The Four Horsemen 4 - Death (11 page)

Death inhaled, lifting Pierre as his chest expanded. Pierre kept staring at Death, not letting the Horseman off the hook.
“Fine. I was on my way home from a very late night at one of my clubs. I should have taken my carriage home, but I wanted to walk, and it wasn’t that far away from where I lived. I’d had a little too much to drink, which was the story of my life at the time.” Death frowned.
Pierre cleared his throat. “Were you an alcoholic?”
“In modern terms, yes, I was. I freely admit it, and if I hadn’t been killed that night, I might have eventually died from too much drink.”
“But you drink now,” Pierre pointed out.
Death nodded. “Yes, and I don’t get drunk, so I tend not to drink nearly as much. Anyway, I was accosted on the street, dragged into an alley and beaten to death.”
“Did they try to rob you, and you wouldn’t give them anything?” Pierre tried to think of reasons why Death’s attack would have happened.
Death shook his head. “I thought it was a robbery, but turns out they were getting me back for killing a man earlier that day.”
“You killed someone?”
Pierre sat up and stared down at Death. While the Horseman came across as cold and uncaring, Pierre couldn’t see him killing anyone. Death sat up as well, draping his arms over his knees, and staring out over the pond.
“Yes, I did. I’d killed a couple of them. Mostly brigands or highwaymen trying to steal from me, but the man I killed that morning was a nobleman, or at least he was in title, if not actions.”
Pierre frowned, not sure how he felt about that. “What did he do to you?”
“He did nothing physically to me. I took exception to what he did to my sister. St Lucian raped her, and I demanded satisfaction. We fought a duel in one of the parks, and I shot him in the chest. He died a few hours later. His family, a more unsavoury bunch of bastards I’d never met, hired some ruffians to kill me.” Death shrugged before he stood, holding out his hand to Pierre. “I don’t regret what I did to St Lucian. He had to pay for what he did to Emilia. Honestly, the only thing I regret out of the whole situation is the fact I ended up as Death, instead of simply dead.”
Pierre let Death help him up, but stayed silent as they gathered up their stuff and climbed astride their mounts. Death led the way back towards the house. Pierre followed behind, staring at Death’s back and trying to figure out how he felt about the fact Death had killed a man. While he understood why Death would try to revenge the violation of his sister, he didn’t understand why he would fight a duel. Of course, he didn’t have a sibling to take care of.
“Was your sister okay?”
Death shot him a glance over his shoulder. “Okay? What, do you mean after he raped her?”
“Yeah.” Pierre waved a hand, not entirely sure what he meant.
“She wouldn’t let me bring a doctor to examine her, but the bruises faded. She had moments of anger and tears. Emilia let her emotions take control once in a while. Yet I forgave her most of the time because I understood she was hurt and fearful.” Death looked away. “She was far more emotional and personable than me. I was the adult, so I had to be the tough one.”
Pierre wrinkled his nose, wishing he had been around when Death was whoever he had been. He would have helped him out, or at least tried to be a friend to him. Yet Pierre had learned a little about himself, and he admitted he might not have been any help to Death. Pierre could barely take care of himself.
“Did you have any friends?”
They arrived at the stables, and the groom who had brought out the horses took their reins. Pierre patted his horse on the shoulder before heading into the house with Death.
“Why didn’t you ride your grey horse?”
Death swung around, put his finger to his mouth, and shook his head. Johnson stepped into the library just as they walked through the French doors.
“Dinner will be served at seven sharp, sir. I’m sure you and Master Pierre would like to clean up and change before then.”
“Thank you, Johnson. I appreciate it, and we’ll be down at six-thirty for a drink.”
Death rested his hand at the small of Pierre’s back as they went upstairs. They stopped outside Pierre’s suite, and Death looked at him.
“You’re more than welcome to share my shower with me.”
“I’d love to.” Pierre pushed up on his toes and kissed Death. “Let me grab a change of clothes and I’ll join you in a second.”
“Certainly.”
Death left as Pierre entered his room. After shutting the door, Pierre leaned against it and pressed his fingers to his lips. Somehow Death had managed not to answer his last two questions, but Pierre decided he’d just keep asking until Death answered him.
He pushed away from the door and went to the closet where he grabbed a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt. Dinner was probably a more formal event than lunch. Pierre remembered the dinners at his parents’ house where they had to dress for them. He stopped by his dresser and got some underwear and socks. Maybe Death would have a tie he could borrow.
Pierre left his room and went to Death’s, which was empty. He heard the water running in the bathroom and assumed Death was already in there. Pierre stripped off Death’s shirt, setting it on a chair in the corner before removing his pants and folding them. As he strolled into the bathroom, he looked at his reflection in the large full-length mirror on one of the walls.
He hadn’t looked at himself in the last couple of days. Mostly because he’d known how much weight he’d lost over the year and half before he’d ended up in Paris. Somehow he’d become ugly, and he knew the others only stuck with him because of the drugs and money he could get them. None of them were interested in helping him overcome his addictions since they had the same ones.
He doubted any of his so-called friends had worried when he’d disappeared. More than likely, they moved on to the next easy mark, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. They’d never done anything for him, so why should he care what had become of them?
Death slipped his arms around Pierre’s waist and drew him back against his wet body. “I thought you were going to join me.”
“I am. Just got a little distracted.” Turning, he pressed tight to Death and kissed him.
“You distract me all the time. Come on.” Death took his hand and led him into the walk-in shower.
Pierre glanced around him with his mouth open. It was the biggest shower he’d ever seen with multiple heads on all the walls, shooting cascades of water all over him. Death had the streams about waist high, though he probably readjusted them to wash his hair.
They revelled in the water, teasing and laughing as they washed. When the shower finally ran cold, they climbed out and dried off. As they dressed, Pierre thought how different his time spent with Death was. There wasn’t any thought of what he needed to do for the Horseman to keep him happy or around even.
Death liked Pierre for some strange reason, and Pierre wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Death strolled along the hallway, heading towards the library where he knew Pierre would be. The past week had been marvellous. The best days of Death’s life since he became a Horseman. They’d spent the time talking, and Death discovered Pierre was actually a very intelligent man, just dealing with a lack of focus at times. The addiction seemed to have faded. Not disappeared because Death knew an addiction never really went away. It would be something Pierre fought all of his life.

