The guarded wariness in her eyes eased, curiosity slipping back into place.He saw the effort it took her to smile and the stubborn set of her shoulders. She chose joy—chose to be present with him, even knowing their conversation about the Fates would have to continue.He wanted to keep her in this moment for a while longer.
“You are going to love this,” he said, placing a hand on the small of her back. He guided her to the decorated double wooden doors and opened them.
“It’s like the TARDIS in here!”
Thanatos stiffened. “The what?”
Iliana snorted, trying to hold back laughter. “It’s bigger on the inside.”
“Yes, that’s how it appears. The exterior is masked by an illusion.” He frowned down at her. “But what is a ‘tardis’?”
The word was strange and awkward. He frowned, trying to understand. “And how would one pluralize that? Tardises? Tardii?”
She broke, laughter bursting out of her in waves. Her whole body shook with amusement that appeared cathartic.
This was how she coped, he realized. She didn’t dwell on dangers she couldn’t control, but comforted herself in the absurd human moments even gods could share.
She used levity the way he used flight—a challenge to what they couldn’t control. It might’ve been temporary, but it was theirs.
Thanatos wasn’t offended by her amusement, as some gods might have been. Watching her laugh dulled the edges of his pride. The blush on her cheeks was irresistible.
She wiped her eyes and tried to explain. “It’s from a TV show,Doctor Who. The Doctor rides around in a blue police box called the TARDIS. I just—it’s a human thing.”
He arched an eyebrow. “A police box that is larger on the inside?”
“That’s what you’re focused on?” she asked.
He huffed. “How does that—”
“Never mind!” she interrupted, grinning at him like the sun itself.
Thanatos decided he didn’t care about this ‘tardis’ anymore and pulled her into his arms, capturing her mouth with his.
Her laughs were muffled by his lips before turning into a sigh. The world outside the yurt faded away until all that existed was Iliana. She tasted like honey and spicy cinnamon. She fisted her hands in his shirt like she never wanted to let go.
When he pulled back, her pupils were blown wide. Her lips were parted, swollen from the kiss, and her breath came in short gasps.
He watched her with a lazy, appreciative look. “Still amused?”
She swatted his chest. “You’re cute.”
He, the god of death, had never been called cute in his existence. He tilted his head. “Cute?”
Iliana bit her lip. “My explanation might’ve made more sense if you’d seen the show, but I imagine you have better things to do than watch human television.”
He brushed a windblown strand of hair away from her face. “Perhaps. I would be interested in watching it with you.” He pointed at the television beside a comfortable couch on one side of the room.
“Really?”
He wanted more than duty and the eternity he’d resigned himself to. He wanted her—herhumanity.
Kissing her forehead, he released her. “Absolutely. Now, if you are done laughing at my expense, I can show you where you will be staying so you can rest while I make you some dinner.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue, but didn’t. She strode into his bedroom, her steps lighter than they were before they’d left Switzerland but still weary.
Iliana collapsed onto the bed with a happy sigh. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince him or herself that she could relax after everything that had happened. He understood the impulse to compartmentalize. It seemed that was how she survived.
He lingered, watching her. Soft, relaxed, and in his space.
