Famine (The Four Horsemen Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  And that is far, far better.

  He slides out of me, pulling me against him a moment later. Only now do I get a good look around me. I’m surrounded by a thicket of flowering plants. Even as I watch, another bright bloom bursts to life.

  So much for our living room.

  I catch sight of a familiar flower—the same ashen rose Famine’s grown for me in the past.

  “This is …” I look for the right words, “strange and lovely.”

  “That’s your flower.” He pulls me in closer.

  “I get my own flower?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

  Famine traces my lips. “If I can’t make things grow in you, then I’ll have to make them grow around you.”

  “Is that supposed to flatter me?” I say. “Because that sounded creepy as fuck.”

  “I’m glad that you haven’t entirely forgotten that I am ‘creepy as fuck.’”

  I grab the lavender rose and give it a yank. After some resistance, it rips free.

  Famine makes a disapproving noise. “You are such a human—needlessly tearing apart a perfectly good plant.”

  “You have literally done the same thing before.” I turn to give the horseman a look, but once I do so, I can see the mirth in his eyes.

  A laugh slips from his lips, and he gives my ass a squeeze. “I think riling you up might be a new favorite pastime of mine.” Famine leans over to give me a kiss.

  I kiss him back, then tuck the pale purple flower behind his ear. Pulling away, I admire the horseman’s beauty.

  He watches me the entire time. “You make me feel things in the most exquisite way,” he admits. “I’ve lived eons, and yet with you I feel young all over again.”

  “Is … that a good thing?” I ask. I can never tell what Famine thinks a compliment is.

  “What do you think?”

  I don’t know. Maybe.

  But then again, I’m a fucking idiot, so who knows.

  What I do know is that the horseman has spent all this time on earth gorging himself on cruelty, but there are so many other experiences Famine hungers for.

  Maybe love most of all.

  Chapter 48

  That night, I stare at the bed in our bedroom for a long time, the lanterns giving everything a soft glow.

  Our bedroom.

  This is so weird.

  “It’s not going to grow thorns,” Famine says from behind me, making me jump. I didn’t hear him walk up. “Unless, of course, that’s your thing. Because I can make that happen.”

  I let out a laugh before falling silent once more.

  Beds are one of those ordinary things most people take for granted. For me, however, they’re sort of a moving target. I’ve slept in them, fucked in them, been beaten and assaulted in them, and just about everything in between. Beds are a bit of a battleground for me.

  But staring at the bed in front of me, with its soft sheets, I’m facing a new reality. It’s not just Famine whose world is changing.

  “You’re really going to sleep right there. With me,” I say, nodding to the mattress.

  I can feel the horseman’s gaze on me. “We don’t have to sleep.”

  Another laugh slips out. I can’t even say what I’m feeling at the moment. There’s hope and fear and an anxious sort of excitement.

  “Is this where you decide to give groveling a go?” I ask. He’s already pledged himself and sexed me up. All that’s left is groveling—well, that and actually proposing to me.

  “Petulant thing.” Famine grabs me by the jaw and gives me a ferocious kiss. He walks forward, into my space, forcing me to back up until I bump into the wall. “Just for that, I think tonight I’m going to make you beg.”

  I wrap a hand around the back of Famine’s neck. “You can try,” I say.

  He grabs one of my legs and hooks it around his waist. Famine’s reaching for my other leg when I catch his hand. “Just—don’t ruin our bedroom floors.”

  The Reaper gives me a wicked look. “Floors are overrated,” he says, grinding into me.

  “Famine.”

  “Ana.” He grinds into me a little more, and I forget the point I was making. “Besides,” he adds, “you like me a little wild.”

  This is true.

  “Fine, but if you break the floors, you’re going to have to fix them too,” I say, releasing his hand.

  “Is this what domesticity is going to be like?” Famine asks. “Long discussions about floors? Because if that’s so, I suddenly see the perks of fucking you speechless.”

