Page 64 of Touch of Death
“Of course,” Death says, slipping back into his shadows, as if being near me is the last thing he wants. My heart clenches at this thought, but I refuse to allow tears to fill my eyes.
It’s better this way. It’s better to know now to prepare myself for returning to my life before Death.
I curl up on the far side of the bed, closing my eyes as I wait for dawn to finally break. All too slowly, the darkness fades, and I slip from bed.
The moment my feet touch the floor, Eros sits up. I watch as he rubs the sleep from his eyes before shooting a half-grin my way.
“Come back to bed,” he says.
“No, thank you,” I answer with a snort and shake of my head. “There is far too much for us to do to spend the day in bed.”
Eros cocks his head to the side as he watches me, the slow smile that spreads across his face making me aware of my mistake.
“Am I not meant to be teaching you the ways of seduction?” he asks. “It seems to me that the bed is the perfect place to do just that. In fact, I think it is exactly where I would prefer to teach your next lesson.”
My cheeks burn at his suggestion, and I quickly say, “There is still far too much for me to learn before I need skills that … require a bed.”
He grins at this as he sits up, stretching and revealing the bare expanse of his chest.
“Fine, what are a few more days of delayed gratification but added pleasure anyway?”
I let out a nervous laugh as I try to decipher just how serious his words might be, my stomach twisting nervously as I realize they’re probably more serious than I think. Especially with the way his eyes seem to linger on me as he finishes his stretch.
Slipping from the bed, I realize that, once again, he isn’t wearing anything. My entire body flushes as I glance away, wondering what Death must think to know I’d been in bed all night with a naked Eros.
As if reading my mind, I hear a growl of disapproval from the shadows, drawing my attention to them. Death still stands, cloaked in darkness as he watches us … well, watches Eros, his eyes narrowed as he glares at the God of Lust.
“Stare as much as you like,” Eros laughs. “After all, is that not what I was made for? To bring pleasure to all those around me, even the likes of you. Besides, it is not as if I can see, so you might as well do it for me.”
Unable to stop myself, I glance over at him as he gestures toward his pale eyes, his smile slipping for just a moment. Bitterness edges the corner of his mouth as he lets out a sigh, turning his back on us.
“Funny, is it not? The God of Lust and Desire being blind to all physical beauty, at least in the most literal of senses. Perhaps the Fates do have a sense of humor after all.”
“Have you always been blind?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can bite my tongue.
I flinch at the way the room falls quiet. Eros stills as he continues to face away from me, but at least his shoulders don’t tense at my question.
I didn’t mean for my curiosity to get the better of me, and I hate to think that I have just offended him.
Turning to look over his shoulder at me, he hesitates for a moment before answering, “No. Not always, but it has been so long now that any memories of what I once saw have long since faded. I have learned to use my other senses to my advantage, though. With them, I am more than capable of painting an image, if you will, in my mind.”
“It doesn’t sound too dissimilar to painting on a canvas.”
“In a way,” Eros says thoughtfully. “Though, it is not always images that I see. Often it is a sense of emotion, wants, the true expression of a being. In fact, if you had not come here with Death, I might even suggest I know your soul better than most.”
I glance over to where Death stands at the mention of him. He remains stoically quiet, almost seeming to pull further into himself as he watches Eros with wary eyes. His silence and the gentle curl of his shadows making him unreadable, even to me.
“Come,” Eros says, pulling the sheet from the bed to wrap around his waist and lifting a hand to beckon me. “Let us find you a new dress.”
After a moment’s hesitation, fighting the urge to steal another glance toward Death, I move to follow Eros.
Eros leads me into his massive closet, bypassing more clothes than I’ve ever seen at once. He runs his hands over the clothing as he walks deeper into the room, occasionally pausing to tilt his head to the side before moving on.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching him curiously.
“Finding you the right dress,” he replies. “This one will not do. It will only illicit feelings of jealousy in the wearer, and this one … is far too depressing. Hmm.”
“You can feel the dresses … intentions?”
