The moment she stepped into the dim corridor, Mal swore under her breath. Of course he was there—Thanatos, lounging against the wall, inspecting his nails as though he hadn’t a care in the world. That maddening, curling smile of his played upon his lips. Dangerous, smug, so unlike Ash’s. And yet… it was a smile she had come to enjoy far more than she should.
‘What do you want?’ she snapped, striding briskly down the blue-lit hallway, already knowing he’d follow.
‘Charming as ever, sunshine,’ he purred, easily matching her pace. ‘Did you sleep well?’
Mal halted, whirling on him with a glare. ‘What do you want, Thanatos?’
He gave an exaggerated shrug, that ever-present smirk etched deep into his expression. ‘Why must you always assume I wantsomething?’
‘Because you usually do.’
His laugh, deep and velvety, slid through the air like a blade sheathed in silk. ‘Only came to observe your little witchy lesson.’
She resumed walking, the hem of her black dress brushing softly against the stone. The garment was simple, designed for movement. An outfit fit for war, or something close to it. She wasn’t entirely sure what witchcraft training would entail, but she intended to be ready.
‘Did Hades send you to spy on me?’
‘No need,’ Thanatos replied smoothly. ‘I simply enjoy watching you.’
‘But you won’t teach me yourself.’
He shrugged again, maddeningly nonchalant. ‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
A slow smile bloomed across his face. ‘On how well you behave.’
Before he could utter another word, Mal surged forward and slammed him against the wall, her forearm pressing tight against his throat. No blade was needed, her fury was weapon enough.
‘You refuse to tell me the truth. You withhold the knowledge of how to harness my divine power. So tell me, Thanatos. What exactly do I need you for?’
He didn’t struggle. Instead, his body relaxed entirely, as if her fury only amused him. One hand slid to her waist, his touch infuriatingly calm as he drew her closer.
Mal recoiled with a hiss, releasing him and stepping back with fire in her eyes.
‘You need an ally,’ he said, a low chuckle slipping from his lips as he drank in her expression.
‘Oh? Is that so?’
‘Inthe Underworld? Most definitely.’
‘And tell me, why on earth would I choose you?’ She leaned in, so close their breaths tangled in the shadows between them. Her purple eyes drifted towards his mouth—lips she had once kissed, once tasted. The memory threatened to rise, but she banished it ruthlessly.
‘Because,’ he whispered, his gaze riveted to her face, ‘somewhere deep in that ancient soul of yours, you trust me.’
He took her hand, her stubborn, reluctant hand, and placed it over his chest, above a heart that had long since ceased to beat.
‘I cannot die, Melinoe,’ he said softly, ‘but if I could, I would die a thousand deaths for you.’
She made to pull away, but he caught her hand with his own, anchoring it there. ‘Look at me, Melinoe.’
And she did.
The moment their eyes met, she felt it. That stillness, that certainty. Something ancient and irrevocable stirred in the air between them. She didn’t know why. She didn’t want to know why. But in that breathless instant, she knew. He would kneel for her. He would sever his own limbs if she asked it. He would bleed every shadow from his soul if it meant easing her pain.
‘The curse…’ she began, her voice a whisper of doubt.
‘It’s not the curse,’ he said quickly, the plea raw in his voice, his eyes dark with desperate truth. ‘It’s not the curse that binds me to this.’
