Famine (The Four Horsemen Book 3) Read online

  Oh my God.

  It actually hits me then.

  Fuck my tits and my asshole too.

  I’m falling for this psycho.

  Chapter 38

  I try to walk the realization back.

  Famine was just a really good lover.

  You’re just curious, and it’s been a long, long time since you’ve had a genuine sexual encounter.

  No one in their right mind would fall in love with a man who’s wiping out entire cities.

  “What’s wrong?” Famine asks at my back.

  Of course the horseman would notice something was off the instant I recognized my own feelings.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I say way too quickly. “Why would you even ask a question like that?”

  There’s a long pause, then suddenly, Famine is pulling his horse to a stop.

  No-no-no-no-no—

  The Reaper takes my jaw, turning me to face him.

  “What are you doing? Why have we stopped?” My eyes are darting over our surroundings.

  “Look at me.”

  I almost argue, but that would even be more suspicious.

  I force my gaze to meet his.

  “What?” I say obstinately.

  Don’t see it. Don’t see what I’ve only now just realized.

  His gaze narrows. “Little flower, I know something is wrong. You can tell me now, or I can figure it out on my own, but I promise you this: I will figure it out.”

  My stomach tumbles. If Famine is half as good at reading people’s minds as he is at dancing, or kissing, or oral, then he’s going to figure out real quick that despite our vow last night, things have changed between us.

  “I … am just not feeling well.”

  “No,” he says simply.

  Damn him.

  “So now you think I’m a liar?” I accuse.

  “I know you’re a liar.” All at once, he releases my jaw. “But keep your thoughts to yourself. I’ll learn them soon enough.”

  This new revelation sits like a stone in my stomach.

  Falling for the horseman.

  I don’t want to fall in love. Everyone I’ve loved has either died or hurt me and then died. My parents, my aunt, even Elvita.

  And then, of course, there was that one previous time I fell in love, and that whole thing went about as smoothly as the apocalypse.

  Martim had just turned twenty when he met me. I had already been at the bordello for a couple years, but in many ways I was still young and naïve when I first met the rancher.

  He was all gangly limbs, but he had kind eyes and a gentle smile, and he never saw me as just some floozy to stick his dick in. His buddies were the ones who paid for our first night together, but after that he came back for himself.

  The other girls had warned me not to fall for clients. So many of them had been burned in the past by men who wanted free sex or who had savior complexes. But naturally, I thought I was different, and I thought Martim was different, too.

  Short story: he wasn’t.

  When his parents learned that he loved me, they threatened to disown him. No family, no ranch, no carefully crafted future that he had prepared his entire life for. That’s what he stood to lose. He had tears in his eyes when he told me. I think he assumed I would understand.

  The only thing I understood was that the world loves to kick you when you’re down.

  Less than a year later, Martim married a respectable woman. And just when I thought my broken heart had mended itself, it broke all over again.

  Not too long after the wedding, Martim tried to visit me at the bordello, but not for all the money in the world would I let him touch me again, and he didn’t seem to want to sleep with anyone else at The Painted Angel. So that was that.

  The pain that used to accompany Martim’s memory is only a shadow of its former self. Unfortunately, there’s a new emotion I feel—panic.

  I don’t want to be in love again. And with the Reaper of all people.

  “I will figure it out.” Famine’s breath tickles my ear.

  Holy hell.

  “Will you stop?” I say. “There’s nothing to figure out.”

  “Liar.”

  I hate that he’s right, and I hate that he’s so astute. In all likelihood, not only will the horseman probably learn my secret by this evening, he’ll manage to pulverize my brittle little heart while he’s at it.

  Because such is my luck.

  The sun is setting when Famine steers us to an obviously abandoned house.

  I eye the dilapidated structure. “And here I thought that you never wanted to stay in another one of these again.”

  “Would you prefer to sleep outside?” he asks, his fingers rubbing the obviously wet fabric of my dress together. It’s rained off and on all day.

  “You could always fix the weather.”

  He makes a derisive sound. “Of course you would ask me to change the weather just to make yourself more comfortable.”

  “Oh my God, Famine, calm your tits.”

  “I don’t have t—”

  “I’m not trying to make you do anything. I’m just reminding you that you threw the world’s biggest hissy when we stopped at the last abandoned house,” I say.

  “And you threw an equally big hissy when we stopped at an occupied house,” he replies.

  I sputter. “Yeah, because you were going to kill a woman.”

  “And so I brought you to an abandoned house,” he says slowly, gesturing to the building in front of us.

  Humph.

  “Fine,” I say begrudgingly. “You made your point.”

  He guides the horse almost all the way up to the front door before stopping his steed and hopping off. After a moment, I dismount and follow him inside.

  Unlike the last abandoned house we stayed at, this one is in much better condition—relatively speaking. There’s even a hand pump well just outside the back of the house. The place also shows signs that other travelers have stayed in it. Used up matches, cigarette butts, a beat up book, a few empty liquor bottles, and a clay oil lamp someone left behind.

