Famine (The Four Horsemen Book 3) Page 9

  Famine’s power doesn’t, however, touch the wild things. Not the grass or the weeds or the indigenous plants that greedily press up against the edges of the fields. It’s our subsistence he wants to end.

  “Will it ever grow back?” I ask, gazing out at the dying crops.

  “Not any time soon,” he replies, “and when it does, it won’t be crops. This land doesn’t belong to humans. It never has, and it never will.”

  Despite the rising heat of the day, goosebumps break out along my skin.

  Life really isn’t going to ever go back to the way it was. I mean, I knew that the moment Famine rode into my city, but I hadn’t fully processed it until now. There will be no more farmers, no more market days. There will be no more lazy afternoons at the bordello or evenings where it’s business as usual. Here in southern Brazil, farming is our main form of commerce. If Famine wipes that out … he won’t need to kill us in an instant. We’ll all eventually starve.

  “You’ve presented me with a problem,” he admits, cutting through my thoughts.

  “I’m going to put this in the nicest way possible:” I say, swinging my bare feet back and forth, “you can go fuck yourself and your problem away.”

  His grip digs into my thigh. “Is fucking your only solution to any problem?”

  “Is killing yours?” I shoot back.

  “My problem,” he continues smoothly, as though we weren’t just arguing, “is that I’m here to blight crops and starve your kind, yet I must feed you.”

  He sounds truly torn about this.

  “What will you do?”

  “You would be wise not to offend me,” he says. “I have seen humans boil their belts and their Bibles’ leather casing, all so that they might fill their stomachs with something representing food. I’ve seen them eat all manner of inedible things. I’ve even seen them eat their own kind. All in the name of relieving that painful ache in their guts. I don’t need to make your survival easy or comfortable.”

  “You’ve actually let people live long enough to boil their belts?” I say. “I find that hard to believe.”

  I shift in the saddle, and I swear I feel the searing heat of his gaze on my legs.

  “You know,” I add, “you’d probably be much less bloodthirsty if you banged your aggression out.”

  “I don’t want to be less bloodthirsty—and I definitely don’t want to ‘bang’ you.”

  “I wasn’t offering, though I’m sure you could find someone open to the idea. Probably not a living someone, but still, someone.”

  “You say that as though you didn’t throw yourself at me mere weeks ago,” he says, sounding exasperated.

  I didn’t throw myself at him. Ana da Silva doesn’t throw herself at anyone; she coyly lures the unwitting into her sex den and enslaves their wills to hers … for a time.

  “I was blinded by memories of a nicer Famine,” I say.

  “And I have been blinded by memories of a nicer, less sexual version of you.”

  I raise my eyebrows, an unwilling smile spreading across my face. “I didn’t realize my sexuality mattered to you.”

  He growls. “Will you be quiet?”

  “Only if you put something in my mouth. Dicks are still an option,” I say, just to taunt him.

  “I thought you weren’t offering,” he says.

  I open my mouth to argue, but—oh, he’s right.

  “I might make an exception just this once,” I say, “for the sake of humanity, of course. A blowjob to end all bloodshed—that sounds appropriately valiant.”

  It really does.

  A horseman was brought to his knees when a human got down on hers …

  The PR might need to be adjusted a bit, but I’m definitely liking the sound of that. Who knew prostitution could be such a noble cause?

  “Fucking fine.” Famine halts his horse abruptly.

  Oh shit.

  “Wait,” I say. “Are you actually taking me up on the offer?”

  I was more interested in taunting the horseman than actually following through on my word. But now …

  Famine dismounts. A moment later, he reaches for me, cuffs and all, dragging me off his horse. My bare feet stumble against the earth, my shackles clanging as they shift.

  “Alright,” I say, glancing around. “Right here. Okay.” I swallow, clear my throat. “I didn’t realize you were so eager.”

  I glance at the horseman’s pants. I’ve seen him naked before, but he was so badly hurt then that I hadn’t really noticed his genitals. Now, however, I’m oddly piqued at the thought of seeing his dick, damn my curious mind.