He pushed open the library door and glanced around the edge to see Pierre sitting in one of the window seats, talking on the phone. Death stepped in, and Pierre looked up at him with a smile.

“Hey, Mom, I have to go. Don’t worry. I’ll call you again tomorrow, and we’ll talk about when I’ll be heading home.” Pierre paused as his mom talked. “I’m clean, Mom. Have been for over a week now. It’s tough, but I’m finding other ways to deal with the craving.”

His mom must have said goodbye because he hung up while Death approached. Pierre moved his legs, so Death could join him on the seat. Death took the phone and tucked it in his pocket before taking Pierre’s hand in his.

Pierre smiled. “She’s doing well. Still wants me to come home right away, but I told her I had to hang out on my own for a while. I have to make sure this new-found sobriety sticks.”

“You do realise you haven’t really been tested yet.” Death studied Pierre. “I don’t do drugs, and I’m not hassling you to try them. Do you think you’ll be able to handle a crowd of so-called friends pressuring you into doing a line or shooting some up?”

Pierre gazed out over the beautiful gardens spread out from the side of the house. Some of the flowers were just beginning to bloom, and Death knew in another month or so the gardens would be an explosion of colour.

“I know it’s easy to be positive here, and swear I’ll never touch another needle or snort another line, but I feel different this time. I’m stronger.” Pierre looked back at him. “Maybe because you’re here with me.”

“Don’t count on me, Pierre. I won’t always be here. For some reason, these last weeks have been quiet. Normally, I’m not around much at all. I travel all over the world, doing my job.”

Pierre had asked that question when they’d first arrived at the country house, but Death had managed not to answer it. He chose to avoid it because he thought the less Pierre knew about the Horsemen, the less likely it would be he’d have his memory erased by the end of this.

