War (The Four Horsemen Book 2)

by Laura Thalassa

  War props himself up on his forearms. “Wife.” His eyes glitter.

  “A deal’s a deal,” I say. I move my hand up and down his shaft to emphasize my point. In response, his hips jerk.

  “God’s wrath,” he swears beneath his breath. “What, exactly, do you intend to do—?”

  His words cut off sharply as my lips wrap around the head of his cock. He groans, his hips bucking up to meet my mouth.

  He’s huge, and I’m clumsy and not at all sure what I’m doing, but he’s groaning and shuddering, so I must be doing at least something right.

  “Mercy to the fallen, I’ve never … never felt sensation like this …” His words taper into a groan.

  Alright, either he’s laying it on thick, or I totally missed a career as an expert prostitute because War seems to really be enjoying this.

  At some point I find a rhythm, and then it’s his hands that delve into my hair, holding me to him.

  “Your mouth against me—it’s the most exquisite pain, wife.”

  I’m happy he thinks that because my God, this man’s dick is going to break my jaw.

  Once I gain enough confidence, my hand moves to his balls.

  “Miriam—”

  That’s all the warning I get.

  War thickens inside my mouth, and then he’s coming and coming and coming. I taste him against my tongue for a moment—am I supposed to swallow? But then it doesn’t matter because I am swallowing, and he’s making sexy, satisfied sounds as he continues to piston in and out from between my lips.

  I feel oddly proud of my oral game for a hot five seconds before I realize I just gave a horseman of the apocalypse a blowjob, and I have superhuman cum inside me and I’m pretty sure none of this is good.

  War pulls me up to him, distracting me from that disturbing line of thoughts.

  “I may know every language, wife,” he says, his sex-roughened voice extra deep, “but I have no words for what I feel right now.”

  I search his kohl-lined gaze, then give him a soft kiss on the lips.

  The horseman is painfully kind. Much kinder than I ever imagined him to be.

  It doesn’t change who he is, the cynical part of me says. And then the guilt creeps in at what I did and what I will continue to do with the horseman. Worse, I truly wanted it for my own selfish reasons.

  At least the aviaries will be saved. I can rest easy knowing that.

  I lay there in the horseman’s arms for a long time. Long enough for our breathing to return to normal and our bodies to cool. I even spend a few minutes tracing War’s glowing tattoos.

  Just like last night, I want to reimagine us, if only to alleviate my guilt. I want to pretend I get to have him and a decent life and no more battles and everything else that I know I don’t get.

  The daydream only lasts for a few minutes. Once I can hold reality at bay for no longer, I begin to get up.

  I’ve only just begun to step out of War’s bed when he hooks an arm around my torso and drags me back to his pallet.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, his breath hot against my ear.

  I flash him a surprised look. Isn’t it obvious? “Back to my tent.”

  “No,” he says simply.

  I lay there, my back against his chest, for a second. “This is not what we agreed on,” I say.

  “Your touches,” War replies. “That’s what we agreed on. And I’m claiming them all, even the ones that happen when I’m not taking you in my mouth.”

  My face heats. I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t really have an argument. I just hadn’t planned on continuing to cuddle with this monster.

  He leans over me and begins trailing kisses down my torso.

  Not that he plans on cuddling …

  His lips pass my belly button.

  “Things will be different now,” he murmurs against my skin.

  I feel hot and cold, wrong and right, all at the same time.

  His lips move lower, lower …

  “Again?” I say breathlessly. “But I’m not ready—”

  He kisses my clit and I buck against him.

  Oh God, what have I agreed to?

  “Yes, Miriam, we’re doing this again. And again. And again.” He pulls away long enough to look up the line of my body. “My wife,” he says, “I look forward to this trade.”

  The sun has only just risen when I wake. I’m caught in a tangle of War’s limbs, and my body feels raw and tired from everything we did throughout the night.

  Next to me, the horseman sleeps soundly. My eyes drift to his mouth, and my cheeks flame all over again. My core is extra sensitive and my thigh muscles hurt as I sneak out of War’s bed and slip the scattered bits of my clothes back on. Once I’m dressed, I head for the exit.

  I pause, glancing back to take the horseman in one last time.

  The sharp angles of his face have softened in sleep; he looks almost happy. I feel my stomach flutter in response, the sensation quickly followed by horror.

  This is just a physical relationship. Anything else only promises heartbreak.

  Chapter 28

  I sit in my tent, my forearms resting on my gathered knees, my thumb pressed to my lips as I think. Today I can’t even concentrate on making bows and arrows.

  Every time I close my eyes, I swear I can feel the glide of War’s hands and the press of his lips. And every time a set of footfalls near my tent, I tense, sure they’re his. But so far today, he’s given me my space.

  “Miriam! Are you in your tent?” Zara’s voice rings out.

  Fuck. She’s the last person I want to see right now. And the one time that I need the phobos riders to keep her out, they let her through.

  “Yeah,” I say weakly, “I’m in here.”

  Several seconds later, the flaps pull back and she peers inside at me. “What are you doing in there? It’s hot.”