  When Famine doesn’t make a move to undo his pants, I reach for them.

  He glances down at me. “What are you doing?”

  I can feel all that disapproving energy focused on me.

  “Getting things started. If you’re a little shy, we can take this slower—”

  “Shy?” he echoes.

  Understanding flashes in his eyes a second later, followed by—wait for it—annoyance.

  He swats my hands away. “Stop,” he says, vaguely irritated.

  I give him a confused look, but he’s not even paying attention to me. His focus is on a grassy patch of earth a few meters away.

  I back away from him as he reaches out a hand towards the ground.

  Seconds go by. Then, from the earth, a tiny sapling sprouts before my eyes, rising up gracefully, its branches and stems unfurling.

  Only hours ago I saw a different batch of plants rise from the ground, and yet, this process looks wholly different from what I saw this morning. Those earlier plants grew aggressively; it was a violent, monstrous birth. This, on the other hand, looks like a slow dance.

  It takes much longer for this plant to grow, partially because the tree is so damn large. As it grows and fills out, its leaves sway up and down, almost as though it’s breathing. Its trunk thickens and then—wonder of wonders—beads of fruit swell along that trunk and some of the larger branches. They turn color, going from green to wine red to, finally, a violet-black.

  And then, the tree settles, its rapid growth complete. I stare up at it. It’s a jabuticaba tree, much like the one I picked fruit from the day I found the horseman.

  Famine lowers his hand, turning to me.

  “Well?” he says.

  My brows draw together, confused. “Do you want me to suck your dick under there?”

  He exhales, his eyes rising heavenward in exasperation.

  “I’m kidding.” Sort of. I’m still thinking about the blowjob to save all humanity.

  The Reaper glowers at me. “It’s food for you to eat,” he explains anyway. “To get you to stop talking about sex for five seconds.”

  I guess his dilemma about feeding me is not much of a dilemma when sex is the other looming option.

  Shame. I was half excited about his supernatural dick too.

  Chapter 14

  The few travelers we pass all die. The horseman makes sure of that.

  The first time I see another living soul, I immediately tense. The man plods down the road, driving a small herd of goats. He doesn’t notice us until we’re nearly upon him, and when he does, he only has time for his eyes to widen before a twisting bush rises from the ground, ensnaring him in its grasp.

  I bite back a scream as the plant kills him. Perhaps the most macabre part of it all is that even as the man thrashes in its clutches, the plant sprouts delicate, pink-petaled roses.

  It’s not just travelers the Reaper kills. We pass through several small towns, and in each one, the horseman’s petrifying plants sprout up, trapping and killing the people in their clutches.

  It’s not until we enter the city of Colombo that Famine whispers in my ear. “We’re staying here.”

  I suppress a shiver at his words. I’d like to say it’s from sheer terror, but there’s a sick part of me that still inappropriately reacts to the low, sultry timbre of his voice, just as I did when I was seventeen.

  Our entr
ance is nothing like the one I witnessed back in Laguna. Crowds don’t line the streets, no one waits for us. The first time anyone recognizes Famine, they scream, dropping the basket they were carrying and fleeing to their house. It happens a second time, and then a third, until it seems the whole city is in an uproar.

  I guess Famine hadn’t sent anyone ahead to alert the town of his arrival.

  We charge forward, Famine’s horse speeding up until he’s galloping through the city streets. All around us—madness. People are fleeing in every direction, their goods scattering. Livestock is running loose, a few pigs squealing in panic.

  Right in the middle of it all, Famine stops his horse, the steed rearing back. I have to grab onto the horse’s neck to keep myself seated.

  “Stop.” The Reaper’s voice rings out, echoing with supernatural force.

  To my shock … people do slow down, their frightened gazes moving to the horseman.

  “I need a place to stay,” he says. “The best house in the city. And I need good men who are willing to help me. Do this, and I will withhold the worst of my wrath.”