  I guffaw. “You’re not that good a lover.”

  He pauses. “Excuse me?”

  I fight back my smile. “You heard me, Reaper. You’re not that good.”

  Lies. All lies.

  Famine knows it too.

  “Take it back,” he demands.

  “No.”

  He presses deeper against me. “Take—it—back.”

  “No.”

  “Fine.”

  He reaches up the new dress I’m wearing and rips my also new panties clean off of me. It takes a little more effort for him to unbutton his pants, his erection springing free. The Reaper doesn’t even fully step out of his trousers, just pushes them down far enough to give his dick some room to breathe.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  Famine still has me pinned against the wall, but now he pulls his hips away long enough to align himself with my core.

  And then he drives his cock into me.

  I gasp at the overwhelming feel of him inside me. Everything about his presence is demanding. His grip, which has me pinned in place, his dick, which is forcing my pussy to give way for it, and his eyes, which are all but telling me to recant.

  When I don’t, he gives me a challenging look. At my back, the wall shifts a little, then—

  Crack-crack-crack!

  The tile flooring breaks in a dozen different places. I smell the sharp scent of wet soil before I see the spindly plants rising from the ground.

  “Damnit, Famine,” I rasp.

  The horseman doesn’t respond, too busy thrusting in and out of me, each movement slowly forcing my pussy to better accommodate him.

  I part my lips, a dozen different responses at the ready, but then the horseman begins laying into me, his hips slapping against mine, making my body jerk with every aggressive thrust.

  My breath comes in shallow pants. The two of us stare at each other as he rails me.

  All at once the Reaper pulls out. Still holding me up, he carries me over to the bed that was brought in only hours ago. He tosses me onto the sheets.

  Around us, the room has morphed into something fantastical. Several small trees now crowd the space, their branches fanning out across the ceiling. And in the midst of it all there’s Famine, with his glowing tattoos. He’s much like this room—fantastical.

  Before I can do much more than take him in, he grabs me by the ankles and flips me onto my stomach. The bed dips as he joins me, and I feel his lips skim the up curve of my back.

  He brushes the hair away from my neck.

  “Take it back,” he whispers into my ear.

  Is he still thinking about my comments on his skills as a lover? Because if he is …

  I arch into him. “No,” I breathe.

  The horseman kisses my shoulder, and I feel his smile against my skin. Then he drives into me.

  I let out a small sound, my body going boneless as he fits himself back into me. His cock pumps in and out relentlessly, and I can barely do more than fist the sheets.

  I am all sensation, powerless to do much more than enjoy each deep stroke of his.

  “I was going to make love to you slowly,” he says against the shell of my ear. “I was going to be gentle—and you know I’m not gentle by nature—but now I have a point to prove.”

  I shudder at the sound of his husky voice. Even it has the power to pull me deep under his spell—it always has.

  “Are you going to prove it?” I pant. “Or are you going to was
te all your time chatting with me?”

  His hips go still, and I can feel that unnatural gaze on my back.

  I hear his laugh, and a very real chill runs up my spine.

  Famine slips a hand between my stomach and my legs. He finds my clit, even as he’s hammering into me. The horseman rolls it between his fingers, and Jesus.

  A low moan escapes me before I can stop it.

  Oh God, he’s going to end this for me way before I’m ready. Everything feels so unimaginably good.

  “Famine,” I gasp. My climax is right there. Another stroke or two and I’m done. “Famine, I …”

  Suddenly, his fingers are gone.

  My orgasm, which had been building up, now falters.

  “Say it,” he says.

  “Damn you.” This bastard.

  “Just tell me the truth, little liar—that I am an exceptional lover—and then I’ll give you your orgasm.”

  “No,” I say. I didn’t even want to come at the moment.

  “Fine.”

  His fingers are back on my clit, and somehow his heavy, punishing strokes deepen.

