Page 29 of The Death God
Gregory smiled, showing a little bit of fang. Deliberately, Thanatos had no doubt.
“I’m over it.”
“Yeah, right. As soon as one of us predicts something, you get snippy.” Thanatos bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to say that.
“I do not. I ask Minerva and Prophecy to predict things all the time.”
“Oh…So I’m the only one who makes you snippy? Because I see death?”
Something flashed in Gregory’s eyes. He’d say it was anger, which often meant fear. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re scared of me.”
“You’re human. Weak and fragile. A blip on my timeline.” The words were toxic.
“Yeah.” He got off the chair on the opposite side of Gregory, so he couldn’t easily grab him.
“Thanatos—”
“I think we’ve learned enough about each other for one day.”
“Thanatos—”
“Good night, Gregory. Sleep well.”
He didn’t rush toward his room, but he walked a little faster than he normally did. He wouldn’t call the ache in his chest hurt exactly. He was nothing to Gregory, and he didn’t want to be more than a blip on his timeline. Prolonging his life had never been something he’d dreamed of doing; the opposite, if he was being honest. Though life had taken a new turn, and he enjoyed the castle.
What hurt, if he was going to use that word, was Gregory thinking he was insignificant. He was. No one had ever cared about him, no one had ever cherished him, no one had ever wondered how he was doing or wished to spend time with him. Unless they booked a private session. But it wasn’t spending time with him, it was spending time with a shell of someone.
Maybe it was the drink making him melodramatic. He had liked the drink. There was a heavy warmth in his limbs, and he understood why Gregory wanted a drink in the evening.
He stretched out on the bed, fully dressed.
Chapter 11
When Gregory woke the next morning, it was later than normal, and the scent of freshly baked bread had snaked its way into his room. He groaned and blinked at the ceiling.
He was a fucking idiot.
They had three days before they were to show up at Alaric’s pack house, and he’d ruined what little trust he’d built with Thanatos. He’d opened up a little, had told Gregory a few things about himself, and then Gregory had stomped on them and told him he was weak and fragile and…insignificant when the reality was he’d never meet anyone like Thanatos again even if he lived to be a millennium.
He flung the cover off and got dressed. Everyone but Thanatos was in the kitchen, breakfast was on the table, and there were no dishes on the counter. He’d put his and Thanatos’ glasses next to those Minerva had left there.
Rufus raised an eyebrow at him when he sat on the chair and reached for a ciabatta, only to still and look at the others. “It’s ciabatta.”
“Yeah.” Rufus raised his coffee cup to his lips.
“Doesn’t it take hours to make?”
Rufus nodded.
“Fuck.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Prophecy looked down at his plate with a half-eaten sandwich.
“Nothing’s wrong with it.” Gregory hadn’t tasted it, he didn’t know if anything was wrong with it, but he had a hard time believing there would be. “It takes a long time to make, which means Thanatos can’t have slept.”
Prophecy shrugged. “He never sleeps. Trust me, I’ve lived with him for thirty years. He naps, but he never really sleeps.” He bit into the sandwich as if everything was as it should be.
“Why?” Gregory piled things on his plate.