It had been a while since Oliver’s voice danced through his head, and Death had hoped it meant his imaginary friend was gone.
“He really isn’t mine, and when I’m not using him as Death, he goes away.”
“Where does he go?” Pierre frowned.
Death lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not like he can tell me, and Lam always says it’s none of my business where the horses go. Of course, they aren’t real horses. They’re creatures created for the Horsemen to use when they’re needed. I think they’re spirits.”
Pierre played with Death’s fingers as he thought. What had him thinking so hard?
“I saw that blond guy you call Lam before,” Pierre confessed.
“Yeah. You saw him the night I took you from the hotel room.” Death tugged until Pierre crawled over into his lap. “When he showed up, I thought for sure he was there to stop me.”
Pierre shook his head. “No. Before that, he and the guy you called Day were in my hotel room. I think they were even the ones who got me the tainted heroin.”
“I doubt it, Pierre. I can’t see Lam giving a junkie drugs, and while Day might do something like that if he wanted your soul, he didn’t seem all that interested in it the last time I saw him.” Death doubted Lam would have been anywhere near Pierre before Death showed up. It didn’t make sense.
“You might be right. I was high both times, so maybe I just got it all mixed up in my mind.” Pierre laid his hand on Death’s chest, over his heart. “You know I was thinking about another of my questions you never answered. You’re really good at deflecting stuff you don’t want to talk about.”
He could only imagine what Pierre wanted to talk about, and yes, most of it Death didn’t want to discuss. Yet if he expected Pierre to talk about what was bothering him, Death had to do the same.
“What did you want to ask me?”
“Did you have any friends when you were mortal? Or were you too shut off or closed down to let anyone in?”
Death ran his hand up the outside of Pierre’s thigh, fighting the instinct to distract Pierre with a kiss or something like that. He leaned his head back against the windowpane and sighed.
“No. I only had one person I considered a friend, and I treated him so poorly, I couldn’t risk doing that to another person.”
Pierre rested his head on Death’s shoulder, snuggling in close and encircling Death’s waist with his arm. “Tell me about your friend. Is he the one who died while you were somewhere else?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t want to talk about Oliver, not to Pierre or anyone else for that matter. For centuries he’d kept Oliver close to his heart, never allowing his memories out in the open.
“Maybe it’s time you let me out and let me go, Gatian. Four hundred years seem rather a long time to hold a memory.”
“I met Oliver when I was twenty-eight. I’d returned to Paris because Emilia was turning eighteen, and I needed to present her to society. Not something I was comfortable with, but she was my sister, so I was willing to support her.” Death snorted. “I didn’t understand the whole process of society and The Season, where young girls are paraded around by their mothers in order to snare a rich or titled husband.”
“Maybe you didn’t understand it because you weren’t interested in any of those young girls.” Pierre poked him in the stomach.
Death chuckled. “You could be right about that. I think I was far more interested in their brothers.”
“Was Oliver one of those brothers?”
How did Death describe Oliver? How did one describe the first person to steal his heart and to break it as well?
“No. Oliver had been the youngest son of a country farmer. He’d come to the city to find work.”
“Such a sad tale, and like so many others in those times.”
He wanted to tell Oliver to shut up, but since he didn’t think it was really his old lover’s voice, he didn’t want to end up talking to himself.
“You met him at his job?”
“You could say that. Like many innocent girls and boys coming in from the country, the wrong person befriended Oliver. He was drugged and found himself in a pleasure house. I bought his services for a night after he’d been working there for five years.”
Pierre straightened up and stared at him. “You paid for a prostitute?”
Death didn’t look away. Modern mores had made him ashamed of paying for sex, but back when he was mortal, he’d done it all the time. He’d made sure he’d used reputable pleasure houses, and he’d never taken an unwilling lover. Of course, there were distinct possibilities a lot of the whores he’d used were unwilling, but they never showed it to him.
“Yes, I did. You have to understand, Pierre, it was a different time than you live in now. Men like us weren’t supposed to be welcomed in polite society. Oh, others knew we existed, and we were allowed to be part of society because of our titles or our fortunes. Yet our perversions couldn’t be talked about or seen. It was easier to pay for sex than to risk approaching someone who could get me killed.”
