Chapter 42
forty-two
-Serena-
Whiro leads me downstairs, through dim-lit hallways, straight into a large wine cellar with a leather couch, an armchair, and an old phonograph.
“Have a glass of whatever you want, just don’t leave this room before I come get you. Set will kill me if anything happens to you.” He winks, knowing damn well what he’s doing. He’s talking as if Set will make it. And his confidence gives me a drop of hope.
I can’t hear anything, and I suspect the place is soundproof, so the only thing I can do is pour myself a glass of wine to calm my nerves and turn on the phonograph.
There’s already a record loaded, and an old 1920s tune starts to play.
Then another... and another... and another.
.. until I lose track. But right before I start to worry the record might end, the light goes out and a roar tears through the walls.
It only takes a few seconds before the generator kicks in, lights return, and the music resumes.
I know exactly what that was, and I can’t hold back. A few tears slide down my cheeks. I want to run to Set and see what happened. See him come back to life. But I know it might take more than one lightning strike to get him back to life. And opening this door might end mine.
I can’t stop crying, as much as I want to, and the phonograph’s needle runs on empty, but I can’t even summon the strength to get off the couch to change the record. The weight of it all is crushing me—even though I never expected things to turn out like this.
The door opens way too late for my nerves and Whiro steps inside the room. A blank expression on his face—impossible to read.
I’ve got a bad feeling it’s not good.
I don’t have the patience to wait another second. “Tell me. Tell me now.” My voice is quivering.
Still, Whiro hesitates. “Draco got the bullet. We lost him for a second. Bronte needed to bring him back. But there’s still no change. His body’s not healing. There’s not much we can do.”
“I want to see him.” I walk past Whiro, heading straight for the bedroom where I know Set is. I won’t stop until I get there. Until my arms are wrapped around him again.
But as I advance down the hall, I need to pause for a second to take in the destruction around me.
The air is thick with smoke, and as I reach the room where Set was, I notice the door’s barely hanging on, and the place’s nearly unrecognizable.
Burnt furniture. Smoldering rugs. Shattered windows. But no sign of Set.
Whiro catches up behind me. “Move,” he mutters, shooting me a glare for not waiting for him. And this time, I’m the one following him down the hall, a few rooms away.
He opens a door, and I barely glance at Draco and the woman inside the room—gorgeous, with rich chocolate skin and a presence that demands attention. I don’t care about introductions, though. All I care about is holding him—having him in my arms. Having him here with me.
I don’t know how long it's been. All I know is I’ve cried so much, my tears have run dry. It’s almost dawn when I see Draco coming to check on him. I crawl off the bed, making room for him to inspect the wound.
Whiro’s here too, holding a cup of coffee, which he hands out to me as I sink into a chair beside him. And even though I just got up from the bed, I feel like I can’t stand, especially when I look at Draco, and he doesn’t show any signs that there’s any improvement.
“Let’s go downstairs, I’ll get you something to eat,” Whiro offers, and the fact that he sounds so normal now scares me to death.
I shake my head as a no. I can’t eat. Can’t even drink this coffee. I can barely breathe.
“Okay. But you need to eat something today. Or I’m not letting you stay in this room.” Whiro threatens me, and I know he’ll follow through.
“Later,” I say, even though the concept of eating is unbearable right now.
“Just let me know what you want and I’ll—” he stops mid-sentence, his gaze sharpening with an intensity I’ve never seen before. He looks... uncomfortable. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s a glint of fear in his eyes. That’s not possible, is it?
I turn to follow his gaze, but before my eyes even reach the door, I catch the same expression on Draco’s face as well.
A tall man stands in the doorway, slowly advancing into the room.
He’s dressed all in black, but something about his clothes feels off, like they’re stuck in time.
He wears boots and jeans, but over them a long, dark, hooded overcoat.
He’s leaner than Whiro and Draco, but still dangerously attractive.
He’s magnetic in that strange, otherworldly way I can’t explain—like a dark aura clings to him.
Every god I’ve met carried this darkness, but his is on another level.
Draco steps aside, making room for the man, careful to get out of his way as soon as possible. The stranger advances towards Set, his every step like a premonition that something bad is about to happen.
Dread coils in my gut, but I need Whiro to confirm it. “Who is that?” I whisper, urgency in my voice. Still, he stays silent. “Who is that?” I press, my voice rising. He must know I’m not letting this go.
He signals for silence. “Thanatos,” he whispers—like dropping the name alone at me might calm me down.
But I know that name. I know what Thanatos means.
“Death?” I ask, and the look in Whiro’s eyes confirms it.
He steps in closer to me, like he wants to quiet me, not to draw attention.
The fuck I’m not going to draw attention.
“No!” I scream at Death itself, rushing toward the bed to get to Set.
“No!” I scream again as Whiro grabs at me, and Draco blocks my way while Thanatos seems to ignore me completely.
“It’s his decision. Stand back.” Draco warns, but I fight Whiro, struggling to escape his grip. I fight him so hard, I almost break free.
