Chapter 18 #2
‘I wish he would give me just one more chance. But he’s right. I can’t truly love him if I don’t give him a chance to show me who he truly is.’ Her thoughts are like cold water down my spine, a reminder that whatever is happening between us isn’t real. It can never be.
“In here,” I say, more gruffly than intended, pushing through an unmarked door that appears to be part of the wall.
The hidden room beyond is circular, with bookshelves reaching from floor to ceiling. The air is thick with preservation spells—invisible to her, but to me they shimmer like heat waves, ancient wards that have kept these texts intact for centuries.
“What are we looking for?” Mackenzie whispers, her eyes wide as she takes in the room.
“Her.” I tip my head in the direction of a small, stout girl four bookcases down, her glasses shimmering in the dim light.
I watch Mackenzie’s eyes follow my gesture, widening when she spots the figure hunched over ancient texts.
The girl doesn't look up, completely absorbed in whatever she’s reading.
She’s dressed in mismatched layers—a brown cardigan over a vintage band T-shirt paired with a skirt made of tweed fabric.
Her hair is tied back with a big black bow, a pencil stuck through it.
“No,” she gasps. “Daxton, please. No, not her.”
Eliza DeLaurentis is from one of the most illustrious families on the East Coast. She was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, which landed her square in the middle of my design.
She is the one Mackenzie never saw, the one that slipped through her vision because she died three minutes after her at twelve forty-nine.
Death doesn’t care how much money you have, your legacy, or even if your family pledged its mortal souls to a deity that they know nothing about… When death calls time, you surrender.
Stories don’t end where you think they do, and Eliza DeLaurentis may have been the one to crack the code… Now, we’ll never know.
“If not her, then who, Mackenzie?” Her eyes meet mine as tears begin to brim in them. “Who would you have me take in her place?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers, and the tears that had been threatening to spill finally do. “I don’t know, Daxton.”
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for—the crack in her resolve.
Every mortal breaks eventually when faced with the true weight of my existence.
I’ve seen it countless times, that moment when they realize there is no fair answer, no moral high ground when death is concerned. Only necessity and consequence.
“Exactly,” I say, my voice softening despite myself. “You don’t know because there is no right answer. Death is not a choice, Mackenzie. It’s an inevitability I merely facilitate.”
Eliza hasn’t noticed us yet. She’s too engrossed in her research, fingers tracing ancient symbols on yellowed pages.
I step closer to the oblivious girl still hunched over her books.
Eliza DeLaurentis, with her whole life mapped out before her—prestigious internships, family connections, a future written in gold.
None of it matters now. In mere moments, she’ll be another soul in my ledger, a name crossed off the list of the living.
“Eliza,” Mackenzie whispers, stepping forward. I catch her arm, holding her back.
“Don’t,” I warn. “You cannot interfere.”
“But—”
“This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it? How I work? The mechanics of death?” My voice is low, steady, despite the turmoil inside me. “Watch, then. Bear witness, and afterwards tell me if I’m the monster you think I am.”
Mackenzie’s shoulders slump in defeat, but her eyes never leave the girl.
I can feel her thoughts battering against my consciousness—desperate plans to create a distraction, to warn Eliza somehow.
But she knows it’s futile. She’s learning the hardest lesson of all—even with her gift, she cannot stop what is meant to be.
I approach Eliza silently, moving as I always do—unseen until the final moment so as not to prolong her fear, or her suffering.
As I place a hand upon her shoulder, she finally sees me, but before she has the time to scream, I shift time for her, slowing the seconds to a crawl.
It’s not something I do often—bending the laws of nature costs more than most understand—but I want Mackenzie to see this clearly. To understand.
“Eliza,” I say gently.
The girl looks up, blinking owlishly behind her glasses. “Yes? Do I know you?”
“Not yet,” I tell her, “but we have an appointment.”
Eliza’s eyes widen, lips parting in shock. But no sound emerges. I catch her as she slumps forward, her soul separating from her body with a whisper rather than the violent wrench some experience. Her death is gentle—an aneurysm that bursts without warning, painless and swift.
“That’s it?” Mackenzie’s voice is hollow behind me. “She just…dies?”
I cradle Eliza’s soul—a luminous, ephemeral thing that most mortals never see. In death, souls reveal their true nature. Hers glows with a soft amber light, pulsing with confusion but not fear. Not yet.
“Yes,” I answer simply. “Most deaths are unremarkable, Mackenzie. The universe rarely grants dramatic last words or meaningful goodbyes.”
Eliza’s soul brightens as recognition dawns. I’ve seen this moment countless times—the confusion giving way to understanding.
“Am I…?” she asks, her voice echoing strangely in the space between worlds.
“Yes,” I tell her gently. “It was quick. You didn’t suffer.”