Pierre blinked as he nodded. “I guess you’re right about that. Was that why you asked if I had sex for money? And why you told me you wouldn’t judge me if I had?”
“Yes. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with prostitution in general, and because it would make me a hypercritic in specifics. I’ll admit I’m not happy you sold yourself for drugs. Like I said you sold yourself too cheaply.” Death grimaced. “I have no room to say anything against you since I’ve bought men for sex.”
Pierre looked at Death with a piercing glance. “Something tells me, though, you only paid because you didn’t want to develop any feelings for the man you slept with. If you spent the night in another lord’s bed, it could be easy to get used to being with him, and you didn’t want to be tied down.”
“I only wanted to get Emilia married, then I planned on taking off for other countries.” Death closed his eyes again, and an image of Oliver, sex-tossed and drowsy, skated across his mind. “But then I met Oliver, and all bets were off. Emilia didn’t take well her first season, so we stayed in Paris and kept trying to find her the right husband. She loved being in the city. I loved being able to spend my nights in Oliver’s bed, listening to him beg me to fuck him.”
“And you did it so well. You were by far my favourite patron.”
Death bit his lip to keep from saying anything. When he was mortal and Oliver was alive, he’d hated thinking about Oliver lying underneath another man, getting fucked by anyone other than him.
“Oliver was a willing whore then?”
Death wanted to yell at Pierre that Oliver wasn’t a whore, but he couldn’t. Oliver was a whore, and nothing Death said could convince Oliver to leave the pleasure house.
“Yes, he was for me anyway. I don’t know what he was like for his other customers. Well, any of the others except for the man who killed him.”
“He was killed by a guy who paid to fuck him?” Pierre shook his head. “That’s screwed up, man.”
“I know, and I don’t know what happened. I tried to find out the truth, but the madam of the pleasure house wouldn’t talk to me about Oliver. The man who killed him was a nobleman, and she couldn’t risk losing his patronage or that of his friends. Oliver didn’t matter to her except as loss of income, and she could collect another innocent farm boy from the coach houses.”
Pierre growled low in his throat. “That seems so unfair. I don’t understand why the rich are always protected like that.”
“It’s always that way. Unfortunately, in France, the power of the rich caused their downfall in my time. The French Revolution was so bloody, and unbelievably sad. So many died who didn’t have to, but once blood lust is fired, there is rarely any way to stop it except to let it burn out.”
Death thought about the blood spilt during the Revolution. All the people imprisoned and hauled to the guillotine for no other reason than they had a title, and maybe more money than most. Not all of the noble families were bad or corrupt, but once the people were roused, it didn’t matter.
“Did you do anything to Oliver’s killer? I’m assuming you found out who did it.”
Pierre’s question brought Death back to the conversation at hand. He smiled, and from the way Pierre’s eyes widened at the sight, Death knew it was rather an evil one.
“Yes. I found out who killed Oliver, though no one would tell me why. I hunted the nobleman down and thrashed him. I probably would have killed him, but I came to my senses.”
“You should have killed him. It wasn’t right he got away with killing Oliver.” Pierre sounded indignant.
“Don’t worry, you blood-thirsty Hun. I punished him in a way that caused him far more lingering pain than simply killing him. Causing his death would have been easy and relatively painless for him. No, I wanted him to suffer as long as possible, since I wouldn’t be getting over Oliver’s death any time soon.”
Pierre rested his hand against Death’s cheek with a gentle touch. “I don’t think you’ve ever gotten over it.”
Death dropped his gaze, but he didn’t protest because Pierre was right. He hadn’t recovered from Oliver’s death.
“What did you do after you beat the shit out of the asshole?”
“I did my level best to get him shunned by society, and it worked. People believed what I told them and turned from him. He became a pariah, and when I took all his money, he ceased to exist in the eyes of society. I ruined him.” Death tried to tamp down the surge of pride in his soul at the thought of what he’d done to the man.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Pierre teased.
“To be honest, no one could point to me as the origin of the rumours about him being discovered in a delicate situation with a certain male personage at a certain pleasure house. I didn’t lie about him, just placed a bug in a certain matron’s ear and let the viciousness of mortals take over.” Death scratched his chin. “He was the one who ran up debts and gambled with money he didn’t have. I merely bought up his markers and called them. I don’t think he ever knew why I hated him.”