  I’m hiding.

  Instead of answering her, I step out of the tent.

  As soon as I do so, Zara looks me over, a frown growing on her face. “Are you okay? You look like shit.”

  I wince. “Thanks for your honesty.”

  “Never mind about that.” She clasps my hand between hers. “Are you riding out tomorrow?” she asks, a note of urgency in her voice.

  Oh God, the invasion. A wave of nausea rolls through me at the prospect.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I say.

  Just because I’ve gotten used to this place doesn’t mean I won’t try to stop these soldiers at every opportunity I get.

  “Miriam,” she squeezes my hand fiercely, “They put me on cooking duty for tomorrow, but I need to ride out with the rest of you.”

  “Why?” I ask her quizzically. Being a soldier means you have to kill your own kind … and it means that you yourself might be killed. Neither are desirable options.

  “My sister.” Her voice breaks. “She lives in Arish with her husband and son. I need to get them out.”

  My stomach bottoms out.

  “You’re sure they live there?” It’s a dumb question; of course she’s sure.

  Zara nods anyway. “My brother-in-law, Aazim, is a fisherman.”

  A fisherman …

  The ocean blocks the city from the north.

  I squeeze her hand. “Does he have a boat?”

  “He shares one with some other men, I think …”

  Behind Zara, a phobos rider heads towards us.

  I glance back at my friend, my mind racing.

  “Please,” she says, “if there’s any way you can help—

  The phobos rider steps up to us, his eyes moving between me and Zara.

  “The warlord wants to see you,” he says to me.

  My focus is still on Zara. I squeeze her hand again and make a decision.

  “I’ll help,” I say, nodding. I pull her in for a hug, and whisper into her ear. “I’ll meet you at your tent first thing tomorrow. Be ready—and bring whatever weapons you can with you.”

  She nods as she pull
s away. “Thank you,” she says softly, even as the phobos rider ushers me away.

  I wave to Zara, then follow the rider. After a long stretch of silence, I take the man in. It’s the same soldier who handed me the sword the day I was to kill my attackers.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. He has gentle eyes, and the few other times I’ve interacted with him, he hasn’t been as hostile as some of the other phobos riders.

  “Hussain,” he says.

  War’s tent looms ahead. The sight of it causes me to flush.

  “I’m Miriam,” I say distractedly.

  The horseman wants more. I can sense it.

  My body thrums at the thought.

  Hussain gives a small laugh. “I know who you are,” he says. He sounds kind and not at all like he despises me.

  I’m not used to kindness here—to be honest, even back in Jerusalem, kindness was a rare thing. Life is a series of debts, loans, and obligations. Kindness is just something to muddy the waters.

  The two of us get to the tent flaps. Hussain bows and steps away, leaving me to enter alone.

  When I step inside War’s tent, everything feels different. In this enclosed space, nothing else besides me and the horseman exists. Not the death and grief and violence and horror of the outside world.

  In here, with the smell of leather and perfumed oil in the air, I’m reminded of other, more intimate things.

  Across the room the man himself lounges in a chair, a glass of wine dangling from his hand.

  “Miriam.” His eyes heat when they meet mine, and I can practically see last night playing out in his mind.

  He stands, setting his wine aside.

  I take a deep breath and move to him, my hand trailing over the table as I pass it by. I glance idly at it, but then what I see catches my attention.

  A map of Arish is spread out, various notes and arrows scribbled across it. This was the map War and his phobos riders were looking at yesterday when they were talking strategy. Despite all his supernatural abilities, the horseman still relies on us, the natives, to help him out.

  War steps in close behind me.

  “I still can’t believe there are people who are loyal to you,” I say, my fingers moving over the writing. Different hands have penned different notes.

  “My riders aren’t loyal to me, Miriam.” His breath fans along my neck. “They are loyal to the art of breathing.”

  My skin puckers at his nearness, and it takes several seconds to ignore my body’s response to him.

  I turn from the map, the table jutting into my back. I have to crane my head to look up at War.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

  “Doing what?” His eyes are fixed on my mouth.

  “Fighting. Killing.”

  War gives me a strange look, like I’m asking him why birds fly or hearts beat. Something that needs no answer.

  “Why wouldn’t I be doing this? It’s why I’m here. It’s what I am.”

  It’s what I am.

  I keep thinking of him as a person, not as an entity, but I guess that’s what he is—war. He just happens to wear a human face.

  “Could you stop fighting and raiding?” I ask.

  “I won’t.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  War stares at me for a long time, his eyes narrowing. “Yes, wife, I suppose I could stop.”

  If, of course, he wanted to. That makes this a little worse; I wasn’t positive until now that the horseman might have a choice in the matter.

  I take a shuddering breath. “Do you have a bow and arrow?” I ask, changing the subject.

  War studies me. “I do,” he says carefully.

  “Can I use it tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” he repeats. “You mean for the battle?” The horseman narrows his eyes. “And here you had me convinced that you were trying to push for peace.”

  I don’t respond to that. I’m afraid anything else I say might make War decide that keeping me out of the fight is the smarter option. It’s definitely the safer one.