Behind me, I hear Mackenzie’s breath catch. I don’t need to turn around to know she’s covering her mouth, trying to hold back a sob.
“But I was just…” Eliza’s soul flickers with distress, memories of life still fresh. “My research…my family…”
“I know.” I cradle her essence carefully, feeling her warmth against my palms. “Everyone leaves things unfinished.”
Mackenzie steps closer, her presence warm against my back.
I can feel her peering over my shoulder at the luminous soul in my hands.
For most mortals, souls are indistinct, formless energy.
But to me, each has its own unique signature, as recognizable as a face or voice.
Eliza’s burns with intelligence and ambition, tinged with regret.
“What happens now?” Eliza asks, her soul pulsing with uncertainty.
“Now I take you where you need to go,” I tell her, the words as ancient as my existence.
I sense Mackenzie behind me, holding her breath. This is the part she’s never seen—the gentle transition, the care I take with gentle souls. The milliseconds between each transition, that are ours alone.
“Will it hurt?” Eliza’s soul dims slightly with apprehension.
“No,” I promise. “It’s like falling asleep after a long day. The hardest part is already over.”
I cup my hands around her essence, feeling her warmth. With a whisper in a language older than time, I open a doorway to the Between—not quite the Underworld, but a threshold where souls can rest before their final journey. A soft golden light spills from this opening, warm and inviting.
Eliza’s soul brightens in response, drawn to the light like a moth to flame.
“It’s beautiful,” Eliza whispers, her essence stretching toward the glow. “I didn’t expect it to be so beautiful.”
I nod, though she can barely see me now as she’s drawn deeper into the transition. “Most don’t.”
Her soul pulses once more—gratitude, I’ve learned to recognize—before it dissolves into the light, crossing the threshold between worlds. The room feels colder in her absence. It always does.
When I finally turn to Mackenzie, her face is streaked with tears, but there’s something else in her expression. Something I wasn’t expecting. Not disgust or horror, but…wonder.
“You were gentle with her,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I meet her gaze steadily. “Oftentimes, I am. If the soul is as kind as hers, there is no need to cause suffering—not every death is the same.”
Without a word, I turn on my heels, making sure to leave Eliza in a way that she deserves.
I won’t bury her where her family can’t find her.
I leave her along the lake somewhere that everyone knew she frequented, a book clutched in her palm.
Come morning, her boyfriend will find her, he will mourn, and her family will hold a beautiful ceremony in her honor.
Mackenzie follows me, trailing a few steps behind. I can feel the weight of her gaze on my back, heavy with questions.
“That’s not what I expected,” she calls after me.
I keep walking, letting the night air seep into my bones like frost creeping across a windowpane.
Being warm again after all these centuries has been an experience I thought I wouldn’t ever know again, but some things never change.
Death clings to me like a perfume—not the cloying sweetness of decay that humans imagine, but something ancient and elemental, like water after a millennium-long drought.
Invisible to most, but unmistakable to those who know what to look for.
“What did you expect?” I finally ask, pausing at the edge of the tree line as her body sits peacefully on one of the wooden park benches in front of me, just where I moved her in my mind.
The lake before us shimmers under moonlight, a silver mirror reflecting the cosmos.
This is where Eliza will be found—peaceful, her fingers still marking the page of Shelley’s Frankenstein, as if she simply drifted off mid-sentence.
Mackenzie stops a few feet behind me, her breath forming ghost-like clouds in the night air. “Something…cruel. Not someone who whispers comforts and creates golden doorways that look like sunrise breaking through cathedral glass,” she says, awe settling into her tone.
I almost smile—a real, genuine smile—at that, feeling the muscles in my face strain against the expression, unused after centuries of solemn duty.
“Humans have been telling stories about me since they first understood their own existence—painting me with scythes, black robes, skeletal grins—that’s not all I am.
I can be cruel when souls demand it…but just like any being you know, I am a victim of circumstance, shaped by the weight of endless fatalities. ”
“Daxton—” she starts.
“Thanatos.” My name—my true name—slips out before I have time to process what I’ve said.
“What?”
“My name—it’s not Daxton. It’s Thanatos.” The truth is, I do want her to know me, the real me. It's a small thing, but it’s something I’ve never shared with another mortal…not even Monroe.
I turn to face her, parted lips. “It wouldn’t be fair to be mad at you for not knowing me, when I’m holding back too. So, let’s start over.” I hold out my hand for her to shake, and surprisingly, she takes it without any hesitation. “Hi. I’m Thanatos, God of the Dead.”
“Nice to meet you, Thanatos.” Hearing my name roll off her tongue perfectly is better than anything I could have imagined. If I thought I was warm before, my body is on fire now. “I’m Mackenzie. But some people call me Lady Death.”
My heart stutters in my chest; I try to speak, but no words come out…
And so the creature has found his bride.