Page 52 of Patron of Mercy

Thanatos sighed and leaned in to press his lips to Lach’s forehead, briefly, before pulling away and standing.

Lach opened his mouth to protest, but Thanatos felt the barest hint of a tug. It was so weak he was sure the dying mortal was more than capable of finding their own way, but it would be better for everyone if Thanatos left Lach to get some sleep.

“I have to do some work,” he said, trying to pretend he didn’t see Lach’s face fall. Still, he mumbled, “Sorry. Try to get some sleep, okay?”

Lach glared at him and started to say something about how he didn’t need any sleep, but he was cut off by a huge yawn. He glared even harder, as if Thanatos had caused it. If only he could, his life would be so much easier, but that trick belonged to Thanatos’s brother Hypnos.

“I’ll be back in a while,” he promised, and before Lach could protest any further, he turned and let the thread pull him away.

A Gold Watch

Sleep came too easily once Thanatos disappeared. It’d be great to blame it on some kind of godly influence, but truth was, getting shot was work. The panic, the tension in every muscle, coming down from the adrenaline rush—all of it left Lach’s human body completely wiped, and the pillows propping him up were so soft.

He slept fitfully without Misericordia’s gentle rocking beneath him. In his dreams, he imagined the attack. More than once, he jerked awake with the sense he was falling, gravity losing its pull like it had as Mis tipped over.

However fitful, a couple hours of sleep did him well. He woke to the sound of the door opening.

Blinking his eyes open, he expected to see Thanatos there. Wasn’t like he could appear in the inn’s bedroom unless Lach, like, worshipped him. Maybe if Lach prayed, but he hadn’t been able to do that since finding out the gods could hear him. Always felt like asking too much.

It wasn’t Thanatos at the door, but Hermes with a pile of clothes slung over his arm.

“Was that unlocked?” Lach asked.

Hermes smirked. He was handsome—’course he was—most of Zeus’s children were startlingly attractive. Golden-hued and perfect, they darted around the world stacking up conquests.

Thanatos was the opposite—lovely brown with honey eyes and endless patience. Though strong, he wasn’t a conqueror. The first time Lach had seen him on that beach, having nearly drowned, he had thought Thanatos was the sort of god he’d have to beg for mercy. Instead, all he’d ever had to do was ask for what he needed. Sometimes he didn’t even have to ask. When Philon had gotten sick, Lach had told Thanatos to fuck off entirely, thinking that might stay the fate that came for his little brother. Instead, Thanatos had returned with help, had healed Philon.

He was kind when Lach hadn’t been. Yielding when Lach needed to feel in control. And all the while, sad, because Lach couldn’t appreciate him the way he ought to have appreciated him.

As Lach’s fingers twisted in the blankets, Hermes scoffed. “No. You think I need a key to pick a lock?”

Lach arched a brow at him. “Depends on the lock.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Hermes challenged. “God of thieves. They haven’t invented a lock that can get in my way.”

In any case, the wooden door was old, and the burnished hardware looked original. The lock was simple. Easy to break into, if Lach were afraid of that sort of thing.

“They haven’t invented a Lach, huh?” He snickered.

“Shut up,” Hermes griped. “Where’s Thanatos?”

“Dunno. He said he needed to work.”

“He left you right after you got shot?”

Lach didn’t like the way that Hermes’s brows were creeping up toward his hairline. Thanatos had to work; it didn’t have to mean anything. “He wanted me to rest. You’ve seen him. How much sleep do you think I’d have gotten if he stayed?”

Hermes laughed—a puff of a breath. “Forgive me if I don’t buy that Thanatos is incapable of controlling himself.”

“He can. I can’t.”

“Fair enough.” He crossed the room and unloaded the clothes at the end of Lach’s bed.

“What’s all that?”

“Well, you said you needed trousers. Unless you’re in the mood to walk around Santorini naked but for a pair of salt-crusted sweatpants?”

“Probably not the best look,” Lach admitted.

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