  At that, I glance back at Famine. His expression seems genuine enough, but then, is he even capable of being merciful?

  A handful of people begin to come forward, ready to assist the horseman.

  I guess we’re all about to find out …

  By the time Famine and I eventually enter the house we’ll be staying in, night has already fallen. My shackles clang as I walk next to the horseman and some of the townspeople who’ve been helping us over the last several hours.

  The Reaper holds his scythe in one hand, and in the other he grips my upper arm. Not so discreetly I try to shrug his hold off. Rather than releasing me, his grip tightens.

  “Let me go,” I hiss under my breath.

  The horseman gives me the side eye, but otherwise ignores my request.

  “… This is the master bedroom,” says Luiz, a senior official with the Colombo police department. He’s the one who’s orchestrated most of our accommodations. “The owners of the house have graciously given it up for you and your, uh—” Luiz’s eyes size me up, lingering on my manacles, which still haven’t come off. Famine doesn’t offer up any sort of explanation, and neither do I, “—companion.”

  The Reaper openly glares at the man, hostility rolling off him. This has been Famine’s reaction ever since the two of us learned that Luiz was a part of the police force. Whoever once hurt the horseman, I have a sneaking suspicion that they were uniformed men.

  Luiz leads us back to the front of the house, where an aging couple stand rigid, looking upset and uncomfortable.

  The official’s face relaxes. “Mr. and Mrs. Barbosa. There you are.” He walks ahead of us to greet them.

  Even as they take his hand, their eyes are glued to the Reaper.

  Luiz turns to face us. “Famine,” he says, “these are your hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Barbosa,” he repeats unnecessarily, “the owners of the house.”

  They look both angry and alarmed.

  The wife is the first to notice me. She sees Famine’s grip on my arm, then my handcuffs. She eyes me from the top of my wild, curly hair, down my ill-fitting dress, and finally to my grimy bare feet. Her nostrils flare, and she grimaces, like she can sense my ill-repute wafting off of me. I wonder what she would do if she realized that I actually was a prostitute.

  Famine squeezes my arm, then releases it, stepping forward.

  “Ah, the owners,” he says. “Just the people I wanted to see.”

  Faster than I can follow, he lifts his scythe from his back and slashes it across the couple’s necks. For an instant, it looks as though the couple is wearing crimson collars. Then their heads topple off their shoulders.

  I’m the first to scream, my shackled hands coming up to my mouth. A moment later, the rest of the room begins to shout as men and women grab their weapons.

  Luiz comes at the horseman, and Famine spins the scythe in his hand, like it’s an elaborate sort of dance. The blade arcs up, the tip of it catching the police chief low in the gut and opening him up all the way to his collarbone.

  At the sight, my legs fold.

  Everyone else is rushing the Reaper, weapons drawn.

  “Enough.” Famine’s voice booms.

  I don’t know what sort of devilish magic is at work, but for whatever reason, people listen to him. The men and women around us halt their attack, some even lowering their weapons.

  “Me and my little human here—” The Reaper reaches out and jangles my manacles, “are going to be staying here. You can either help me and keep your miserable lives, or I can kill you now. Who wants to die?” His gaze sweeps over the remaining men and women who surround us.

  No one makes a sound.

  “As I thought.” Famine lowers his scythe to the ground, holding it like a staff.

  “Clean up these bodies,” he orders no one in particular. “I need someone to make dinner, and I want some form of entertainment. Find me the best that this city has to offer and bring it here.” Or else. He doesn’t say it, but we all hear it.

  Famine grabs my shackles and begins to lead me away. We’ve barely taken three steps before he pauses, causing me to nearly run into him.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” the horseman says, turning back to face the men. “In case any of you are considering rebelling, let me save you the trouble—don’t.

  “Any attempts on my life will be met with painful retribution. I cannot emphasize that enough.” Famine nods to the bodies. Luiz is still alive and moaning. “This is mercy. Just ask her.” He shakes my manacles, and several sets of eyes move to me.

