Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
THANATOS
Thanatos led Iliana into the sunroom, where the morning sun flooded the space with amber light. A white sofa faced the windowed wall, and a modern fireplace sat off to the side.
However, it wasn’t the view or the fireplace that drew Iliana in. It was the wall of books. She gasped and moved to the shelf, trailing fingers over leather-bound spines and crisp paperbacks. She looked over the titles ranging from mystery novels to poetry, from historical texts to ancient scrolls.
Thanatos suppressed a smile at her obvious affection for books.
When she was about to remove a thick tome on world mythologies, he cleared his throat, nodding in the direction of the sofa.
“Later,” he said, amusement filling him as she reluctantly stepped away from the shelves. Thanatos started a fire in the fireplace. He turned to find her sitting on the sofa, her legs tucked under her. She stared at the sunrise, wearing a small, wistful smile.
He sat down, unable to look away from her, wanting to kiss her again. He took a moment to enjoy her peaceful presence before starting their lesson. Every second near her was proof of how deeply he desired this connection.
How had he never noticed his loneliness before?
He’d spent centuries walking among the dying, guiding them to their final rest. Gods and mortals either feared him or ignored him entirely. For ages, he’d existed like the wind, felt but unseen. Always there but never noticed.
Looking back, he could count only a few deep, meaningful relationships and wasn’t sure he was ready to form another; not after Eleni, his friend from so long ago. But now, there was Iliana. A mortal who looked at him without fear but with interest. With…trust.
He didn’t know if he wanted it to stop.
Iliana finally turned to face him, smiling sadly. “Where do we begin?”
“As long as we cover the Fates at some point, you can ask me anything.”
She laughed, leaning forward. “What exactly are your powers?”
He blinked, thrown off by her question. He’d assumed her anxiety would lead to a question about the Fates and the approaching meeting, and he grew self-conscious, unsure how much he should share.
“I know you’re a death god, but what kind?” She sounded genuinely curious, not scared.
He relaxed and leaned back against the cushions. “I lead souls to the Underworld, offering them a peaceful passage into death.”
She frowned. “Does it hurt them?”
Thanatos recognized that her question wasn’t about him but her parents. “No,” he promised. “My powers can calm those who are about to pass. I try to give them peace.”
Iliana swallowed, her eyes full of tears. “That’s incredibly kind.”
“It is not kindness. It is just who I am.”
“Well, I’m going to call it kindness, Birdman,” she said.
He chuckled, surprised by the way she coaxed out a laugh despite her pain. Her humor eased the tension, but it was short-lived.
She wiped away a tear. “Can they hear me if I talk to them?”
“It depends,” he admitted. “But most souls, if they choose to remember their past lives, can still sense the thoughts and emotions of their loved ones.”
Her breathing hitched. More tears spilled, but this time, she didn’t wipe them away. A quiet sob escaped her.
Thanatos acted on instinct, pulling her against his chest. Iliana hung onto him as grief overtook her. He said nothing. Gave her no false comfort, no empty promises. He simply held her, his hand moving in slow, steady circles along her back.
Anubis nudged into his mind, but Thanatos quickly reassured him that Iliana was fine.
Several minutes passed before she pulled away, rubbing her swollen eyes. He produced a box of tissues, and she took them.
“Thanks. I hate crying.”
He watched her closely, ready to pull her close again. “It will get easier. In time.”
Iliana swallowed thickly. “When?”
“Grief is not a race. Everyone experiences it differently.” He remembered her speaking softly to her parents this morning. “Can I make a suggestion?”
She nodded uncertainly.
“I know it may be painful, but one thing seems to help others. Embrace their memories. Keeping their stories alive ensures they are never truly gone.”
Her eyes shone with fresh tears, but determination was now mixed in with her grief. “I can do that.”
“What’s one of your favorite memories of them?”
She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. Can I answer another time?”
He only nodded, changing the conversation. “Where would you like to begin with your lessons?”
Iliana’s shoulders drooped, then curiosity lit a fire in her eyes. “First, let’s talk about the Fates. Greek mythology wasn’t covered in school,” she said and laughed. Then her eyes widened. “Should I not use the word ‘myth’?”
Thanatos smirked. “You can call them myths. We do.”
“Really? But you’re…you know. Real.”
“Most myths are not,” he said, amused by her reaction. “Mortals love to embellish. It makes better stories.”
She bit her lip, processing that. “So how much of what I’ve read is actually true?”
“Some of it. The broad strokes, usually.” He placed a hand over hers. “I do not know what you have heard about us, but you can speak freely. We will not take offense.”
“Even if I accidentally insult you by calling you myths?” she asked, her eyes playful.
His lips twitched. “We have been called worse. To most mortals, we are nothing but fables now, a way ancient humans explained the unexplainable. Call us whatever you wish.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thanks. From what I remember, there were a lot of stories about gods turning people into trees for minor offenses. Or cows. Lots of cows.”
Thanatos winced. “Some of those stories are true.”
“Seriously?” she asked.
“Maybe I should clarify. With my brother and me, with Anubis, you can be as blunt as you like. I promise we will not turn you into livestock.”
“That’s…reassuring.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“Others, however, are less lenient,” he continued, his tone more serious. “They see humans as lesser. They do not appreciate being challenged.”
“And Hermes?” she asked, her brows knitted together.
Sighing, Thanatos pulled his hand away. “I am not sure about him.”
“Not sure how?” she asked cautiously, as if she were bracing herself to hear bad news.
“He’s probably the most accustomed to dealing with humans. He’s always delivering messages and making deals.” Thanatos chose his words carefully. “He seems to like you, but I am uncertain how far that extends. He is not malicious, but…”
“But?”
“He has done things in the past that obscured the line between mischievous and cruel.”
Iliana went very still. “What things?”
“Well, he once played a trick on a mortal, redirecting him on his journey and causing him to wander lost for days. Many saw it as a harmless prank, a test of wits, while several considered it as cruel—proof of a god’s disregard for mortal suffering.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“He’s made his name causing trouble. Stealing. Playing pranks. Not all were harmless.” He paused. “Many of those acts were at another god’s command. Zeus, usually. It is not easy to refuse him.”
She absorbed that, then asked quietly, “Hypothetically, if Zeus ordered Hermes to kill me, would he?”
The question hit Thanatos unexpectedly hard, his hands curling at his sides. He didn’t want her to fear Hermes—at least not until the god proved untrustworthy.
“No, I do not believe he would.”
Iliana didn’t look reassured, so he steered the conversation toward Hermes’ better traits.
“Hermes has often been a helper to heroes such as Perseus and Odysseus. He has used his powers to resolve disputes and negotiate the release of prisoners. He’s not an evil or even a harsh god.”
She stared out the window before shaking her head. “I’ll stay cautious around him, but, weirdly enough, I feel like I can trust him.” She pursed her lips. “Even if he can be…intense.”