Slowly my eyes move to Famine’s.
I can’t do this.
“Ana—” he cautions.
I bolt.
My arms and legs pump as I make a beeline for a field lined with rows and rows of wheat that are somehow, inexplicably, still alive.
I don’t quite know what I’m doing, and I don’t especially care.
Run-run-run-run-run.
I weave through the plants, their stalks slapping at me. Over my heavy breath, I hear Famine’s pounding footfalls behind me, and Satan’s balls, the fucker is coming for me.
I strain my muscles, pushing them to their limits.
The problem is, I’ve spent the last few years being a soft, pliant thing that men can fall into. My muscles are nonexistent, and they’re tiring fast.
It takes Famine a laughably short amount of time to close in on me. He catches me around the waist and the two of us go tumbling into the dirt.
I cough, the heavy press of the Reaper at my back making it hard to breathe. After a moment, he flips me over.
“You foolish little flower, don’t you know?” he scolds me. “I kill everything. If you leave my side, you will die.”
I push uselessly at his shoulders. “Then let me die, damn you!”
“No.”
Famine looks at me, gobsmacked; his response seems to shock him more than it does me. He searches my face, like it holds some answers.
Gentler, he says, “You saved me once. I am going to return the favor, even if it means forcing you to stay with me.”
My mind flashes back to the way Famine looked at me all those years ago when he realized I had saved him. Like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline.
I think maybe he believed in humanity in that moment. Even though he shouldn’t have. Even though he doesn’t now.
Still, I can tell he believes in something when he looks at me. His cruel expression is gone, and his eyes are alight with … well, whatever it is, it’s not anger.
The horseman pushes himself off me, rising to his feet.
I lay in the dirt a moment longer, just staring up at him.
Famine dusts himself off. After a moment, he reaches out a hand to me. When I don’t immediately take it, his green eyes flash.
“We can either do this the easy way—and you can willingly come with me—” he says, “or we can do it the hard way.”
He doesn’t elaborate on what the hard way is, but I’m not interested in finding out. I feel defeated all of a sudden. Resisting him doesn’t seem to get me anywhere.
“I think your definition and my definition of hard are two very different things,” I say, taking his hand.
He doesn’t get the joke—or if he does, he doesn’t react.
Famine pulls me back to my feet. Even once I’m standing, however, he doesn’t let my hand go. It’s not until the two of us are in the saddle and his horse begins to move that he relaxes his hold on me. But then, the arm that held me fast last night is back around my waist, pinning me against his armor. I don’t think the Reaper is afraid of me diving off his horse or falling asleep.
I think, despite all the horseman’s hate and anger, he doesn’t half mind touching me after all.
Chapter 19
“I’m tired.”
“Not this again.”
For the second day in a row, the two of us have been riding late into the night.
“Newsflash—” I say, “I’m going to want to sleep every day. Just like eating, it’s not really an optional activity for me.” Even though it clearly seems to be an optional one for him.
I shit you not, the man growls in response.
“Also, I’m hungry,” I add.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Listen, asshole,” I say, my irritation spiking, “if you’re so determined to keep me alive, you need to fight your stupid base nature and actually help me meet my needs.”
He snarls again at my words. Abruptly, he seems to alter course, directing his horse through a nearby field. We trample over some nameless crop.
“What are you doing?” I ask, shaking off my sleepiness.
“Fulfilling your needs,” he bites out. “I can only take so much of your pestering.”
Convincing him was … easy enough. I feel a spark of apprehension. Maybe it was too easy.
The crops we pass whack our arms and legs as we pass them. I can’t see anything beyond them, not until the field falls away. Ahead of us I catch sight of a small, dark structure. We ride right up to it at full speed.
At the last second, Famine pulls on the reins, and his horse comes to a sudden halt, its front hooves lifting off the ground and pawing the air.
Everything this guy does has to be so damn dramatic.
Once the horse has dropped his feet back to the ground, the Reaper reaches down, unfastening the scythe he had strapped to his horse.
Weapon in hand, Famine swings off the horse and stalks towards the house. Only then, when I see his big-ass blade glinting ominously in the moonlight, does his awful little plan come together.
Aw fuck.
This is how he means to meet my needs. By killing off someone else so that we can freely use their home.
Goddamnit.
I hop off the horse and rush after him. “Famine, please, let’s not do anything too drastic—”
The horseman lifts a foot and unceremoniously kicks the door in, the blow so intense I hear the metal rip from its hinges.
Inside, a woman screams.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The horseman strides inside, looking massive and lethal, a sinister frown on his face. On the opposite side of the room an old woman cowers behind an ancient couch. I see a book on the ground, and one small oil lamp giving off weak, watery light.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” she says, her voice wobbly.
As soon as Famine sees the woman, he stalks towards her, and it’s obvious what he intends.
The elderly woman crosses herself, despite the uselessness of the gesture. The only divine intervention she’s going to get tonight is closing in on her, and he doesn’t give a shit about her life.
“Famine!” I rush after him, feeling panicked and useless.
He ignores me completely, his gaze glued to his next victim. She’s still crouched on the ground, babbling something now—maybe a prayer—but I can’t make out the words.
I grab the wooden staff of the Reaper’s scythe, but he shakes off my hold easily enough.
“Step away, Ana,” Famine commands, not casting me a glance.
Yeah, uh, fuck that.
He looms over the woman and pulls the scythe back, getting ready to strike.
Without thinking, I throw myself in the way, knocking the old lady aside. My eyes go big when I see the tip of that terrible scythe descending down on me.
When he realizes he’s about to strike me and not the other woman, Famine jerks his arm back—
He just doesn’t do it quickly enough.
The tip of the scythe sinks into my shoulder, and it’s sickening just how easily it cuts through sinew.
Like a knife through butter.
For a moment, I feel like a fish caught on a hook. But then just as swiftly as the blade descended, it’s gone, more flesh tearing in its wake.
It takes a second for the pain to register, but once it does, I gasp, my legs buckling.
“Ana,” Famine says, aghast, dropping the blade.