The stench of earth, blood, and decomposition wasn’t gone, and Hope knew she was still in the Underworld before she opened her eyes. However, the odor was less pungent, competing with the innocuous smells of lemon and rosemary. She was lying on something softer than the rocks at the banks of the river Acheron, and she sat up to see where she was.

Her vision swam and then settled on the god only a few feet away.

“You didn’t have obols for passage?” Thanatos asked as he perched on the foot of the bed. “If you’d said something to me, I could’ve given you some.”

“I didn’t . . .” But she did know. She just hadn’t thought about it. She ran her hand through her hair, and her fingers stuck in her tangled, golden locks. “Where am I?”

Thanatos stood. “My home.”

Hope shuddered and then scooted to the edge. “I think I need to be going.”

She stood. Her vision blurred, and she put her hand out to steady herself. “Please tell me I didn’t drink any of that river.”

Thanatos chuckled. “You did not. Although, I think it ironic that you know not to drink the water but you forgot payment for the ferryman.”

Hope rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think I would need to pay him.”

“Why ever not?” he asked with raised brows.

She opened her mouth but thought better of her sarcastic reply. Instead, she mumbled a lame, “I don’t know.”

“Interesting.” He stood and indicated a side door. “There is a bathroom there you may use. As well as bottled water from the mortal realm. I will have dinner brought up to you, if you’d like.”

She waved him away. “I won’t eat it.”

He nodded. “Of course. Well then, I’ll await you downstairs.”

With that, the god of death left.

He was being awfully nice. But try as she might, she couldn’t figure out why. And it didn’t matter. He’d killed her mother. No matter how nice he was, she hated him.

It was amazing what a shower and clean clothes could do for a person. Hope smoothed the cotton T-shirt over her abdomen. She dumped her dirty clothes in the garbage and left what she hoped was the guest bedroom behind.

Thanatos stood at the bottom of the stairs in a large foyer. The entire house was apparently the same rock as the rest of the Underworld, but the floor had been smoothed and polished until it looked like glass. The walls were marbled with a deep sapphire blue, and the chandelier dripped with cut crystals that scattered rainbows across the open space.

He was again dressed in a gray sweater and black jeans. Another figure stood next to him, and the two of them exchanged heated whispers. The god’s dark hair fell over his eye, and he brushed it back in a youthful gesture. Thanatos met her gaze, and he dismissed the other person.

Thanatos smiled and pulled an orange crystal rose from behind his back.

Warning bells pealed in her head. Clasping her hands behind her, Hope warily returned the smile. “I don’t normally accept gifts from the gods . . .” Like never.

He studied her as she descended. “You are angry at me?”

“You killed my mother.” She cleared her throat of the emotion that came with the declaration. Just saying the words tore at her heart.

He pinched his lips and waited until she was at the foot of the stairs before responding. “If I did, I had no choice.” He extended the flower toward her. “If you won’t take a gift, consider it a loan.”

It was such a ridiculous thing to say; she couldn’t help the small smile that teased her lips. Even so, she refused to trust him. “I’m being rude, but I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“Yes. That’s understandable. Your history with the gods, and what little you know of me, has been . . . unpleasant.”

That was an understatement.

A tall figure rounded the corner, and Hope gasped. She dropped back into her standard defensive stance, wishing she had her knives. “Why are there Skia here?”

Thanatos straightened and waved the creature away. “You do realize you’re in the Underworld?”

She watched the monster turn the corner and disappear the way he’d come. She took a deep breath of the stale air and grimaced. “But they’re in your home. I thought they were minions of Hades.”

“Ah. No. We each have our own, actually.” He cleared his throat. “But you are my guest. No Skia will harm you here in my home. They all answer to me.”

She contemplated her options for a moment. Leave or stay? Was he a liar or telling the truth? At this point she needed time to rest and regroup, and this might be her best option. Hope straightened. “All right then.”

“Will you tell me your name?” Thanatos asked as he extended the flower to her; when she didn’t take it, he shook it once. “A gift means that you won’t owe me anything. I’m only trying to be a gracious host.”