  Once again my orgasm begins to build, coiling up inside of me—

  He removes his hand.

  “Say it.”

  I’m not proud of it, but I think a sob slips out.

  “Stop toying with me,” I say.

  “Flower, you invented this game. Now, say it.” He’s still moving lightly in and out of me, but he’s withholding his powerful thrusts—the ones that will make me come.

  “You are the devil.”

  “Nope,” Famine responds smoothly. “He’s nicer than me.”

  The horseman’s hand moves back to my clit, and it begins all over again. I’ve been having so much fun baiting the Reaper that I didn’t realize he had been baiting me.

  I exhale, then arch against him.

  “You’re not a great lover—” I begin.

  Already, I can feel Famine reacting, ready to torment me some more.

  “—you’re the best lover I’ve ever had.”

  It’s easy to admit because it’s the truth. Everything about the sex we have is entangled—our limbs, our wills, our very personalities.

  I feel his breath at my back. Finally, he kisses the juncture between my shoulder and neck.

  “Thank you, flower,” he says. “You’re not half bad yourself.”

  The fuck?

  But then his adept fingers find my clit and he’s driving into me and touching me and touching me and it’s impossible to fight—

  I cry out as my orgasm goes off, lashing through me. Famine continues to stroke my clit, stretching my climax out. But as he does so, I feel his body tighten. And then, with a groan, he empties himself into me, pistoning in and out until he’s spent.

  Famine finally withdraws, and then all of that intensity transforms into something that is gentle. His palms glide over my arms and he kisses my shoulders and my scarred back.

  “So beautiful,” he murmurs against me.

  I flip over and touch his cheek, my thumb rubbing against his skin. He turns his head to kiss my palm.

  I can’t believe I get this man. Or deity. Not even sure at this point what he is.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Famine says, staring down at me.

  I swallow, looking back up at him. “This is too good to be true. You’re too good to be true.”

  He laughs at that. “Too good to be true? You wound me, flower. I haven’t built a reputation of violence and destruction to be so easily complimented.”

  After a moment, he asks, “Are you still scared of this bed?”

  I furrow my brows. He remembers my hesitation?

  “I was never scared,” I admit.

  He lays down next to me and pulls me close. “Then what were you thinking about when you were staring at it?”

  “Like I said, this is all too good to be true. And good things don’t happen to me.”

  Famine’s eyes go soft, and it’s an attractive look on him. “That’s not true. Not anymore. Not for either of us.”

  He holds me tight, and that’s how I begin the first night of truly living with the Reaper—in his arms, in our bed, with his wildness all around us.

  Chapter 49

  It doesn’t take long for the house to be brought back from the dead. Eventually all of the home’s old furniture is either cleaned and used, or discarded. All the leaves and nests, trash and animal remains that once lay scattered on the floors are neatly removed.

  For perhaps the first time, I see a truly gentle side of Famine emerging. He’s the one responsible for coaxing out the last of the living animals who’ve taken up residence in our dilapidated house. At the moment, he’s found a colony of mice in the walls.

  He leans into an exposed wall, reaching for the small animals. Famine’s armor is gone, and his scythe and scales are laying haphazardly in our bedroom. This is about as normal as the horseman ever looks, and I have to say, he still doesn’t look that normal.

  He’s too sexy—much, much too sexy—to ever just blend in. Not to mention that his sleeves are rolled up, showcasing the glowing green tattoos on his lower forearms.

  I watch him as he retrieves one of the squeaking animals, cupping it in his hand.

  “You’re just going to draw them back in with those fruit trees of yours,” I say as he pets the thing’s forehead with his thumb.

  Because of course the trees Famine grew on our first night produce fruit. Fruit that will drop and rot on the ground and draw in rodents and all other sorts of wild critters.

  Rather than removing the highly problematic trees, the horseman hired people from the town to open up our roof so that they could better grow. Apparently the horseman isn’t worried about the fact that it rains often here. His response had been, I like you wet.