  But I doubt War’s mind even goes there. Not since I convinced him last time that his god would protect me.

  He leans in close, resting his knuckles on the table, pinning me in. “Who, sweet wife of mine, do you plan on shooting with my bow and arrows?”

  My jaw tenses. “Whoever crosses me.”

  The corner of his lips curves up. “I knew you were going to be trouble.” His gaze drops to my lips. “But never mind that. That’s not why I called you here.”

  My abs tighten. “I know why you called me here.”

  “Good. Then no more talking.”

  War doesn’t wait for me to respond. In an instant, his hand is cradling the back of my head and his mouth is on mine.

  Embarrassingly, my knees weaken, and I grab onto the horseman’s forearm to keep myself upright.

  War is a demanding kisser, his hands in my hair, his tongue insistent against my lips until I part my mouth and let him in.

  He lifts me up and onto the table, setting me on its edge. “This morning, you left before we’d begun.”

  Roughly, the horseman removes one of my boots, then the other.

  “There’s no rush,” I say a bit breathlessly.

  War’s hands go to my pants, unbuttoning them, and then pulling them over my hips and down my legs.

  He gives a low laugh. “Oh, I don’t plan on rushing this.”

  My panties come off next. The horseman kneels, pulling my hips towards him.

  God, we’re doing this again.

  “War—”

  But then my words give way to gasps.

  It’s a long time before the two of us do much more talking. Hours and hours later. By then, we’re back in War’s bed, my body draped along his.

  He runs his fingers down my spine. “Your skin is softer than I imagined,” he says, his eyes following his hand. “So soft, my mortal bride.”

  I prop my chin on his chest. This close to him, I’m struck again by how … off he is. He’s just a little too large, a little too ferocious, a little too captivating.

  He doesn’t shine like I always imagined an angel might, and he’s obviously not pure and clean in the way that angels are depicted, but there’s something about him, something alien and other. Something decidedly not demonic, though I want to demonize him—or I used to want that anyway.

  War sees me staring, and he smiles at me, his eyes amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed gazing at me just as much as I enjoy gazing at you.”

  I take one of his hands and thread our fingers together.

  “I do like gazing at you,” I admit. I bring his hand to my mouth, kissing his tattoos one by one. “And I like touching you.”

  I shouldn’t tell him things like this, especially when they ring true to my own ears.

  War’s face changes, subtly. Or maybe it’s simply his eyes. He wraps an arm around me and flips the two of us so that I’m beneath him. “Touch me all you like, wife.”

  I trace his markings, suddenly feeling proprietary and unsure all at once.

  “How many times have you done this?” I ask, deliberately keeping my tone light.

  It doesn’t fool the horseman.

  He searches my face, settling against me, his forearms on either side of my head. “What does it matter?”

  It shouldn’t matter.

  I swallow, and he notices, his eyes honing in on the small action. It causes his brows to furrow. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. You look frightened, wife.”

  Frightened?

  “I’m not frightened,” I say, offended.

  You’d have to be emotionally invested to be frightened.

  Again, his brows draw together. “This is a human thing I don’t understand, but if you really want to know, then I have done this countless times before today.”

  I groan and cover my eyes with my hand. Countless? I’ve been with four men, and only one of them was memorable i
n any way, shape, or form. And he’s now laying on top of me.

  The horseman pulls my hand away from my face. “Miriam, you’re being strange. Does it matter?”

  I guffaw. “You have to know it matters,” I say. Shame makes my face heat. I mean, come on, I know this guy isn’t human, but he’s been on earth long enough to bed countless women—and maybe some men too. Surely he should know that people care about these things.

  “You want to know about the other women I’ve been with?” he asks.

  Of course I do. I’m luridly curious about shit like that. I’m also ashamed of that fact.

  I don’t even need to respond; whatever he sees on my face must be clue enough.

  “Ah,” he says, “you do but you don’t. How perplexing, wife.”

  War gazes down at me, and it’s alarming how handsome he is with his dark hair and princely features.

  He lets out a breath. “I have been with dozens upon dozens of people, Miriam. Their faces bleed together—I cannot recall any of their names.”

  “Are there still some in your army?” This is such a barbed question.

  “Some.”

  Ick. I make a face. For some reason, that makes him feel a little less like mine.

  He isn’t yours, Miriam.

  “How do they feel about that?” I force out the question.

  “How do they feel about what?” War asks, baffled.

  “Having sex with you only to see you with another woman?”

  War gives me a look like he’s trying to make sense of the nonsensical. “Why should that concern me?”

  It’s my turn to give him the strange look. But of course, why should that concern him? The horseman didn’t grow up acutely aware of social etiquette and taboos amongst humans.

  He doesn’t say anything more. I guess that’s all the answer I’m going to get.

  “Now, how about you?” he says.

  “What about me?” I ask suspiciously.

  “I want to know about the other men you’ve been with.”

  “No.” The answer comes to my lips so fast.

  War smiles, running a finger over my mouth. “That few.”

  “Why does it matter?” I ask him essentially the same question he asked me only minutes ago.