telling me what an ungrateful child I am. I’ve never understood how well I’ve had it. He always has to come and clean up my messes. How I should have listened to him when he told me Lars was a user.” Pierre plucked at the frayed hem of his T-shirt. “Is it too much to ask to for someone to want me for myself? Yet no one ever has. I mean, even my real dad abandoned me with my mom. I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Death could see Pierre was working himself into a funk. He clapped his hands together and stood. “You should go take a shower and change into some nice clothes. There are some hanging in the closet that’ll fit you. We’re going out to walk around and maybe grab a very late supper.”
Pierre perked up, his eyes shining at the thought of getting out of the apartment. Death would probably end up regretting it, but there wasn’t any real reason to keep the man locked up in the apartment. Death was getting restless as well. Lam hadn’t come with any orders for him or the other Horsemen lately, and Death wasn’t used to just sitting around, waiting for something to happen.
It was time to leave the city and head out to the country. Somehow, he’d had managed to hold onto the family country estate, even after his death and the Revolution. He’d bought it from Emilia, and she was glad to see it go, saying it reminded her of him. Of course, he went through a middleman to buy it.
“Go on. Your need isn’t very strong right now. Maybe if we distract you, you can go a little longer.” He waved towards the bathroom.
Pierre shot out of the chair and raced down the hallway. Smiling, Death tugged out his phone and dialled the caretaker for his country place, letting the man know he would be out there by the end of the week. The place would be stocked with food and drinks, along with whatever else the caretaker thought he’d need. It would be aired out as well by his housekeeper.
He listened to the shower turn on, and moved out on to the balcony, trying to remember the last time he had someone in the apartment for an extended period of time. Or the last time he took another person out to the country house. Leaning against the railing and looking out over the Latin Quarter, he realised it had been a very long time since he’d become attached to someone or cared enough to let them into his life.
Oh, he never went long without sex, but Death usually fucked them in a hotel room where he could leave whenever he wanted, and they didn’t have to talk at all. No awkward next-morning moments or anything like that. He didn’t do relationships, not even when he was mortal.
I do remember spending a night or two in your bed.
“You were the only exception to my rule, and look how that ended,” Death spoke out into the darkness.
But it was nice until the end. I had no complaints.
“None? Wouldn’t you have rather I made you my lover and set you up in your own house?” He rubbed his hands together, working to erase the faint memories of how Oliver’s skin felt under his fingers.
Certainly, but I knew the rules when I became a whore. A man like you doesn’t get attached to a body he can buy at a pleasure house. Of course, when I chose my life, I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you.
And Death hadn’t expected to meet someone like Oliver. He closed his eyes, bringing up an image of his lover. A brilliantly white smile with crooked teeth in a lightly tanned face. Bright, green-gold eyes filled with such admiration for Death it hurt sometimes. Oliver pressing his slender body into Death’s, silently begging for him to take him the first time Death had bought him. The sex had been something more than between a patron and a whore. Every time after that was etched into Death’s memories, and every encounter afterwards never lived up to those nights in Oliver’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing it was too late for absolution.
It wasn’t really Oliver’s voice he heard in his head. It was his own mind
Death could see Pierre was working himself into a funk. He clapped his hands together and stood. “You should go take a shower and change into some nice clothes. There are some hanging in the closet that’ll fit you. We’re going out to walk around and maybe grab a very late supper.”
Pierre perked up, his eyes shining at the thought of getting out of the apartment. Death would probably end up regretting it, but there wasn’t any real reason to keep the man locked up in the apartment. Death was getting restless as well. Lam hadn’t come with any orders for him or the other Horsemen lately, and Death wasn’t used to just sitting around, waiting for something to happen.
It was time to leave the city and head out to the country. Somehow, he’d had managed to hold onto the family country estate, even after his death and the Revolution. He’d bought it from Emilia, and she was glad to see it go, saying it reminded her of him. Of course, he went through a middleman to buy it.
“Go on. Your need isn’t very strong right now. Maybe if we distract you, you can go a little longer.” He waved towards the bathroom.
Pierre shot out of the chair and raced down the hallway. Smiling, Death tugged out his phone and dialled the caretaker for his country place, letting the man know he would be out there by the end of the week. The place would be stocked with food and drinks, along with whatever else the caretaker thought he’d need. It would be aired out as well by his housekeeper.
He listened to the shower turn on, and moved out on to the balcony, trying to remember the last time he had someone in the apartment for an extended period of time. Or the last time he took another person out to the country house. Leaning against the railing and looking out over the Latin Quarter, he realised it had been a very long time since he’d become attached to someone or cared enough to let them into his life.
Oh, he never went long without sex, but Death usually fucked them in a hotel room where he could leave whenever he wanted, and they didn’t have to talk at all. No awkward next-morning moments or anything like that. He didn’t do relationships, not even when he was mortal.
I do remember spending a night or two in your bed.
“You were the only exception to my rule, and look how that ended,” Death spoke out into the darkness.
But it was nice until the end. I had no complaints.
“None? Wouldn’t you have rather I made you my lover and set you up in your own house?” He rubbed his hands together, working to erase the faint memories of how Oliver’s skin felt under his fingers.
Certainly, but I knew the rules when I became a whore. A man like you doesn’t get attached to a body he can buy at a pleasure house. Of course, when I chose my life, I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you.
And Death hadn’t expected to meet someone like Oliver. He closed his eyes, bringing up an image of his lover. A brilliantly white smile with crooked teeth in a lightly tanned face. Bright, green-gold eyes filled with such admiration for Death it hurt sometimes. Oliver pressing his slender body into Death’s, silently begging for him to take him the first time Death had bought him. The sex had been something more than between a patron and a whore. Every time after that was etched into Death’s memories, and every encounter afterwards never lived up to those nights in Oliver’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing it was too late for absolution.
It wasn’t really Oliver’s voice he heard in his head. It was his own mind
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