  Now he says, “Don’t act like you disapprove. I know you have a soft spot for displaced creatures.”

  Creatures like the horseman himself.

  I continue to watch his rescue mission. “If I wake up to bird poop on me, you and I are going to have a problem.” Or a scorpion in my bed. I will shit bricks if I wake up to a scorpion in my bed.

  “Come now, flower,” he says over his shoulder as he takes the rodent outside, “you’ve peed on my boots. What’s a little bird poop? Besides, it will keep you humble.”

  Humble?

  I like my overinflated ego just fine, thank you.

  Famine heads towards the tree line of our new property, and the trees are another thing: with every passing day, the thick forest growing kilometers away seems to be creeping closer to our house. I know that one day soon, the foliage is going to be right at our doorstep.

  As I stare off at the horseman, I feel that familiar lightness in my belly all over again.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this—that we’re doing this. A retired prostitute and her apocalyptic boyfriend.

  Life is strange.

  I head back inside, and it’s as I’m passing by the living room I notice a new vine snaking up the back wall. I have to take a second look at it, just to make sure it’s not a snake, but nope, it’s another plant growing in yet another room of this house.

  I hear the front door open and close behind me.

  “Is this going to become a thing?” I ask, gesturing to the vine. Surrounding it are the other plants that sprung up when we first christened the place.

  “Undoubtedly,” the horseman says smoothly.

  I guess this is what happens when Famine is happy. Rather than killing things, he makes them grow. I mean, technically he did grow plants even when he was determined to kill all us humans, but that was different; those plants were his weapons, these ones are his houseguests.

  The horseman comes over to me. He should be covered in sweat, but when his arms wrap around me, his skin is only slightly sticky, and even then, I’m pretty sure that’s a result of the humidity, not him.

  “Does that bother you?” he asks, his voice bored. I’m
not sure what to make of that tone. Sometimes his calmness is a trap set to spring, and other times it just is what it is.

  “Probably no more than my ways bother you,” I reply.

  I practically feel Famine’s pleasure at my response.

  I begin to smile, but then a thought slips into my head that drains away my good mood.

  There’s a question I’ve wanted to know the answer to ever since we moved into this house. Up until now I’d avoided asking it because a part of me is terrified of Famine’s response. But it’s time I finally asked.

  I exhale. “Are you still going to keep killing off people and their crops?”

  Famine moves around to face me, his gaze intense.

  “Your fellow humans get a single lifetime to prove to me that their miserable lives are worth saving,” he eventually says.

  “A single lifetime?” I repeat, confused by his wording.

  It hits me a moment later: Famine is speaking of my lifetime—that’s the lifespan he’s referring to.

  He takes in my expression, the corner of his mouth curving up. The Reaper crowds me, his lips coming to my ear. “I want to see this pretty skin get old.”

  “You really want to be with me for my entire life?” The thought nearly steals my breath away. “What if you change your mind?”

  “About you?” he asks, and now he looks amused. “You silly little flower—don’t you realize I’ve spent all this time trying to do just that? I have had eons of disdain for humans and years of torture to cultivate my hate. Yet here I am, by your side, and God Himself couldn’t rip me from you.

  “I am not human, Ana. Old age and wilted beauty do not repulse me. They are part of the life cycle—they are a part of what makes me, me.”

  I actually hadn’t even thought that far ahead, but the brutal honesty in his words eases my fear.

  I take in those eerie green eyes. “And what if I change my mind?”

  Famine rears back a little. “About me?” He raises his eyebrows, as though the thought is preposterous. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to threaten to kill off more towns. I imagine that will get you to stay.”

  “Oh my God,” I say, “living with you is an awful idea.”

  “Truly, it is,” he agrees.

  He reels me in close and kisses the tip of my nose. “I suppose I could give you no reason to leave. That’s the less fun option, but I’m quite charming when I want to be.”