Page 30 of Patron of Mercy

“It’s a magic boat,” he said, voice flat.

Lach turned to him, half smile still in place. “Sure. I told you—” His smile fell when he looked at Thanatos. “What’s wrong? I did tell you she was magic. I swear I did.”

“But your magical, size-changing boat somehow only has one bedroom,” Thanatos spat. Because nothing could ever be what it seemed when Lach was involved. A magic boat that could probably be any size, and Lach had decided that they only needed one bedroom.

Lach sighed as though he were the victim in the situation. “I know. I’m sorry. I tried, I did, but—”

“Did you really think it was going to work? That the slightest inconvenience would make me fall right back into bed with you?” Thanatos shook his head and took a step back, almost losing his balance because he wasn’t looking where he was going. Wasn’t that just what he needed—to fall off the boat and make a complete ass of himself?

Lach reached for him, eyes filled with what looked like concern, but he jerked away.

He hopped back down to the bench, where at least he was unlikely to fall overboard. “Is that all this is? A convenient chance to screw a god again? What’s wrong, Hermes not available?”

“He is, actually!” Lach exploded. “He practically offered last time I saw him.”

“Then go find Hermes.” Thanatos turned away. He should go. Where, though? He could find the pull of a soul who needed him. Or he could run. Go to a cemetery in New York and go back to see Prometheus.

There was a sigh behind him. “Thanatos. She’s magic, but she doesn’t always listen to me. I tried. I asked her to have a second cabin.” There was a thumping sound like Lach was banging his head on the side of the boat. “Why the hell do you think I’ve been sleeping on that damned bench in the mess? I’m trying not to make you uncomfortable!”

He sounded sincere.

“Thanatos?” Lach sounded small and worried, and that was strange on the obnoxious, larger-than-life pirate. “Please don’t go.”

“I need to think,” Thanatos told him, and turned to go below deck. When he got there, the closet door popped open, and there was a second cabin beyond.

Dammit.

Thanatos sighed, went into the cabin he’d been staying in, the cabin that smelled of Lach and held all the things that defined the man, and threw himself on the bed.

No Bed for Lach

Dumbfounded, Lach stood on the deck and watched Thanatos go below. The god could have disappeared in an instant with no way back. It could’ve been worse.

Or maybe he was going down to grab something he’d left behind and would be gone by the time Lach got there.

Standing there with the midday sun beating on his bare back, Lach was frozen. Helpless.

When he sighed, all the strength holding him up rushed out with his breath. He sank down onto the bench and raked his hand through his hair. It was tied back, but pieces came loose and hung around his face.

The vinyl stuck to his bare back.

“Gods damn it all.”

He dropped his head back and stared up at the bright sky. No choice but to follow.

But when he got downstairs, the first thing he saw was the second open cabin. Empty.

“So now you’ll help me,” he grumbled to Mis.

Chances were, Thanatos was already gone. And Lach was too chickenshit to go find out for himself.

Instead, he walked into the empty cabin. Innocuous and clean, Thanatos might’ve liked it better than Lach’s own room. With another heaving sigh, he sat down on the bed.

“I really fucked up,” he said to no one in particular. Maybe Mis. She needed to hear it.

This time, on this particular day, maybe the fuckup hadn’t been his own. But he’d fucked up plenty. Three thousand years ago, he’d looked Thanatos in the eye and said he didn’t want him. Because he was a dick. A complete asshole. Wrong on every possible level. And damn it, because he’d been scared.

Lach had been thirty-five, and people in his village were starting to notice that he wasn’t aging. His brother, Philon—broad and hale from their improved fortunes after Lach had killed that cow and impressed Poseidon—had started to look older than Lach ever would.

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