Page 24 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)

I nod, as if what he said makes perfect sense.

In a way, I’m not even surprised. I’ve been living from bad news to bad news, from accident to accident.

What’s one more fucked-up thing on my list?

Sure, there’s panic in the background, but it’s muted by years and years of weariness. I’m so damned tired of it all.

I think I’m still nodding as I make my way to the coffee table. I hear my name, still in the background, and don’t bother answering. What’s the point?

I find the panel I saw Nathan use and push it open.

Inside is a pretty bottle, filled with a liquid that is sure to make me feel something.

When I take it out, the glass sparkles and I notice for the first time that Nathan started a fire.

When did that happen? I’ve been so focused on him since I met him that the rest of my world seems blurry.

Who could blame me? He’s tall, dark and handsome.

And by dark I don’t mean he’s got a dark complexion or dark hair, although he does, and I keep wanting to bury my fingers in the soft-looking strands.

No. He’s literally Death’s assistant. What’s darker than that?

What I can’t wrap my head around is how Death’s assistant keeps saving my life.

Isn’t it against the rules or something?

Don’t they have a quota to fill? But instead of reaping my soul, like I’m sure is in the job description, this man has been by my side for some of the worst moments of my life.

And we’ve known each other for just a few days.

I want to say that it’s his proximity that has turned my life upside down, but come on, no one would believe me at this point…

I pour a generous amount of the golden drink into a matching glass and take a large sip.

It’s like the fire reaches out a hand to accompany the liquid down my throat.

I’m not a big drinker. Sure, I like to go out and party with Joana.

I’ve learned long ago to enjoy everything I can, while I can.

But I’ve never liked the fuzziness from drinking taking over.

I like my mind aware of what could happen to me; I don’t need to tempt fate and invite disasters—they have too easy a time finding me as it is.

“Liv.”

Ah, my name made it out of the background haze. I turn to Nathan, who’s hovering near me with a worried look etched on his perfect features. Only the heat at my back makes me realise how close I’ve got to the fire.

Gently—hesitantly—he reaches out. With his hand on my cheek, his thumb creates a burning path down my cheekbone.

I am wholly frozen to the moment. My eyes are fixed on his, wondering how such darkness can even exist. And yet, within the seemingly endless black pit within him, a light shines through.

A gold thread reaching out of the despair.

I wonder where that strange thought came from, but his touch, the intensity with which he looks at me, like he can see so deep within me that there is no need for skin to cover my soul, makes it disappear like smoke in the wind.

His senses come back too quickly for my liking, and he removes his hand like I burned him. Maybe I did. Maybe he did feel the fire rising rapidly within me.

He turns away, his hand flexing at his side as he stares and stares into the fire.

While I stare at him . I mourn the loss of his touch, and I wonder why that is when I’ve only just met him.

Trauma bonding feels like something one of my therapists would say, but what do I care?

Have them meet Death’s assistant and then I’ll listen to their sound reasoning.

I didn’t dream that fire on my skin… or deep within me, awoken by his touch. I’ve never felt anything like it. I wonder if he felt the same. Maybe it’s part of his arsenal as Death’s assistant. Coming directly from him and his… abilities.

Abilities that allow him to see that my threads are missing. The thought comes back with a vengeance.

“Why aren’t I dead?”

“What?”

When he turns to me again, he seems shocked.

The fire I’m certain we both felt mere seconds ago is entirely snuffed out, replaced by what looks like fear in his eyes.

I admit that I gave myself whiplash, but with the crap-fest in my head, it’s no wonder I’m jumping from one thought to the next.

It’s frankly a miracle I make any sense at all.

“If I don’t have any of those threads, why am I still alive?”

Sitting on the couch, he shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, making it stand up in unlikely places.

I long to run my own hand through it and put it back in its place, but the dishevelled look suits him too.

Maybe too much. I swallow hard and focus on more important matters, like my life.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Ah… Care to take a guess?”

He looks away quickly and sighs. “Each Fate weaves a thread; they each hold a different set of information that will carry a being through to their destiny. One weaves the life path, another weaves the impact that being will have on the world, and the other will create threads that will merge with the threads of others, resulting in inevitable meetings between beings.”