“No! He’s mine! I won’t let you have him!” I scream, maddened with pain. Set wanted me to be strong for myself. Now I’m strong for him, and I’ll fight Death itself if that means I get to keep him.
At least I’ve got Thanatos’ attention now. He turns to look at me, intrigued that a mortal dares to challenge him.
“She’s maddened with grief,” Draco explains, trying to push me out of the room while I claw at him to stay.
“Let her,” Thanatos says, his dark eyes fixed on me. “Fascinating,” he chants, gazing at me from head to toe. “You two. Out.” he gestures at Draco and Whiro, and my blood freezes as I can see Whiro step in front of me.
“I won’t let you harm her,” he growls, a dangerous note in his voice.
“You couldn’t stop me if I wanted to.” Thanatos grunts. “But to ease your mind, I won’t. Now get the fuck out.” He snarls like it’s a final threat, and Whiro backs off, even if I know he’s burning inside.
I don’t think anyone talks to Whiro like that. Ever!
“You’re afraid I’ll take him, aren’t you?” Thanatos asks as soon as we’re alone in the room.
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I fire back, louder than I mean.
“I haven’t made up my mind,” he says. “Gods don’t operate on human timelines. I don’t know when they’re supposed to be gone... or not.”
“So it’s up to you?” My voice is quivering, giving my anxiety away.
“He’s hanging by a thread, so I’d say yes, it’s up to me in a way.” He says, but his words are too calculated, too placed there with intention, as if he’s waiting for something.
“Then please let him stay,” I beg of him.
For a few seconds, he says nothing, and the silence is like punishment.
“You know I've always seen mortals love gods. That’s human nature. But a god truly loving a mortal. That’s pretty rare.”
“How do you know he—” I don’t get to finish my question before Thanatos cuts in.
“Loves you?” he finishes for me. “Our family would never have let you in here if he didn’t.
” He chants, and I realize why he calls them family—he’s one of them.
He’s an entity as well. “I find it fascinating. Something to stop the loneliness... How is that even possible?” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice, like he’s felt it too—this craving to belong.
Strands of jet black hair fall over his eyes, a stark contrast to his pale complexion. He’s beautiful in a way that feels untouched, unreachable, and I can’t help but wonder... how it is that he didn’t find this until now? What Set and I have.
“It must be hard...” I murmur. “Only taking, never giving. That could change a person.”
“I’m not a person,” he replies, looking at me with strange curiosity, like part of him believes there’s some truth to my words.
“Okay... it might even change an entity.” I didn’t expect to feel sorry for him, but I do. Because no matter how powerful Set or his brothers are, none of them carry the weight Death does.
“So you’re saying I should take now?” he asks, glancing at Set.
“No, please!” I beg, stepping closer to the bed. “I’ll give you anything.”
He almost smiles, slightly amused, and I could swear there is a certain envy in his eyes as he looks at Set and then at me.“That’s not a smart idea... to promise ME anything.”
“You said he’s family. Maybe take that into account,” I offer, playing a different card.
“I can’t choose between family and who I am. That’s not how it works,” he trails off with a deadly stillness. “But you’re brave. I’ll give you that. Or maybe just reckless, I haven’t decided yet,” he adds, taking a step toward Set.
“No,” I cry out, hoping he’ll have mercy on me.
“Death waits for no man,” he says, the words drifting into the air. “But he’s no man, is he?” he lets out a faint smile, then turns and walks to the door—not before saying something I have a feeling will mark our existence. “You both owe me now.”
The second Thanatos is gone, I wrap my arms around Set, and curse myself for letting go of him earlier. I won’t sleep. Won’t eat. Won’t drink until I know he’s safe.
Only a moment passes until Whiro bursts in, probably to check if I’m still alive. Draco also follows close behind.
“Is he... still with us?” Whiro asks, glancing at Set, and judging by the tone of his voice, he’s unsure of what answer he might receive.
“Y… yes,” I murmur, my face buried against Set’s side, ready to stay there as long as it takes.
I hear Draco gathering a few books and leaving the room, but I don’t move, and judging by the steps, I think Whiro must’ve left too, a while ago.
Evening creeps in. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, but I refuse to close them anyway. Too afraid I’ll wake up and he’ll be gone. I know Death said he won’t take him. But I also know gods are tricky, I don’t want to test if that runs in the family.
I don’t know how it happens, but I fall asleep anyway.
I’m even dreaming of us. Nothing decent, of course.
And I wouldn’t want it any other way. But beyond everything—beyond the fire burning within him, the long hours where a god worships me, sending pleasure through my body over and over again, beyond the way he makes me feel special and protected—what I love most is when he holds me.
When all we have is madness around us, and we can still manage to find peace in an embrace.
The way he pulls me to his chest, even that damn leg occasionally throws over me pressing me into the mattress—that’s the part I love most. When it’s just us.
So, I stay in that dream, my head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and the soft play of his fingers in my hair.
Over and over again. It feels so real. So real that I’m starting to think it’s not a dream anymore.
My eyes snap open, and the fingers are still there—still playing in my hair.
“Set…. Set you’re awake.”