Chapter 59
Chapter fifty-nine
THANATOS
Thanatos wanted to kill Hermes. Not for taking Iliana back to the Underworld. Not even for failing to stop her from touching the Lethe.
He wanted to remove the smile from Hermes’ face for daring to joke when Thanatos’ world had just been ripped away.
But it wasn’t really Hermes he was angry at. Not truly.
It was himself.
He’d left Iliana in that yurt, convinced it was safe. He’d warded everything else. Why hadn’t he considered danger from below? He’d left her vulnerable because he’d been too confident in his own abilities.
And now she wouldn’t remember him.
Self-loathing built with each breath. She wouldn’t remember the freedom of flight. The peace they’d shared. The first time he’d let his walls fall when they kissed—or the way she’d said his name as if it belonged to her.
As if he belonged to her.
All of it was gone. Because of him.
When Hermes joked, masking his own pain, he became an easy target. Lashing out at him wouldn’t restore her memories or erase Thanatos’ failures.
Instead of attacking him, Thanatos sat next to Iliana, memorizing her face and the rise and fall of her chest.
I will help you remember, love. I swear it.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and Thanatos gently wiped it away.
She was unconscious, but some foolish part of him wanted to believe it meant something. That somewhere deep inside, a part of her still knew him.
The bed shook lightly, and he looked up to see that Anubis had taken his jackal form and curled up at her feet. He met Thanatos’ gaze with soft, sorrowful eyes.
“We will get her back, Ani.” The promise felt meaningless even as he made it.
Anubis huffed, unimpressed and unconvinced.
Thanatos lay next to Iliana, surrounded by her cinnamon scent. He let himself believe everything was normal—that she’d wake up any moment and turn toward him with that sleepy, unguarded smile.
He glanced at Hermes, seeing the other god’s arms wrapped possessively around Iliana’s waist, his face buried in her hair. Hermes felt the loss, too. Thanatos’ fury cooled. They were all drowning in the same loss, each clinging to her in their own desperate way.
Hypnos remained in the doorway, a dark cloud of grief. He’d watched Iliana nearly die at the hands of a goddess he’d once loved. Now, because of her, Iliana wouldn’t remember them.
“Hyp. I need you.”
Thanatos never begged, but he did now. He needed Hypnos to keep Iliana asleep, to protect her from the curse. He couldn’t lose her to it. Not after losing her already.
He felt Hypnos’ resistance, terror, and choking guilt. His brother didn’t want to face what his ex-wife had done or believe he deserved to protect Iliana after failing her.
Despite this, Hypnos entered, each step slow and deliberate. He sat behind Thanatos, resting his back against the headboard and stretching his legs out. He still didn’t touch her.
“She needs you,” Thanatos said quietly.
It was the truth.
Doubt and self-loathing flooded the bond as Hypnos lifted his hand, hesitating, then rested it on her head.
Iliana sighed softly.
Every god froze, waiting to see if she’d wake.
Her features softened as she breathed steadily. Her sigh seemed like an acknowledgment, proof that something still connected them to her, even if only easing the curse.
Anubis spoke in their minds, quietly and with certainty. “After this curse is broken, we should consider returning her to her life. Free of gods. Of monsters. Of us. It may be the only way to keep her safe.”
He knew it hurt Anubis to say those words. His logic was cold and made sense, but he knew he couldn’t abide by it.
Thanatos forced himself to respond. “When the curse is broken, Iliana will decide. Even without her memories, she has the right to choose her future.” He looked at each of them. “No one should force her hand.”
The words weren’t just for Anubis. They were also for himself, Hermes’ possessiveness, and Hypnos, whose hand tensed in her hair at the thought of letting her go.
She deserved the choice, even if that choice was to leave him. Them.
I’ll never be far, Iliana. Even if you do not remember. Even if you do not choose me.
She might never remember him. Might never love him, or look at him the same way.
He would love her.
Always.