Son of Beauty, God of Death

by Sera Trevor

Love blooms, even in death...

When the goddess of beauty steals a precious flower from Thaedus, god of death, he demands retribution—her son Prosoper must become his prisoner. To his surprise, Prosoper is far from an unwilling captive.

Prosoper has been kept isolated from the world by his mother, who is determined to protect his innocence. But Prosoper is nearly two centuries old and longs to break free from his mother's control.

Only the God of Death can give Prosoper the chance at life he desires. And only the Son of Beauty can save Thaedus from despair.

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A shadow fell over the wall. Prosoper's mouth went dry. His breath quickened. He would meet Thaedus at last. He didn't know whether he was excited or afraid. He'd had so little experience with either emotion.

The figure stepped completely from the shadows and into the eerie blue light. Prosoper gasped. Thaedus was so tall he had to crane his neck to look up at him. The features of his face were as chiseled as if he were made of stone. A black beard covered his cheeks and chin. His dark hair fell in curls to his massive, powerful shoulders. He wore a deep blue toga with a black cloak pinned in place by a white clasp shaped like a flower, identical to the clasp that Certia had given him.

Prosoper's knees weakened. The sensation grew worse as the god moved toward him. He stopped only a few steps away, towering over Prosoper.

Prosoper couldn’t breathe. He was just so...big.


The god of death looked him over coolly. Prosoper dropped his own gaze to the floor, but still felt the god's eyes on his skin, sending shivers through him.

When Thaedus spoke, his voice was a soft rumble, like far off thunder—just like in his dream. "Not a child," he murmured, seemingly to himself. "But still young yet." He raised his voice. "I bid you welcome, Son of Beauty."

"Th-thank you, my lord," Prosoper stammered, unsure of how to address him.

Thaedus scoffed. "No need for honorifics. My dominion is over the dead, and you are very much alive. You may call me Thaedus."

"Yes, Thaedus." He hazarded a look upward. Thaedus’s gaze was penetrating. And now Prosoper felt flushed rather than cold. He looked away. What on earth was wrong with him?

Thaedus snorted. A sound of annoyance? Derision? Had Prosoper displeased him? Or maybe it wasn't a snort at all. Maybe he had simply cleared his throat. It was hard to tell. Prosoper’s hands trembled. He drew them into fists to stop them.

Silence reigned.

"Look at me," Thaedus commanded at last.

With some effort, Prosoper did as he was told. To avoid Thaedus’s eyes, he focused his gaze on his lips. They were surprisingly full. Were they as soft as they looked?

"Are you afraid of me?" Thaedus asked.

How to respond? "Do you want me to be?"

The question seemed to surprise him. "No."

Prosoper set his jaw. "Then I am not afraid."

Thaedus snorted again. This time, he seemed amused. "I'll show you to your room." He turned and set off, not bothering to see if Prosoper followed.


About the Author

Sera Trevor is terminally curious and views the 35 book limit at her local library as a dare. She’s a little bit interested in just about everything, which is probably why she can’t pin herself to one subgenre. Her books are populated with dragons, vampire movie stars, shadow people, and internet trolls. (Not in the same book, obviously, although that would be interesting!) Her works have been nominated for several Goodreads M/M Romance Reader's Choice Awards, including Best Contemporary, Best Fantasy, and Best Debut, for which she won third prize in 2015 for her novella Consorting With Dragons.

She lives in California with her husband, two kids, and a cat the size of three cats.

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