  I don’t say anything, but I imagine they can see my fear. I can certainly feel it seeping through my body.

  “Well?” Famine says, his gaze passing over them. “Why are you all still standing there? Get to it. Now.”

  The horseman leads me to an empty room, following me inside. The moment he closes the door, I shudder, my muscles weakening. My legs don’t really want to hold me up, but somehow they manage to.

  “What do you want?” I say. My voice wavers.

  “What, no sexual innuendos?” Famine says, tossing his scythe onto the bed, the blood from the blade smearing onto the comforter.

  I press my lips together. Several people just died. I can’t wrap my mind around his casualness.

  All this time I was trying to get under his skin, and instead, Famine got under mine. He knows it, too. Sick shit that he is, he’s enjoying the moment.

  “You’ve been telling me that I had to put something in your mouth to get you to shut up, but it appears all I needed to do is kill a few people,” he says. “How fortunate for me, since I happen to be in the business of death.”

  I shudder and turn away from him, moving over to the window. I can’t see anything outside; the darkness is absolute.

  I exhale, my breath shaky. “The day I saved you—do you know why I did it?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him.

  “I don’t care why you did it,” Famine says, and yet I can see that beautiful face of his turned in my direction, waiting for me to finish my thought.

  “I couldn’t stand the thought that someone could hurt another person the way you were hurt.”

  “I’m not a person, Ana. I’m a horseman.”

  “Do you think that made a difference in my mind?”

  He has nothing to say to that.

  I turn back to the window, not wanting to look at Famine or the blood that’s splattered across his bronze armor.

  A moment later, he comes up to my side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him reach into his black trousers and pull out a key. The Reaper grabs my wrists and begins unlocking the manacles.

  “You’re taking me out of the cuffs?” I ask.

  “Would you prefer I didn’t?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

  I don’t say anything to that.

  He finishes unlocking the thick iron shackles, and I roll my wrists. In some spots, the s
kin has been rubbed raw.

  “I thought you didn’t trust me,” I say suspiciously.

  “I don’t,” Famine agrees. “But what can you really do at this point?”

  “I could hurt you,” I say, my gaze flinty. I think I would really enjoy sinking another blade into the Reaper right about now.

  Famine looks downright tickled at the thought. “And chance suffering my wrath? I think not,” he says. “Though I welcome your attempts—meager as they’ve so far proven to be.”

  “I thought you said I was safe with you,” I remind him.

  “You are. I don’t plan on hurting you if you don’t hurt me.”

  Begrudgingly I admit that’s fair.

  “And if I run?” I ask.

  “Your attempts at escape have been even worse than your attempts at murder,” he says, stepping in close.

  I can’t help it, my breath hitches at the sight of him.

  “But humor me, little flower,” he continues. “Run. Go back to your poor, abandoned city, and live in your empty whorehouse. Try to earn a living again selling yourself to dead men and enjoy what scraps of moldering food escaped my reach. I’m sure you will live a long and prosperous life.”

  As he speaks, my hate rises, closing up my throat. I stare up at him. He’s standing far too close to me. Only my clients ever got this close, but then it was for entirely different reasons.

  Famine’s gaze searches mine. “No, you won’t run,” he says. “Because running takes a certain level of courage that you utterly lack.”

  My palm comes up before I can help it, and I slap him across the cheek. I can feel the sting of contact against my skin. The Reaper’s head snaps to the side.

  In the moment that follows, neither of us does anything. I’m breathing heavily, and the horseman’s face is turned away from me.

  Slowly, his hand comes up, and he touches his cheek. He lets out a laugh, and the hairs along my arms stand up.

  This man just killed three people, and I went and hit him.

  Faster than I can follow, he grabs my jaw. “You foolish little flower. Have you learned nothing?” As he speaks, he walks forward, backing me up until I hit the wall. Once there, I’m pinned in. “Maybe you are courageous after all to tempt my anger.”