Famine (The Four Horsemen Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  I had never thought to press Famine for information on his brothers. Clearly, I should’ve.

  “He met me on the beach,” he says.

  I try to picture it in my mind—Famine meeting War, one of his brothers.

  The Reaper falls silent.

  “And?” I prod.

  “He told me to leave.”

  “Did you?” I ask.

  Famine’s eyes slip to mine, a wry smile on his face. “One does not pick fights with War, not even in his mortal form. I left him and his family alone—”

  “Family?” I interrupt, shocked.

  What in the actual hell?

  “War has a family?”

  “So does Pestilence.”

  I stare at Famine, trying to process that. “You mean to tell me that two of your brothers have settled down and had kids?” I say carefully.

  Famine nods.

  “… How?” I finally ask.

  The horseman gives me a sly look. “It’s really quite simple, flower. They fucked mortal women. Those women got pregnant. Now they have families.”

  My eyes feel like they’re bulging from their sockets. Right now, everything this horseman says is wilder than the thing before it.

  “You horsemen can get women pregnant?” I ask.

  Jesus. I hadn’t even thought about that.

  “I can eat and sleep and do just about everything else a human can,” Famine says. “Is being able to procreate really so shocking?”

  “Yes.”

  It’s really, really freaking shocking.

  The next question slips from my lips. “Do you have any children?”

  “God, no,” he says, “I’ve made sure of that.”

  “You made sure—” I sit up again. “What is that supposed to mean? Did you kill your kids?” I can feel how wide my eyes are.

  The Reaper pushes me back down.

  “Would that actually shock you?” he says.

  “Oh my God, you did.” I don’t know why, but that changes everything.

  I begin to get up, and once more Famine pushes me back down. “Calm your tits,” the horseman says, and how fucking dare he use my own line against me— “They never lived to begin with.”

  I stare up at him, breathing heavily, my mind racing to catch up with his words.

  “They never lived … ?” I echo.

  “I have the power to make things grow and die,” he says. “I can prevent conception.”

  That is so much more information than I bargained for. But also, sex with the horseman is back on the table.

  Jesus, did that thought actually cross my mind?

  Famine stares down at me. “Are you good?”

  I nod, maybe a little too quickly. “I’m good,” I say, just to reassure him.

  The horseman is looking at me as though I can’t be trusted.

  “So War lives on an island?” I start again, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself. “With his family?”

  I’m trying to imagine someone like Famine being a father. I can’t picture it.

  “Mhm,” Famine says, still giving me a skeptical look. His hand moves back to my hair, and his fingers begin rubbing my scalp once more.

  “So, he loves them then?” I ask. “His family?”

  “The fuck if I know,” the Reaper says. After a moment, he adds, “But I imagine he does.”

  I lay there, trying to figure out how the hell these women managed to tame two horsemen of the apocalypse.

  “Does that mean War’s not killing people the same way you are?” I ask.

  “He had been,” Famine admits, “but yes, at some point he stopped—as did Pestilence.”

  “Why?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

  The horseman frowns. A moment later, he stands. “Get some sleep. I’ll be near.”

  With that, he crosses the room and opens the door. Famine slips outside, into the drizzling rain. The door clicks shut behind him, and then he’s gone.

  It takes far longer than it should to fall asleep.

  At first, all I can think about is his parting story and all of the information he revealed. But as my shock settles, other things begin to creep in.

  I cannot forget how your skin felt against mine and the look in your eyes when I touched you. But most of all, I cannot ignore the way you draw me in.

  I’m haunted by the horseman’s words and the look on his face when he said them.

  I don’t even have a dick in me, and I’m fucked.

  So, so fucked.

  Somewhere between one troubled thought and the next, I slip off to sleep.

  BANG!

  I jolt awake, trying to figure out what’s happening, even as I hear shouting. Panic floods my system.

  I push myself up on my elbows just as someone says, “Don’t move another centimeter unless you want a hole in that pretty chest of yours.”

  My gaze goes first to the intruder speaking, then to the bow and arrow he has trained on me.

  “Told you there was someone at the old Monteiro place,” a woman behind him says.

  My heart begins to gallop.

  Highwaymen.

  I hadn’t given much thought to the bandits that roamed the roads since I began traveling with Famine. After all, anyone who came close to the horseman died.

  Where the hell is the Reaper?

  Earlier he’d said that he’d leave—and he did. I just hadn’t thought he meant permanently. But has he come back since he left my side?

  And then another insidious thought creeps in.

  What if something bad happened to him again?

  Another man steps out from behind the one with the bow and arrow and walks over to me. He grabs me roughly by the arm and hauls me up, then drags me to the door.

  I stumble along as I’m hauled out of the house and into the rain. I can no longer see the arrow aimed at me, but I sense it at my back.

  The darkness is illuminated only by the dim glow of a lantern sitting on the porch. I can just make out the group’s three horses, tied to a nearby tree. Famine’s steed is nowhere to be seen.

  Maybe I really am alone.

  I take a deep breath at that.

  The man at my side presses a blade to my cheek. “Where’s the other one?” he asks, his voice raspy.

