Chapter Sixty #2
‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ she snapped.
‘Or I might poke you with this.’ She gestured sharply with the blade, but Thanatos merely chuckled.
His hand was still wrapped around her arm, his pale fingers firm against her skin.
Mal noticed it and, judging by the sudden flicker in his expression, so did he.
He released her at once and cleared his throat.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded as she turned back towards the tables where she had left Wren. ‘I told you to stay behind in case Persephone—’ She stopped mid-sentence when she saw the tension settle along his jaw.
‘She knows I’m here,’ Mal finished with a curse.
‘She does.’
Mal swore under her breath again. The words grew harsher when she reached Wren’s table and found it empty.
Spinning around, she searched the room, her gaze darting across the bodies, the tables, the lounging souls, but there was no sign of her friend.
‘There are back rooms,’ Thanatos said quietly, his voice brushing close to her ear.
‘Do I want to know what those are?’
‘Probably not.’
Mal ignored the trace of amusement in his voice. ‘Lead the way.’
He guided her to one side of the room where a narrow door stood half concealed. Beyond it stretched a long corridor lined with arches. Each opening revealed a small chamber—beds draped in silk, bodies tangled together upon them in languid indulgence.
‘I doubt Wren would be here,’ Mal muttered when they reached the end of the hallway.
She paused beside an empty archway, her attention drifting from the vacant bed to the silken sheets rumpled across it.
Thanatos touched her arm, and her entire body stiffened at the contact.
‘Don’t do that,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ His voice brushed so close to her ear that the tension in her muscles only deepened.
‘Because—’
She froze.
His lips had brushed, fleeting and warm, against the curve of her neck. The sensation jolted her back to herself, and she spun around sharply, her eyes narrowing.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Making you mine.’
‘I’m not yours, Thanatos.’
‘But you are.’
His hands curled into fists at his sides, clenching and unclenching as though he were struggling against some unseen torment.
He looked as though he truly was in pain.
A part of Mal felt an unexpected urge to ease the anguish she saw burning in his dark eyes, but another part of her wanted him to suffer for every lie he had ever told.
‘You’ve always been mine,’ he said quietly.
‘And I’ve always been yours. You just don’t remember.
’ His gaze held hers, unwavering. ‘But I do. I remember every inch of you, even when you wore a different body. I remember every dream and every nightmare you’ve ever had.
I remember every fight we’ve shared and the way we would fuck afterwards to make up.
’ His voice softened, heavy with something ancient.
‘I remember your soul. I remember you, Melinoe.’
Mal did not push him away when he reached for her, when his hand slid to the back of her neck and drew her closer. She did not resist when their lips met, nor when his tongue slipped into her mouth. She did not protest when her sword was set aside and he guided her gently down onto the bed.
Mal watched as Thanatos slowly removed his black garments.
His movements were swift, almost hurried, as though he feared the fragile moment between them might shatter if he lingered too long.
Yet this time there was no spell clouding her mind, no subtle corruption of Hell tugging at her desires.
Mal was the God-Killer now; the sins of Hell could no longer ensnare her.
And still, she did not rise from the bed.
Her purple eyes travelled across the stark lines of his body—the sculpted strength of him, the pale skin that resembled carved marble.
Dark veins traced their way along his arms like ink spilt beneath the surface.
She ignored the quickening rhythm of her breath when he stood naked before her.
Her hand resting against his chest reminded her once more that his heart did not beat.
Strangely, she did not mind.
She watched him lower himself to her feet, pressing slow kisses against her ankles and the length of her legs as he moved upward. With each lingering touch he pushed her dress higher and higher until, at last, he slipped the fabric away entirely.
Then he paused.
He stood there looking at her, utterly captivated.
He did not speak.
He did not need to.
He reached for her breasts, his hands firm as his mouth closed around her nipples, drawing soft gasps from her.
His teeth grazed her skin, her stomach and her arms, leaving faint marks in their wake, small reminders etched into her flesh as though to claim what had always been his.
As though to declare to the world that they had come first.
Slowly he guided her legs apart.
His fingers traced the entrance of her body, testing the warmth there, making certain she was ready for him. He brought those fingers to his mouth and tasted them, a quiet, satisfied nod following.
Then, with unhurried intent, he positioned himself between her thighs, his cock swollen with the weight of his desire.
He eased himself into her with deliberate slowness.
Mal gasped the moment he filled her, the sensation sending a tremor through her entire body. He continued inch by inch, pushing deeper with maddening patience until at last he was completely inside her.
His mouth found her ear first, teeth grazing the delicate curve before moving to her jaw, then lower to her neck where his breath warmed her skin.
And then, so slowly she almost cried out in frustration, he withdrew.
He repeated the movement again.
And again.