no longer have one. A caterpillar might become a butterfly—and a human might become a spirit—but it is still the same essence. It has simply been transformed.

“Lazarus,” he continues, searching my face, “if you could see life as I see it, you would know it is all okay—that it will all be okay. That death is the end of suffering.”

“Life is far more than suffering,” I practically yell at him. “Why do you think we all cling to it so desperately?”

His eyes flash. “Because you know no better.”

I shake my head. “You’re wrong,” I say.

But what do I know? I have never been dead. My mom seemed to prefer it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve been fighting for the wrong side this whole time.

That’s the most chilling possibility of all.

It’s a hard morning. I feel like I have a sob stuck in my throat, and I’m angry at Thanatos, but then it’s not really him I’m angry at.

I thought I had cracked the secret to life. For a brief instant I’d even entertained the idea that perhaps I could do more than just stop the apocalypse—I could reverse it. But there’s clearly no reversing the damage the horsemen have wrought. So instead I sit in the saddle, my heart heavy.

Death holds me close, his lips brushing my temple every so often. I think he senses how close I am to fracturing apart.

Gradually we enter the eastern edge of Los Angeles, one satellite city at a time. The first thing that catches my eye are the mountains of rusted appliances and vehicles left out here in this bone dry landscape. My gaze sweeps over all of the things people lost use of once they stopped working. Every so often I see a body or two lying amongst the debris, and it’s clear that Death has already flexed his lethal powers.

We pass abandoned shopping centers and sun-beaten neighborhoods, the buildings missing windows and doors and roof tiles and whatever else people might repurpose. The landscaping around the buildings has long since died; all that’s left are the husks of trees and bushes.

The sight of it all takes my breath away.

I don’t know much about this part of the world, but I’ve heard stories about a time when this place was the seat of glamour.

I don’t see it.

Maybe it’s that time and the apocalypse have ground away at whatever beauty was once here, because all I see are collapsed overpasses, boarded up buildings, and mountains of rubble.

And corpses.

The farther into LA we move, the more I see them, littering the highway and sprawled on the sidewalk, their belongings strewn out around them. I even see one lounging on their balcony, their head slumped against their shoulder as though they’d merely fallen asleep.

That ache in my chest grows, the one that makes me feel like all of this fighting against the horseman is futile.

Tell me something that makes this all worth it.

I nearly voice the question, but what would be the point? No answer Thanatos gives will make me feel better, and no arguments I make will convince him otherwise. So I keep my mouth shut and on we ride.