  “The other what?” I say. My mind can hardly keep up with the unfolding events.

  “Don’t play dumb, bitch. We saw the second set of footprints.”

  Famine and I tracked mud inside. I hadn’t even thought of that.

  “Where is the man you were with?” my captor continues.

  I feel fleeting relief that at least these three haven’t done anything to him.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?” the man growls, giving me a vicious shake. I barely catch myself from falling into the mud.

  I give him a nasty look; years of barroom brawls have prepared me for men like him.

  “I mean that I just fucking woke up, you ass-licking bastard.”

  The knife leaves my cheek long enough for the man to cock his fist and hit me across the face.

  My legs fold, and now I do fall to the ground. I hear him spit, though I don’t feel it with all the rain pummeling me.

  “Bitch. We’re going to have to beat some manners into you.”

  Distantly, I can hear the other two bandits moving through the house.

  “What the hell is this?” one calls from the doorway. I glance over my shoulder as the woman saunters out, tossing Famine’s scales in front of me. The metal plates clink together.

  At the sight, I feel a spark of hope.

  Maybe the horseman hasn’t left after all.

  But then I remember how he sometimes rides away without his scales, knowing they’ll turn up eventually. He could still be gone.

  I’m pushing myself to my feet when the bandit next to me kicks me forward, forcing me back against the ground. My hands sink into the muddy earth.

  “We
ll?” the man says. “Answer her.”

  These men really have no clue who they’ve ambushed, even when the evidence is staring them in the face.

  Not that it will save me.

  I look over at the woman. “They’re scales, you cunt-munching idiots.”

  That gets me another kick to the side. I gasp at the impact, curling in on myself.

  “What did you find?” my attacker calls out to his comrades.

  “Nothing much worth saving,” the woman says. “At least we can trade her.” She nods to me.

  No.

  I’ve been used enough in my twenty-two years; I won’t let it happen again.

  I hear the third bandit’s footfalls as he leaves the house. “I don’t want to deal with traffickers,” he says, coming towards us. “Grab what you can and slit her throat.”

  My muscles tense at that.

  The bandit reaches for me.

  Acting on instinct, I kick out at the man, missing his crotch.

  “Stupid bitch,” he growls, lunging for me, his knife aimed at my chest.

  I barely manage to roll away, the blade embedding itself into the wet earth where I was a moment ago. The man catches me by the waist and flips me onto my back, pinning my body beneath a knee.

  I buck, trying to throw him off of me, but he’s too heavy.

  Distantly, I’m aware that the other two bandits are packing up their horses, ignoring us as though midnight scuffles in the mud are normal.

  My attacker grabs my hair and jerks my head to the side, forcing me to bare my neck. Then his muddy blade is pressed against my skin once more.

  I go still, my eyes moving to his.

  This is it.

  I survived all manner of frightening men as a prostitute—I even survived a horseman of the apocalypse—just for it to end like this.

  I have the oddest urge to laugh. It all feels so pointless. So, so pointless.

  Behind us, there’s a rustling in the foliage that borders the house. My attacker pauses.

  From over his shoulder I catch a glimpse of Famine stepping out of the shadows, fully clad in his armor, his scythe at his side.

  He didn’t leave.

  I exhale. Never have I been so grateful to see the horseman.

  He looks mildly amused as his gaze moves from one highwayman to the next; the weather, however, gives him away. The rain pounds down on us, and behind the Reaper, lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating his form.

  “Well, who the fuck is this?” the leader of the group says, clearly unaware who has just joined them. I hear the slide of wood against wood as he grabs an arrow and nocks it.

  “Most call me Famine, though I must admit, I have a particular fondness for ‘the Reaper.’”

  Another bolt of lightning streaks down from the sky, and for an instant, I can see the horseman in all his malevolent glory.

  No sooner has Famine revealed himself than the female bandit takes off, sprinting across the yard.

  The horseman doesn’t even bother trying to catch her. Instead he throws his scythe with impossible force. The unwieldy weapon spins head over handle making a rhythmic chopping noise as it propels forward.

  With a meaty thunk, it buries itself into the back of the woman’s skull. Her legs fold, and she falls, dead in an instant.

  The man above me makes a startled noise as she collapses. He turns back to me, and I see the wild look in his eyes—

  The blade at my throat is moving, slicing my skin open. I cry out at the sharp bite of pain, surprise making my eyes widen. I didn’t think he’d try to kill me, not now that Famine was here.

  I go to push the knife away, but before I can reach it, a great, thorned plant drags my attacker off of me, and his knife falls harmlessly out of his hand.

  Warm blood spills down my neck. I clutch the wound, the liquid slipping between my fingers. For a second, all I can think of is that the man must’ve nicked an artery, but then there would be more blood—right?

  It’s hard to tell what a lot is, but after a moment, I think I’m okay. And now that I can feel the edges of the wound, I can tell it only sliced part of my neck, and it’s not so deep—

  A hand goes to my shoulder.

  I glance up and there’s Famine kneeling at my side, his green eyes focused on my face. He looks so angry, so vengeful. But behind all those potent emotions, I see panic. Cloying, dreadful panic.