Pierre swung around until he straddled Death’s lap, and Death grasped Pierre’s butt in his hands. He stared into those familiar gold-green eyes and breathed in the oddly familiar scent he’d always attributed to Oliver. There were so many things about Pierre that reminded Death of his dead lover, yet so many things were different.
“Doesn’t it bother you that you ruined this man’s life?” Pierre tilted his head like Death’s answer was the most important thing he’d hear all day.
Death shook his head. “Should it? Listen, I killed the man who raped my sister. I couldn’t kill the man who caused Oliver’s death, but I could ruin him, so he lost everything he cared about in his life. It’s what I do to protect those I love, even though it’s usually after the fact. If someone hurts someone I care about, I will do everything in my power to destroy the person.”
Silence filled the air after Death’s vow. Pierre slowly started unbuttoning Death’s shirt, but Death could tell there was something else besides sex on Pierre’s mind. He didn’t push because he’d learned Pierre would talk about it in his own time.
He smoothed his palms over Pierre’s tight ass up and around to the button at Pierre’s waistband. Pierre sucked in his stomach, giving Death room to get his fingers into Pierre’s jeans and get them undone. Death’s shirt parted, and he grunted as Pierre leant forward to brush a kiss over one of his nipples.
Pinching Pierre’s side, he grinned as his lover jerked, and glared at him.
“Get these off.” He tugged on the jeans. “We haven’t fucked in several hours, and I find I’m more interested in your ass at the moment than any more emotional sharing.”
“Yes, sir.”
Pierre jumped to his feet and shimmied out of his jeans. Death’s mouth watered at the sight before him. Pierre was beautifully made, and with the weight he’d added over the last couple of weeks, he was perfect. Still lean, but muscular, Pierre didn’t look sick anymore. Pierre tore off his T-shirt and flung it across the room like a stripper. Death reached out and flicked Pierre’s nipple, drawing a low cry from him.
“No underwear? You are a bit of a hedonist, aren’t you?”
Death removed his shirt and pants before crooking a finger at Pierre, motioning for him to come closer as Death sat back on the window seat. Pierre winked at him and dropped to his knees. He pushed Death’s knees apart so he could settle between them. Death ran his fingers through Pierre’s curls, happy to see the locks had regained their lustre.
Pierre seemed to have kicked his addiction quite easily, but Death wasn’t fooled. It wasn’t hard to ignore the urge when someone distracted you. The difficult test would be when Pierre left and re-joined the real world. Pierre would have to deal with his old circle of friends who wanted him addicted and easy to manipulate. Those were the moments where Pierre would have to stand strong.
All thoughts disappeared from Death’s head when Pierre wrapped his lips around the head of Death’s cock and sucked a little before taking Death all the way down. Death let his head fall back against the glass and closed his eyes. For a moment, he imagined it was Oliver kneeling between him, pleasuring him with his mouth.
“But it’s not me, and you do Pierre a disservice by thinking of someone else while you’re with him.”
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Pierre eased away and looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Death ignored the voice in his head and tapped Pierre on the shoulder. “Why don’t you grab the lube out of my pants? You can give me a blowjob later on.”
“In a hurry?”
“Just needing you right now,” he admitted, and it was the truth. He was discovering Pierre was quickly becoming his drug of choice.
“Well, you’re in luck. When I woke up this morning, you weren’t around to help with my morning wood, so I played a little and decided to be ready in case you came looking for me later.”
Death frowned, but his confusion cleared up when Pierre crawled over to Death’s pants and started digging around Death’s pockets with his ass up in the air. The position exposed Pierre’s hole, stretched and plugged. Death slid off the window seat to his knees behind Pierre and tapped on the plug.
“Oh.” Pierre shivered and handed the small tube of slick back to Death. “Please, take me soon. I don’t need to be stretched anymore. Just slick yourself up and fuck me.”
“What about a condom?” Death knew there had been one in the same pocket as the lube.
Pierre looked over his shoulder at him and asked, “Can you get sick?”
“Never have since I became a Horseman,” Death said and shuddered at the thought of fucking Pierre bare.
Death had only used condoms once HIV and AIDS became such an epidemic, because his mortal lovers might have thought it odd if he didn’t. After having gone centuries without using one, surrounding his cock with rubber annoyed him.