Page 29 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)

Nathan didn’t say goodbye to anyone before he gently wrapped his arms around me and whooshed us back to his place.

Faded us back, I remind myself. The first few times it happened, it was a shock to the system, but this time I knew what was coming and I could feel myself fade away.

Ugh, I guess I understand the name now. It truly does feel like each cell and particle of my being dissolves into some sort of mist that is being swept away by an invisible wind, all the way to the desired location, only to be glued back together.

I wonder if all of me gets to the destination or if some small part is lost, wandering forever, trying to get back to its source. If I keep doing this, will there be anything left of me? Of my sanity?

It would certainly explain why I feel rather calm in the wake of everything. We’re back in London, and it’s still the middle of the night, although the moon is much lower than it was back there. I still don’t know where we were, exactly, but I don’t really feel like asking.

As soon as we arrived, Nathan quietly excused himself and went to his bedroom to sleep or brood or whatever.

I still see his panicked expression, his self-loathing, as he broke down in front of me.

But mostly, I still feel his lips upon mine.

The way his desire burned a path to my heart, meeting no resistance.

I wonder if that’s a normal reaction, for me to feel so much towards this person I only officially met a few days ago.

I know I should probably be focused on me right now, on the fact that a weird society is intent on killing me and we’ve decided to use me as bait to catch one of them, but all I see as I sit still on the world’s comfiest couch is the closed door leading to Death’s assistant’s bedroom.

A big part of me I’m trying—and failing—to ignore is urging me to get up and go to him.

Make sure he’s okay. Although I don’t even think that’s possible.

He seems so heavy with responsibilities, and the fact that I am just one more for him to fret over doesn’t sit well with me.

Once again I wonder what his boss expects of him.

He promised to take care of me, that much I trust. But is that all?

Does Death really not want to claim my soul once and for all?

If I’m not meant to be dead, does it mean Death knew it all along and that’s why he saved me?

I wish I’d seen his face back then. He seemed so sad, so lonely.

I remember how he tried to hide his scythe behind his back once he saw me, as if ashamed of it.

I was still reeling over everything and the pain of my soul tearing itself free, and yet I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the being that would complete my transition.

I wish I could meet him again. At least I think I’d like that, but there’s also dread in there. What if he decides it’s more trouble than expected to keep me alive?

Sighing, I bring myself back to the present.

I look away from the door, feeling ridiculous and a bit creepy.

London is still asleep, although I sometimes see groups of people in sparkly clothes going to or from a party.

I wonder if Joana is down there, enjoying herself.

Lord knows she loves to party. I wonder if she’s already forgotten me.

I still haven’t found the energy to look for my phone.

Part of me knows it’s because I’m dreading seeing the lack of messages waiting for me.

I jump as I hear Nathan’s door open and close.

When I look, he seems surprised to find me there and stands still for a second.

Long enough for my eyes to grow curious and check out the low- hanging grey sweatpants and tight white shirt he’s changed into.

As my gaze travels back up to his face, I find his eyes already on mine and blush at having been caught ogling him.

His jaw ticks and his right hand goes up to scratch his nape, and I quickly close my eyes against the vision that is his bulging bicep.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks quietly as he moves to the kitchen.

“Haven’t really tried.”

He nods, and that’s that. He grabs a glass and fills it with water, but instead of drinking it, he hands it to me as he settles on the couch just a touch away.

The silence is oppressive this time, and I scramble to fill it. “So let’s capture one of those bastards.”

He starts, and I’d like to say I don’t know why, but even I am not certain where the eagerness is coming from. I could have asked if he needed to sleep. I could have asked when he last saw his boss. No, I asked the one thing I’m not sure I’m ready for.

When he keeps staring at me open-mouthed, I add, “We catch one, figure out what they want, how they stole your memories and how to get them back. We also figure out how to make them stop coming after me. Everybody wins and I go back to my life.” I ignore the pang in my chest as the words leave my mouth.

Why does it feel like going back wouldn’t be right? That’s my goal.

He snorts. “Sounds easy.”

