Page 28 of Patron of Mercy

With a single slow nod, Thanatos confirmed it. A slow smile crept across Lach’s face.

“Can I get you anything? Saltines? How are you feeling?” Lach asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Right. Well, holler if you need anything. Good night, Thanatos.”

“Good night, Lach.”

Though Lach slipped out into the main area to sleep again on the uncomfortable dining table bench, he pulled a blanket over himself, knowing that he had a tomorrow to look forward to, and another chance to prove himself.

A Messy Mess

After Lach fell asleep, Thanatos sneaked past him up to the deck.

Part of him felt guilty that the man was sleeping on the bench in the kitchen, but why had he invited Thanatos along if he didn’t have a place for them both to sleep? It would have been much more convenient to meet in Greece.

Unless, of course, Lach had intended for them to be sharing the bed.

His stomach twisted into knots, and this time it wasn’t because of the rolling of the ocean. That nausea was still there, but a mere twinge compared to the misery of the previous night. No, now he was worried that the whole point of this trip was sex.

It wasn’t that Thanatos didn’t like sex.

He loved sex. He had loved sex with Lach especially.

Thanatos didn’t fall in lust easily or constantly like some of his brethren, chasing after every passingly attractive human he met. They had to catch his attention some other way—like being the man who refused to die, no matter how many times Thanatos felt the pull to retrieve his soul. The man who, every time Thanatos arrived to take him to Elysium, gave a cocky grin and a “thanks but no thanks, no matter how handsome you are.”

Eventually, he had become the person Thanatos spent the most time with. It had felt almost inevitable the first time Lach had gone into a graveyard and summoned him without the near-death experience. The first time the human had dropped to his knees and offered to “worship” at the altar of the god of death.

The time they had spent together had been incredible in every way, and even now, imagining Lach on his knees before him made that familiar heat rise in his groin. Lach had always joked that it was as close as he came to worshipping a god, getting on his knees for Thanatos. Thanatos had always thought that if he could imagine worshipping anything, it would be in those transcendent moments when Lach loved—

When Lach had cared about him.

He sighed and stared off at the ocean. It was almost impossible at night to see the differentiation between land and sea. It was just a mass of darkness, lit only by the scattering of twinkling stars and the sliver of the new moon. In this context the rocking of the boat became comforting, reminding him that he wasn’t adrift among the stars but grounded on the earth.

A tiny, hesitant part of him acknowledged that he could see why Lach loved it. It was truly beautiful.

Lach came up the stairs as the sun crested the horizon, painting the sky, and his face, in gold. Chaos, the man was beautiful. Like no other man Thanatos had ever known.

He rubbed his eyes and gave Thanatos a sleepy smile that made his heart ache. “Didn’t feel like sleeping?”

Thanatos shrugged. “It was nice out, and I lost track of time.”

“Easy to do,” Lach agreed, sliding onto the bench next to him. They stared out at the red-orange horizon in silence for a while. That was new. The old Lach would never have managed to stay quiet for more than a minute or two at a time. Apparently he’d gained a little patience somewhere between the millennia.

“So, breakfast?”

But not too much patience. Thanatos smiled to himself. “Sure. That melon was lovely. Or are we on sea rations now? Hard tack?”

Lach snorted. “Sailing’s not really like that these days. I mean, sure, after a few days without land, the fresh produce runs out, but it’s not all dry biscuits and kegs of wine.” His expression went distant and thoughtful. “In the old days, we even baked bread. Not sure when they stopped doing that.”

Thanatos suspected it had something to do with social status or voyage length, but in so many things, he had merely been an observer to human history. Like the smartphone he carried but couldn’t say how it worked—he didn’t have time to understand everything.

“Afraid my skill set doesn’t stretch to baking bread, though, sorry. I’ve got oatmeal.” He frowned, bit his lip, and glanced to the side. “And I think there’s some melon left, if you don’t mind it.”

Mind it? Thanatos was confused. Had his moan of pleasure or request for more gone unnoticed the day before? “I definitely don’t mind it. It’s delicious.”

Lach brightened. “Sweet. I’ll get on it, then.”

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