I recognise the weight of the information he’s sharing. Truly, I do. But everything seems muted and contrasted by the fact that I don’t have any of these threads myself. So where does that leave me?

“You said that since that first accident, you’ve been close to death many times.” I nod even though he’s still not looking at me. “It could be that you surviving when you were a child created an issue in the Order and with your threads.”

The air deflates out of me, like his words sucker-punched me in the stomach. “So I was right. I should have died back then.” Tears threaten to fall from my burning eyes, but I refuse to set them free. Instead, I look at the fire, hoping the heat will dry my pain.

Nathan says nothing. I think I was hoping for him to keep denying what seems painfully obvious now. The fact that he doesn’t means the death of any hope I kept hidden in a dark corner of my heart.

“I’m sorry,” he says, almost too quietly for me to hear.

I shake my head. There’s nothing for him to be sorry about. He didn’t do anything, his boss did. And I still don’t know why Death bothered. I’m no one. And his whole point is to gather the dead. So why did he deny me?

I don’t know what happens After, but what’s the point of my existence? I have nothing but a few work friends who will soon forget me. Nathan said one of the threads indicates the impact one has on the world. I have no impact. I am nothing.

I feel my thoughts spiral and I go down with them. It’s like being swallowed by a swarm of flies. I look up, and there’s no light. All I see is my lack of significance. Wait. There’s a break in the whirlwind. A silver lining fighting to appear.

I turn to Nathan, who’s still frowning down at his hands. “Why are they after me?”

His frown deepens. “The Novensiles?”

I nod. “If I should be dead, can’t the Order fix itself by killing me?”

“Well, the Novensiles are working for the Order.”

“And why do they keep failing? You’re telling me that your Order is not strong enough to kill me? It doesn’t make sense. If it truly is the force that governs everything, and everyone in it, why aren’t I dead?”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t govern, it creates a path.”

“Same difference.” He seems like he’s about to contradict me again, but I cut him off. “Think about it, why was it so easy for me to survive all those crazy-ass accidents?”

“Was it, though?” The concern in his eyes makes something tighten in my chest.

“It obviously wasn’t a walk in the park, but I survived. I survived flowerpots landing on my head, a tumble down the stairs in the Tube, a stampede during a protest, food poisoning and—”

From a frown, his face transforms into one of pure wrath. It takes the words and breath right out of my mouth. “Someone tried to poison you?”

“What? No, food poisoning.”

“I still hear ‘poisoning’.”

“It means the food I ate was bad and I spent the night puking my guts up. It’s actually pretty common, so I shouldn’t have listed it as a near-death.

Having hypothermia was much, much worse.

Trust me.” I end with a small laugh, though he doesn’t look all that amused himself.

“What I’m saying is, why did I survive? How did I survive?

If the Novensiles have been trying to kill me all this time, your Order should have helped and made it stick, no? ”

He stays quiet as he looks at me. His eyes are so dark they seem to devour the burning light of the fire. I shiver under his gaze, which darkens as he observes the goose bumps spreading across my arms. “Why aren’t you dead?” he asks, breaking the silence.

My heart rate picks up. “Why aren’t I dead,” I say. It’s not a question anymore, it’s the starting point. “From what you said, I understand that the Novensiles are a group you’ve had issues with before. But why are they after me? If I am meant to be dead, your Order should have done it, no?”

Nathan gets up and starts pacing, his hands flexing at his sides. “Yes. Even if you shouldn’t have survived that first time, there would have been repercussions. There should have been a correction.”

Hope is a dangerous thing. It’s heady and blinding, and if you’re not careful, it can make you fly too close to the sun. “So why aren’t I dead?”

He turns to me, smiling blindingly. “Why aren’t you dead?”

My lips stretch and the smile on my face almost feels foreign. “Maybe Death saved me for a reason. Maybe I was never meant to be dead?”

His smile disappears so quickly it leaves me reeling. But the hope is still there, and I see it reflected in his eyes. “Maybe you weren’t meant to die,” he whispers.