  Famine turns around, his gaze finding mine. A moment later, his eyes dip to my chest. Belatedly, I realize that my rose colored dress is soaked through, molding perfectly to my breasts. Breasts that the Reaper is now staring at.

  Just like that, it seems as though last night never ended. I can see Famine’s hunger; it matches my own.

  It looks like it takes him enormous effort, but he eventually tears his gaze away, his eyes landing heavily on mine as he exhales.

  This is going to be harder than I thought, his expression seems to say. Or maybe those are my own thoughts.

  The horseman brushes past me then, heading back outside.

  “Why don’t you just bring your horse inside?” I call after him. It’s not like anyone cares about what a horse might do to this place.

  The Reaper comes back in carrying several sacks and his scythe. He tosses his weapon onto the floor, the metal clattering as it skids along the ground. “Make him endure this moldy, cramped space? I may be wicked, but I am not that wicked.”

  I give him a funny look. “You are so odd.”

  Everything he believes—all his opinions and assumptions—are unlike anything I’ve ever come across.

  “No, my flower, it is you who are odd. Lewd and witty and very, exceptionally odd.”

  He sets the packs he’s carrying onto a derelict table, the wood swollen and warped. In one of them, I hear the clink of what must be Famine’s scales. He, however, turns his attention to the other bag. From it, he pulls out a blanket and the remnants of last night’s food.

  I stare at the items with rising apprehension. “You packed,” I say. “For me.”

  He thinks of me and my needs even when I’m not around—needs that he doesn’t share. My chest tightens in an almost painful way. But the sensation is soon followed by fear.

  “You look like you’re going to hurl,” the horseman says conversationally
as he tucks the blanket under his arm.

  “I’m just—that was kind of you. Is all,” I say like an idiot.

  He lifts an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you take to kindness about as well as I do. I’m actually strangely pleased by this.”

  He strides down the hall, peering into one of the far rooms. “There’s a mattress back here you could sleep on, but full disclosure—there are more lifeforms growing on it than there are in the rest of the house.”

  That snaps me out of my thoughts.

  “The floor is fine.”

  The Reaper returns to the living room and kicks aside a beat up coffee table before unfurling the blanket, laying it in the middle of the room.

  Once he’s finished straightening it out, Famine stands back, looking mighty pleased with himself. Because he made me a bed. Never mind that there’s no pillow or a top sheet to cover myself with. The man who gets everyone to do his bidding went out of his way yet again to do something for me.

  My heart is beating loudly in my chest.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  I’ve spent a long time working on not falling in love. I don’t want that to end now—and with the Reaper no less. Because heartbreak will follow—it always does—and if gentle Martim was able to break my heart into a thousand pieces, what would terrible, merciless Famine do to it?

  “Well?” the horseman says, looking at me for some sort of reaction.

  Mechanically I move to the sheet and sit down.

  “Thank you for this.” My voice sounds wooden.

  Famine scrutinizes me. “I will figure it out, you know.”

  I give him a questioning look.

  “What’s been on your mind,” he explains.

  My stomach bottoms out.

  Oh right.

  “Please don’t,” I say softly.

  All he does is smile.

  I’m doomed.

  Chapter 39

  Rain patters against the roof, and I can hear the steady drip of it from several leaks in the roof.

  I sit on the blanket Famine laid out for me while the Reaper rummages around the house. My stomach is full from eating the food the horseman packed for me. Now that it’s dark, I should be tired.

  Instead my senses buzz. Night has always been the time I worked, so I’m used to feeling awake when most people are settling in for the evening. However, I’m not used to my heart leaping and my skin pricking with awareness at the horseman’s every word and gesture.

  Right now I can hear him strike a match. There’s a hiss and a burst of light. A minute later he strides over to where I sit, carrying the clay oil lamp I saw earlier, a lit wick peeking out of it. He lowers himself to the ground next to the blanket, setting the lamp down beside him.

  I pat the blanket. “You can sit here you know.”

  “That’s your bed,” the Reaper says.

  Calling this blanket a bed is giving it far too much credit, but that’s cute of him anyway.

  “I’m used to sharing,” I reply.

  In the lamplight, our eyes meet, and last night silently plays itself out in our minds. Famine still hasn’t moved.

  “Don’t make this weird,” I say. “Nothing’s changed between us.”

  The horseman gives me a sharp look, one that makes my stomach dip, but he does move onto the blanket, sitting across from me.

  Seconds pass and that gravity is still in his gaze, like he is swimming in deep, deep water and he wants to drag me under with him.

  I turn my attention to the house around us, listening to the steady drip of rain.

  “Sleepovers in derelict buildings are kind of our thing,” I say, softly.

  “Mmm.”

  I drop my gaze back to Famine, and damnit, he’s still looking at me like that.

  “Stop it,” I whisper.

  “Stop what?” he says, not looking away from me.

  Stop making me feel lighter than air and heavier than iron. Stop sucking me under.

  “Nothing’s changed between us,” I insist. I don’t know how I manage to say that lie in a normal voice.

