She reminded him there was more to life than existing. Since she entered their world, he’d reconnected with Anubis, pulled Hypnos out of isolation, and spoken more to Hermes in one week than in centuries. She was worth it. He was proud to be Iliana’s protector—one of her lovers. The admission still felt strange. Unfamiliar, but not wrong.
Across from him, Hypnos downed his scotch, staring down the hallway—at the closed door where Iliana and Anubis had trained.
He’d been distracted all evening, asking Thanatos to repeat himself more than once. His attention drifted toward sounds from the other room. A laugh. A gasp. The unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together.
Jealousy was new for Hypnos, and he clearly hated it. His white-knuckled grip on the glass said enough. He’d probably deny it, claiming concern for Iliana’s safety or annoyance at the distraction. Excuses that weren’t quite lies, but definitely not the truth.
Thanatos knew his twin. The way he looked at Iliana when he assumed no one was watching. How his hand remained on her arm even after sleep left her; how his scowl deepened when she smiled at someone else.
He cared—and hated himself for it.
“Can you keep your remarks to yourself?” Thanatos asked without heat.
Hypnos didn’t reply. He just stood and walked out of the yurt without a word.
Thanatos sighed. He understood the conflict within his brother. For Hypnos, detachment meant survival, not choice. After Pasithea had twisted his feelings into weapons, used his love to manipulate and control, Hypnos had rebuilt himself around one principle: never to let anyone close enough to hurt him again.
Iliana was slipping past those defenses.
The shower cut off, and minutes later, she entered the room.
Thanatos’ hand tensed on the armrest, resisting the urge to pull her into his lap. Her skin was flushed from the shower, and her wet hair was braided and draped over her shoulder, dampening the loose tank she wore. She looked beautiful; glowing. More importantly, she looked healthier. The exhaustion around her when they’d met had nearly vanished.
When she looked at him with desire in her eyes, he smiled. “Come here.”
She crossed the room and sat beside him on the couch.
“How was training with Ani?” he teased, not bothering to hide his amusement.
She went stiff next to him. “I,um…”
Thanatos chuckled and pulled her against him. “I know, Iliana. I am teasing you.”
Iliana groaned, relaxing into him. “I’m frustrated. There is no way I can win against a god.”
“It has only been a few days. You are learning faster than you realize, and you are not alone in this.”
Her hand rested on his thigh, a casual and trusting move. “I know. I’m not used to relying on others, but I’ll work on it.”
They sat in silence for several minutes before Thanatos eventually picked up the remote. “How about we watch the TV show you mentioned?”
She grabbed the remote from him and searched for her show. Her mood was lighter than earlier when he’d walked her through tales about past heroes, those that had been shaped, or broken, by the gods and the Fates. Most were tragedies. He’d wanted to teach her something else, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted on understanding everything, on learning from their mistakes.
He told her that her fate would differ from theirs. Still, she wanted to learn. As he shared the histories, her worry and tension grew with each one.
There’d been no real heroes in centuries. Most gods chose to step back, adjusting to new roles. Others, like Aphrodite, still interfered. He and Hypnos didn’t need direct contact with the mortal world to perform their duties, and preferred to isolate themselves, protecting themselves from being hurt again.
Thanatos was in awe at the difference in himself since meeting her. Iliana saw him as more than his powers, more than death. Her smile, the quiet times at his side. She somehow made everything seem easier, as if he were living instead of merely enduring.
“I think the later episodes would be the best place to start.” Her smile was bittersweet. “This show was my dad’s favorite.”
He rested his hand on her shoulder, stroking his thumb across her soft skin.
“He was always watching weird British comedies or terrible sci-fi shows,” she said in a quiet voice. “I only watched them to spend more time with him since he was always busy with work, but we continued to watch all the seasons over the years. He and Mom traveled so much…”
She swallowed, and her hand, which was resting on his thigh, tightened as she struggled to finish.
“But he always parked the RV where he had a good reception so we could watch the new episodes together, wherever they were. It became our tradition.”
