Page 59 of Blood & Bedlam

The whites in his eyes dim, and when he looks down at me, there’s something like pity in his gaze.

“Ah,” is all he says, before releasing my hand and taking a few steps back. “Take a walk with me?” he asks, extending his hand once more. Vlad is on his feet in an instant, vibrating with protective energy, snarling in a way that makes me melt. Thanatos doesn’t react, and he doesn’t retract his hand.

“I won’t take ’er back to the Underworld, mate, but there are things we need to discuss, just the two of us.”

Vlad’s gaze pings from Thanatos to me. I stand on wobbly legs and take a tentative step forward.

“Take my hand, luv. It’ll help,” Thanatos says, gently shaking his hand. I remember how good it felt just a few moments ago, and so I reach for him, past Vlad. The look on his face as the God of Death beckons me past him is broken, and I know he’s seeing it all over again—my dead body, Thanatos reaping me. His fingers fumble for mine, and I slow, and press a kiss to his lips on my tiptoes.

“Come back to me,” he pleads.

“Always.”

I take Thanatos’s hand in mine, let him lead me out the door with renewed energy, but I can’t resist looking back at Vladimir, seeing the pain on his face, the disheveled strands of his hair, the weakness in him from draining so much of himself to help me heal. Hermes brings a hand down on his shoulder, and rather than throwing him off, Vlad reaches for it as the door closes between us.

Thanatos is quiet as we make our way down the stairs, through the atrium, and out the double doors. The sun is warm and heavy on my skin, and I lift my face to it, basking in the glow. I take a deep breath, and for the first time since that night I don’t choke on stunted air. A smile cracks across my face as Thanatos leads me to the garden with the high hedges. The air becomes stifling the longer we walk without exchanging words, my anxiety spiking. This feels like yard time before a prisoner goes on death row. Gravel crunches underfoot as we trek around the Manor, and the balcony I fell from just beyond the one I had dinner with Vlad on.

“How bad is this going to be?” I ask, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t answer as he leads me to a small bench, and sits, waiting for me to do the same. When I do, he turns to me, making sure to keep his hand on mine.

“Remember me?” he asks, and I shake my head. “I’m the one that was sent to reap you. I pulled your soul from your body.”

“You’re the one Vladimir threatened, if you took me,” I clarify.

He laughs, sinks pearly white teeth into his bottom lip. “Aye—that he did. But it’s a funny thing, death. I didn’t kill you, luv. Your body was already gone. I just … I touch to release the soul that’s trapped. Do you understand?”

Seems simple enough.

“When we die, at least for Otherworlders or mortals, there’s a stasis of sorts, where you’re not dead, but not quite alive either. We call it the abyss, and it’s where souls wait to be reaped. It cleanses them, and if the stains can be washed, weighs them for judgment so we, the reapers, know where to take them.” His explanation has bile churning in my gut. So many died because of me. My mother. The rest of the coven. There’s no way my soul could have been cleaned.

“I didn’t pass judgment.” I sniff, holding back tears. “No, that makes sense. So, my body is rejecting me, because my soul was too fucked up to move on.”

Thanatos leans in, brushing a tear from my cheek as he shakes his head.

“No, no. That’s not what I meant at all,” he clarifies. “When you were in the abyss, your soul was weighed, and washed clean, but your body …” He glances down, but it’s not a sexual assessment. It’s a cataloging of all the ways I’m broken. “Your body was rife with dark, necrotic magic. And what your brother did, remaking this body, was done with dark magic. But this body is not yours, Reine. When Otherworlders are born, their very essence is built to sustain the magic. You were born to a mortal woman, via magical means, but this body is not a suitable vessel for the magic it’s trying to contain.”

He touches the side of his thigh to mine and releases my hand, bringing his up and holding them between us. “Your body”—he gestures to one hand—“and soul”—he jostles the other—“are at war. It’s too much for anyone to bloody take, but you’re stuck in a loop of healing and decay, in a vessel not designed to sustain divinity.” He twines his fingers together, signifying how deeply I’m fucked.

“So how am I alive?”

The God of Death shakes his head, his eyes fluttering like he doesn’t understand it either.

“The Dracul, methinks? I’ve seen many die in their lover’s arms, but what I witnessed that day …” He trails off, blowing out a low whistle. “I’ve never seen anything fuckin’ like it. Once you’re locked in the Abyss, there’s no leavin’ until you’re reaped. He pulled you back somehow.”

He regards me, and his next words strike deep.

“I’ve rarely seen anyone love that deeply. To transcend death itself?” He shakes his head. “No. It isn’t done.”

“So, what now?” I ask flatly.

“You can live this way, but every day will be agony, Reine. Your body will wake, and fight, and it won’t get better. It won’t. Besides … there’s the balance to contend with, innit?” His words trail off and I stiffen.

“What about it?” I ask, pushing more strength than I feel into my voice.

Thanatos looks pained, then glances around, ensuring we’re still alone.

“Your death was recorded. Your soul was weighed. That demands retribution. Look, we understand the situation. The other death gods and me, we feel for it. But. That balance has to stand, or we invite chaos through the gates, which threatens the souls we’re tasked with protectin’. That can’t stand.”

The urge to pull away from him is strong, but without whatever balm this connection offers, I’ll be on the ground in three steps. And what chance do I have outrunning a god?