  The Reaper smiles at me then, his expression wry, like I’m the naïve one and he’s the one with the worldly experience.

  I glance away, unable to hold his gaze. I’m desperate for a distraction. Anything that might make me forget I’m incurably attracted to him.

  My eyes land on the oil lamp. It’s nothing more than a shallow bowl with a little pinched lip for the wick. That’s all the light we have to talk by tonight.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say.

  Rather than responding, the Reaper waits for me to continue.

  “Why did everything fail?”

  I can tell that’s not the question he was expecting. He was expecting a question about us, but hell no am I going to ask him something that will force me to confront my feelings for him.

  “You mean human technology?” he asks.

  I nod.

  There are junkyards full of rusted automobiles and appliances and televisions and computers and those cute little cellphones people used to carry. There are landfills full of other things too—things that I don’t even have proper names for, things that once worked but no longer do. I’m too young to have seen cars drive and planes fly and machines wash clothes and chill food. It all sounds like witchcraft.

  Maybe that’s why it all failed—I don’t think God is a big fan of witchcraft.

  “It all failed because humans got carried away,” the horseman replies. “You were all naughty children who didn’t listen when God told you in His quiet way to stop,” Famine says idly. “So now He’s being loud about it.”

  “Is that why is God punishing us?” I ask. “Because we were too … innovative?” I’ve heard of a lot of sins; I didn’t realize curiosity was one of them.

  “God isn’t punishing you,” Famine replies smoothly. “I am. God is merely balancing the scales—so to speak.”

  “Because we invented too many things?” I ask.

  “Because the world fell out of balance,” he says. “And humans are to blame for that.”

  There’s that word again—balance. The Reaper has mentioned it a couple of times now. Immediately, my eyes move to the kitchen, where I last caught a glimpse of his scales. He brought them in with the rest of our things, though he didn’t properly unpack them.

  “There are some good things about humans,” Famine adds. “If there weren’t, this would’ve happened long ago.”

  I take that in, trying to process the fact that the horseman is admitting that people have some goodness to them.

  I don’t say anything, caught between shock and a fragile sort of hope that maybe, maybe were aren’t totally and completely screwed.

  Famine’s eyes move to mine again, and that look is back. He leans forward and reaches out, his fingers skimming my cheeks.

  At his touch, I still.

  “You said everything was going to go back to the way it was before,” I accuse, my voice a whisper.

  “I lied.” There’s no remorse in his tone. “I cannot forget how you saved me and all you have admitted to me since. And I cannot forget how your skin felt against mine and the look in your eyes when I touched you. But most of all, Ana, I cannot ignore the way you draw me in, again and again.”

  My heart starts to pound loudly, so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. These are things lovers—true lovers—say to each other, and I can’t bear it. It’s my weakness. Ask any girl who’s known too little love in her life and she’ll tell you—this is how you ensnare us.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t been reconsidering it yourself?” Famine says.

  I glance away, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.

  “Ana.”

  Reluctantly, my eyes return to his, and he sees it. I know he does.

  His eyes widen, then after a moment, he flashes me a triumphant grin. “You have.” He stares at me a little longer, and I hear him inhale a breath. “That’s what you’ve been keeping
from me all day,” he says, like he’s finally figured it out.

  But I don’t think he has. I think if Famine knew the depth of what I’m feeling right now, he wouldn’t be so pleased.

  He catches my chin and pulls my face closer, leaning in until only a few short centimeters separate our lips. “Little flower, I’m happy to give you an encore of last night,” he says, his voice low. I can hear his own desire, and it is not helping anything at this point.

  I stare at the horseman, unwilling to speak. I don’t trust my mouth; it might blurt out every tangled, confused emotion I’m feeling right now.

  “I’m used to having casual sex,” I admit, “but this … this isn’t casual, Famine, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

  The horseman’s eyes are bright and deep, and part of me really wants to know what he thinks of that.

  “I’m not used to handling any of this,” he says.

  He releases my chin and sits up. “Get comfortable.” He nods to the blanket we’re sitting on. “I’ll tell you a story—with a head scratch—and then I’ll leave.”

  I frown at the leave part, but then—head scratch?

  I’m laying down in a matter of seconds, Famine sitting at my side.

  His hand slips through my hair, and I have to bite back a very sexual-sounding moan because it feels so good.

  “How about I tell you about the time I met one of my brothers,” he says thoughtfully.

  “Mmm,” I say noncommittally, not really paying attention to his words until—

  “Wait.” I begin to sit back up. “You mean here, on earth?”

  Famine pushes me back down. “Yes.”

  “Which brother?” I ask, head scratch forgotten. “And what was he doing? What were you doing? What did you do to each other?” Oh my God, the questions I have.

  Famine continues to rub my head. “I was making my way south through Europe. I’d already left the mainland, and I was crossing the Aegean Sea. I was about to arrive on Crete when I crossed paths with War.” His gaze grows distant.

  “In this form,” Famine says, “it’s hard to sense my brothers, but it isn’t impossible. I knew War was close; I could feel him approaching me just as he must’ve felt me approaching him.”