  His gaze drops to my neck, where I’m putting pressure on the wound.

  “You’re hurt.” There’s no emotion behind the words, and yet the horseman’s fingers are gripping my shoulder so tightly, and the longer I stare at him, the more distressed he appears.

  “I’ll be okay,” I say. I think.

  His gaze searches mine, and I can tell he doesn’t know what to do.

  Behind him, I can hear the cries of the two remaining bandits. I don’t have to look to know what’s happening to them.

  I continue to stare up at the Reaper.

  You saved me. I don’t bother saying it. He and I both know it.

  Famine cups my face, and how strange, I can feel his hand trembling. And now that I’m looking, his expression is more intense than I’ve ever seen it, and his breathing is a little harsh.

  He searches my face, and then he very deliberately says, “Fuck things going back to the way they were.”

  With that, he kisses me.

  Chapter 40

  His lips are hot on mine, and all that fear and shock and pain and adrenaline finally catch up to me. I cling to him, holding on for dear life.

  He saved me. I was seconds away from a swift death, and Famine saved me.

  What had I told him a while ago?

  I helped you once too—even though you wouldn’t have done the same for me.

  I was wrong. Famine clearly would do the same for me.

  And that realization shatters the rickety walls guarding my feelings.

  Screw broken hearts. What good are they if you die and never actually get to experience anything worth experiencing?

  I kiss the horseman with all the urgency I’ve held back until now. With all the desire and hope and all the terrible, wonderful emotions that have moved through me in the last day.

  God, but this man feels like home, and that’s more than a little wondrous to a woman like me, who’s never really had a home.

  Famine is kissing me with a ferocity to match my own, and around us, the rain is coming down in torrents, each drop hitting my skin so hard it stings. It washes away the mud and blood covering me, along with the last of my resistance.

  The horseman’s hands slip down my cheeks, and I wince when he brushes my wound.

  His lips pause, then he pulls away. “Ana.” The panic is back in his voice. His gaze dips to my neck.

  “It’s not bad …” But even as I speak, I feel a little dizzy, a little disoriented.

  Famine’s jaw clenches. “You are such a goddamned liar.”

  A moment later he scoops me up and carries me inside. He sets me down on the blanket he laid out for me, then quickly removes his bronze armor, the metal clinking as he sets it aside.

  He pulls his shirt off, revealing those mesmerizing tattoos that glow green in the darkness.

  The Reaper kneels down at my side, pressing the black garment against my wound, staunching the flow of blood.

  There’s nowhere to look that isn’t him, and I’m confronted once again by my feelings as I take in his features. The horseman is the most excruciatingly beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Usually, he looks like some proud, untouchable prince from a bygone era, but right now … he doesn’t look proud and untouchable. If anything, he looks young and uncertain and desperate.

  He focuses on my injury, keeping his shirt pressed against my throat. I turn towards him, and the black cloth bushes against my cheek and nose as I do so. Even after a day of traveling, the material smells fresh, clean. If Famine were fully human, the shirt would probably smell like sweat and sour pussy—figuratively speaking, of
course; the only pussy Famine’s been near is my own, and I pride myself on—

  “Ana.”

  “What?” I say, pushing away the thought.

  “How bad is it?”

  “How bad is what?” My gaze lingers on his lips.

  “Your wound,” he says slowly, looking at me like I grew two heads.

  “Oh.” I move his shirt away a little so I can probe the edges of the cut. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s too bad.” When I see the look in the Reaper’s eyes, I add, “I’m not lying.”

  The injury hurts, I can feel the throb of it pounding just beneath my jawline, but I’ve lived through worse—much worse.

  I stare at Famine, whose face is lit by the soft glow of his markings. His jaw clenches again, like he might be angry, and right then it really, truly hits me—

  “You’re worried about me,” I say.

  What a crazy, wondrous thing.

  “Of course I am,” he says, his voice so low that I almost miss the words.

  I feel warmth spread throughout my body.

  This, even more than his compliments, is my undoing.

  I reach for him, moving with confidence. My arms wrap around his neck.

  He looks at me, shocked. “What are you—?”

  Before he can finish his sentence, my lips find his and I kiss him with the same fervency I did outside. For a second or two, he responds … and then his mind catches up to him.

  Famine breaks away, looking angry. “Are you just going to ignor—?”

  “Yes,” I say, and then my lips are back on his. Yes, I am going to ignore the fact that a man just tried to slit my throat. I fucking survived it, and now I’m floating on this adrenaline high and I need to feel the horseman against me.

  At first, Famine doesn’t respond, and I know he’s thinking about the fact that I’m hurt and it’s dark and he can’t see how injured I am—oh, and that I’m a liar from time to time. The thing is, my mouth is a very, very good liar, and right now, it’s doing its best to convince the Reaper that I’m not that hurt.

  He must buy it too, because eventually he returns the kiss—and damn does he return it. His arms come around me, and he cradles me like I’m breakable, but he kisses me like he wants to break me wide open and slip inside. His lips are hot on mine.