Page 302 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
“What in the hellish fuck are you wearing? You look like a forty-year-old frat boy. Spoon my fucking eyes out, why don’t you?”
Mors chuckles, stroking his dog’s head, and not looking surprised in the slightest to see me. “Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?”
I arch a brow. “Has anyone ever told you that you have good taste in fashion?”
Our lips twitch with barely suppressed grins.
There’s a certain youthful lightheartedness to his energy that wasn’t there before.
The Mors I knew for eons was somber, at best. And he certainly wouldn’t be dressed in sneakers and a backwards baseball hat like some youth.
Akash, if this plan works... please, please, please don’t let me make such abominable fashion choices.
Mors steps to the side, permitting my entry to their boho-chic Montauk beach house. It smells like fresh basil, lemon, and fresh ocean air. A large, wet snout thrusts beneath my hand in demand for pets, and despite the sadness welling in my chest at Cerberus’s memory, I am putty in his paws.
Squatting, I stroke the sides of his head and ears, and pat his ribs as he proceeds to merrily adorn my cheeks with slobber. My broken heart gives a little pitter patter of love.
“Zeus, no licking.”
Zeus huffs, but scuffles backwards to sit on his haunches, stifling his affection.
Mors watches me, concern knitting his brow. “You look so downtrodden..."
Standing, I shove away my building anxiety for what I’m about to ask, and eye him with both curiosity and confusion. “And you look so... American.”
Mors chuckles. “When in Rome..."
I huff a dry laugh. “At least there, you’d be dressed properly.”
Mors rolls his eyes, though a grin still decorates his face. Persephone’s voice echoes from deep within the house. “Is that Azrael? Is he ok?”
Mors shuts the door behind us, eyes briefly flicking over my neck, chest, and hands looking for signs of the shifting shadows that decorate Lazarus’ skin–the only way to tell the difference between us by sight alone.
“If you mean, is he still dying, then no. His magic has returned.” He pauses for a moment, studying me. “Though he doesn’t look thrilled about it.”
Mors shoves his hands into the pockets of those blasted khakis–equally ill-fitting to house gladiatorial thighs. He nods towards a sunken living room boasting enormous cushy off-white linen couches and a magnificent view of sand dunes, and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
The question takes me by surprise, but the earnest expression on Mors’ face reveals no hint of deception.
Yes, you can actually.
I manage a smile, dipping my head in thanks before descending the few steps leading to the couches. “Sparkling water. Chilled, please.”
With Zeus trotting after him, Mors disappears down a hallway of ashwood flooring punctuated by towering potted plants as I flop down on one end of a couch, facing the ocean. A gray and white Maine Coon cat is perched on a carpet pedestal in the sun. It lifts its head to briefly cast a lazy backwards glance at me.
Well hello.
Bored with me already, his tail gives a lazy flick and he lays his head back down.
My eyes scan the house and its effects.
This feels weird.
Domestic,I realize.
Is this what life would be like if I were to marry Violette?
A pretty house in the suburbs, a dog, a cat, and...