I cock my head and look him up and down. “Isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not. Don’t you think we’ve tried that already?”

“Aren’t you a god or something?” I smile, baiting him.

“Or something, sure,” he says, shaking his head. “Look, I know I volunteered you as bait but—”

“But nothing,” I interrupt.

“Liv.” He sighs. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You started us on this path,” I say accusingly, making him wince. “What was the point of meeting your crazy-ass leader if not to see it through?”

“I can handle Cel.”

“Look, you and I both need answers. I don’t know what sort of orders Death gave you but you’re clearly as desperate as I am.” That seems to shake him. “If we have help, I’m sure we can find a way to get one of them.”

“Help?”

I wave a hand at him. “Yes, help. From your friends.”

“I don’t have friends.”

I cock my head at him. “You don’t?”

“No.” He looks embarrassed, turning away from me as his jaw tightens.

“What about Turan?” He doesn’t move to confirm or deny anything, simply stares into the distance. “Thalnus, then?” His eyes narrow. “Atys?” His head finally turns to me, features tight.

“I don’t have friends,” he repeats.

“Then colleagues, whatever you want to call them. We could use the help. Unless you feel confident with being the only one defending me.” I know it’s a dirty move, but I need this to work.

When he closes his eyes to sigh, I know I’ve won. “We can try Thalnus and Atys, although I’m sure they’re already back to partying,” he says with contempt.

“What do you have against them?” I ask, curious.

“Nothing.”

I want to press further, but I realise that he’s sort of agreed to my plan, and I need to pick my battles. “So what do we do?”

He cocks his head at me, a small smirk stretching his lips. “I thought you had a plan?”

I narrow my eyes at him as I cross my arms. “I already came up with the plan, now execute.”

He chuckles but sobers up quickly. “I’ve already used up the favour Thalnus owed me, having them meet us at the cave.”

“I don’t understand. Don’t they want to get their memories back too?”

“Not everyone feels as strongly against the status quo as I do. They have found their balance and enjoy the place they have carved for themselves amongst humans.”

He looks like he’s simultaneously angry and envious. I remember how he told me he felt trapped by his own place in the Order. “Why can’t you do the same thing?” I ask quietly, afraid to offend him.

“Because they get to wave their hands and push things into place. They’re not as much an intrinsic part of the Order as I am,” he explains, looking as heavy as he did back in that cave. “Like we are,” he adds, and I know he means both him and Death himself.

I can’t bear to see him like this. So… defeated.

“So we go to them this time,” I tell him, hoping to focus him on something concrete.

One of my therapists told me that whenever I feel overwhelmed, I should focus on the one thing I can actually do to change my situation or take control of it somehow, no matter how small.

It’s one of the few things I was told that has actually helped me.

Turns out, what I could do was stop talking about what truly happened to me, and it helped. Immensely.

“I was hoping to avoid that, actually,” he says, making a face.

“Why?”

“You’re about to find out.”

I look around, forcing my eyes to adjust to the brightness.

Going from middle-of-the-night London to late afternoon in a second is as strange as expected.

I quickly wonder if the jetlag will be better or worse for it.

Nathan wanted to wait until morning before we left so that I could sleep, but I knew I wouldn’t have managed to shut my brain off, so I convinced him that there was no time like the present.

He’d looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end, he only nodded and held me close once more.

I think that might be the part I like most about Fading.

I hadn’t even wanted to take time to change, but as the warm sun greets us and sand sneaks its way into my trainers, I regret it.

Looking at the sparkling blue water crashing against the soft white of the beach, and the unmistakable mountain top behind me, I ask incredulously, “Hawaii?” This can’t be real. Surely I’ve never been this lucky in my entire life.

But Nathan, observing everything with narrowed eyes and a long-suffering look on his handsome face, confirms my wildest dream. “Hawaii.”

It takes everything in me to repress the squeal wanting to burst free. Instead, I take a massive breath of air, relishing the saltiness of it. This air, that view, the fact that I’m already sweating beneath my sweater makes me think that being chased by a homicidal sect is worth it.

“We need t—”