If he’d wanted her dead, he could’ve killed her already. Or had his Skia do it while she slept. As it was, he’d been only nice, and she didn’t need to piss him off. She accepted the flower. “Hope. My name is Hope.”

“A beautiful meaning, young lady. Shall we go into the library to talk?” He couldn’t have chosen a more enticing invitation.

“Yes, but . . .” She didn’t know how to set boundaries without being rude, but she didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.

“You are my guest. That is all. No strings attached. You may leave when you want.”

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. The gods were not this gracious.

“You are the first living . . . being to treat me as if . . . as if I were a person too. It is . . .” He pursed his lips as if weighing his words. “It is quite a pleasant change for me, my dear.”

And he was the first god to make no demands, suggestions, or try to manipulate her in any fashion. At least not yet. She might pull this off after all. “I completely understand.”

He extended his arm, an invitation for her to lead. “The study is the second door on the right. Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?”

She shook her head. It didn’t matter how nice he was. She would not eat or drink here. Even in the bathroom, she’d spit the water out when she brushed her teeth. “Thank you, though.”

She opened the door, and her jaw dropped. The room was almost as tall as the Olympian library and possibly as deep. The shelves were cut from the same stone as everything in the Underworld, but again, it had been polished smooth. The books were shelved by color, ranging from deep red to vibrant purple. Two Skia were visible shelving several of the heavy tomes.

Hope forgot all about her host as she stepped into the room. A welling of emotion bubbled from her chest to her throat, and she reverently stroked the spines on the shelf. “They are the Books of the Fates ?”

Thanatos came to her side. He pulled the nearest one from the shelf and opened the bright-orange tome. The parchment was so thin it was almost transparent, and Hope recognized the spindly scrawl. “This one always writes in a crisp and succinct manner. She doesn’t use adjectives or adverbs. Sometimes she . . .”

The god of death was staring at her, his pitch-black eyes wide with wonder. “You’ve read the Books of the Fates ?”

She may have revealed too much. “Our history.”

He pulled several other books down, and while she was tempted to read them, sorely tempted, she refused to even glance at the three distinct scripts.

“Well, since I can’t tempt you with The Books , why don’t we sit down and you can tell me why you’re here?” He shelved the green volume in his hand and indicated they return to the front of the room.

Thanatos pointed to two cigar chairs angled toward one another and waited for Hope to sit before taking the other.

“What brings you to the Underworld?” He reached over to the end table between them and proceeded to cut a cigar.

The last time hadn’t gone so well. Hope bit the side of her mouth as she watched him and contemplated what to say.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked.

She shook her head. It was his house. Who was she to protest?

“I’m guessing you’re not trying to free your lover.” He raised his brows.

She shook her head.

“And I doubt you’re here on a dare, right?”

She couldn’t help the forced exhale of incredulity. “People do that?”

He smirked. “Not so much anymore, but eons ago it wasn’t so uncommon.”

“That’s insane,” she said with a shake of her head.

He puffed on the cigar.

And she realized her own hypocrisy. “Right. I . . . I wanted to talk to my mom.”

He exhaled, watching as the smoke floated into the vastness above them.

“I heard you can’t lie in the Underworld. And that . . . well, truth will set you free. I want to know how to break the curse. Is it true? That you can’t lie here?”

Thanatos sat up. With a flick of his wrist, a crystal ashtray appeared on the table, and he set the cigar down.

“The dead cannot lie; there is no reason for them to.” He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “You are tired of being a pawn, yes?”

She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

“I am the agent of death, Hope. But I do not choose who will die. I’m sorry about your mother. But . . . I am a pawn, too.” He stretched his legs out and leaned back in the chair. “Let’s make sure it stops.” He blew out a slow breath. “You are lucky I found you and not Hades. He’s been trying to get you here to the Underworld for years.”

“Why?”

Thanatos raised his eyebrows. “To be a pawn.”