My heart pounds as I stare at the fallen man, and I try to tell myself it’s just fear and not … not—well, it’s not anything else, so there’s no use trying to put a name to it.
I shove Death’s booted feet into the cramped cart and close the back of it.
Once that’s done, I retrieve my belt and sheathed knife from my bag and slip them on.
Just in case things go sideways.
Hopping onto the bike, I put my feet on the pedals and ride out of Lexington with one dead horseman at my back.
Chapter 10
Interstate 64, Kentucky
October, Year 26 of the Horsemen
I don’t know how many miles I’ve gone when I hear the pound of hoof beats behind me. I glance over my shoulder, and there’s Death’s dapple gray stallion, closing the distance between us. It gallops all the way up to the cart before leaning over and nudging the horseman’s body with its muzzle.
My heart is beating loudly because a supernatural horse is shadowing me and it seems like this is where I learn that supernatural horses like to eat humans or something else equally atrocious.
But after checking on its owner, the horse seems content to merely follow us.
I ride the rest of the day and into the night, retracing Death’s movements as best I can. He’ll eventually wake, and he’ll eventually resume his terrible mission, but hopefully I can stop him for a time.
Every so often I hear something clatter in the cart. The first few times this happened, I stopped my bike to try to figure out the cause of the noise. That’s when I first noticed the bloody arrows lying next to the horseman. Initially, I assumed these had been jostled loose by the swaying cart. But as the hours pass and one by one, the bloody arrows that were once definitely inside the horseman are now obviously outside of him, I realize that somehow his body is purging the weapons.
That’s … more than a little unsettling.
I pedal long into the night. My legs have been shaking and cramping for hours, and it’s colder than hell and I probably should’ve stopped miles ago to rest. I’m beyond exhausted.
Still, I push on until I’m literally too exhausted to continue pedaling. Only then, do I angle my bike to the shoulder of the road and let it roll to a stop. Behind me, Death’s horse trails along.
I swing my leg over my seat and slip off, kicking out the bike stand.
All I want to do is collapse on the ground and sleep my exhaustion away.
Have to set up camp. The thought nearly does me in. I’m not entirely sure I have it in me to make a proper bed, let alone set up camp. Still, I stumble over to the cart to at least get a blanket from my bag.
Once I get to the cart, however, I hesitate. I’m pretty sure almost all the arrows have been purged from Death’s body, which means he’s healing—and really, really rapidly.
I stare and stare at horseman’s winged form. One of my hands moves to the knife at my side, and I wait for him to leap up and surprise me. When a minute passes and nothing happens, I force myself to take several long, steadying breaths.
Assuming he can’t die, then … what if he wakes while I sleep?
He broke my neck when he found me a nuisance. What will he do now that I’ve truly hurt him?
I have to be ready for him.
I glance around. Thick trees line the highway—I could sleep hidden somewhere in there … Maybe he wouldn’t go looking for me—or if he did, maybe I’d wake in time.
… And maybe in the light of day, this tree line won’t actually hide me at all. The thought of the horseman spotting me and coming after me terrifies me beyond belief.
I could simply flee. My legs nearly give out at the thought. I have nothing left in me. I spent it all getting this far away.
I don’t know what options that leaves me with.
My gaze returns to the horseman. The few times that I’ve woken up from death, it’s taken me a moment to get my bearings. Perhaps it’s the same for the horseman.
If I were able to wake up just as the horseman started rousing, I might still have the upper hand. But that would mean … that would mean getting in there with him.
No. Absolutely not.
So, fleeing it is.
Before I can think twice, I’m dragging myself into the cart to get my things. I’ll simply grab my bag and my bow and quiver and leave.
The cart rocks a little as I step onto it, and I have to bite back a whimper. My limbs are still trembling with exhaustion, and it makes groping around the cart in the darkness that much harder.
Where are my things? Where are they? Where are they? My hands keep closing around arrows and nothing more.
I lift one of Death’s wings, then immediately drop it.
It’s warm!
I stare in horror at the horseman.
“Death?” I whisper.
No response.
“I don’t believe you’re dead,” I breathe.
Nothing.
Maybe he still is. Maybe this is what an undead body feels like before it wakes.
There’s only one way to know.
Need to check his pulse. Hopefully he won’t snap my neck the moment I do so.
I kneel down next to him, fighting off fatigue as I grope around his armor until I find his hand. I move my fingers to his wrist, but there’s no pulse. Still, if he’s not alive yet, he probably will be soon. Bitter relief courses through me, though the last thing I should be is relieved. The fact that Death cannot be killed makes stopping him that much more complicated.
Setting his hand down, I continue searching for my bag, blinking several times as I feel my eyes droop with sleep. My fingers brush against more dislodged arrows. Eventually my hand closes over my satchel.
Success!
I tug on it, only to discover that it’s pinned beneath Death’s shoulders and his wings.
Well shit, the thing is as good as gone.
I lean back against the cart wall, my lower legs brushing against the horseman. I’m beyond exhausted, all I want to do is sleep, and my grand plan of fleeing just got shot to hell.
My eyes begin to droop.
Oh God, not here. Need to get out of the cart ...
My body is having none of it.
At the very least, I need to slit the horseman’s throat or do something else drastic to keep him dead for a while longer. I nearly retch at the prospect. One killing is enough for a day.
I rub my eyes. At the very least I should bind his hands.
Alright, I can do that. Even though it seems impossible, and my head hurts just trying to figure out what I’ll need to use as restraints, I can do it.
I just need a moment to rest … I haven’t been able to rest, and I’m really, really tired … but then I’ll do it … I just need a little ...
I jolt awake to the sensation of my body tipping forward.
I catch myself, but then decide to lay down in the cart. I’ll find the bindings in just a minute. I’m just going to close my eyes for one moment, then I’ll do it …
Somewhere at the back of my mind, I’m aware that this is an epically bad idea, but it’s warm here, next to the horseman, and I’m too tired to panic—too tired to care much at all.
Just going to rest here for a minute … then I’ll get up …
This time when I shut my eyes, it’s for good.
Chapter 11
Bardstown, Kentucky
October, Year 26 of the Horsemen
I wake to the smoky smell of frankincense and myrrh. Above me, pale morning light stretches across the sky, bathing the clouds in a rosy glow. The air has a chill bite to it, but I’m warm here, with my blanket …
Blanket?
My eyes move to the massive black wing that’s draped over me like my own personal blanket. Worse, at some point in the night the horseman shifted position. He now lays on his side, his face inches from mine.
Oh no.
My heart starts hammering in my chest.
Lazarus, what have you done, you enormous
twat?
As gently as I can, I grab Death’s wing, biting down on my lower lip to smother the panicked sounds I want to make.
I expect the warm feel of them. What I don’t expect is how soft they are. I hadn’t noticed that last night.
Move.
I push the wing off of me, only to hear a soft sigh come from the horseman.
I freeze as he stirs.
This is where I stab him. This is where I force him to stay unconscious so I can give the people of Lexington even more time to evacuate.
I reach for my sheathed knife … but I hesitate.
Just do it. He’s done it to you before.
But I don’t have the heart to. Not right now when he’s so helpless. It feels … wrong.
I move my hand away from my knife—for now.
It’s only then that I notice the smoke wafting lazily around us. How I missed it before now is a mystery; I’ve been choking on the fragrant fumes since I woke.
Sitting up, I search for the smoke’s source. After a moment, I spot the strange torch that it’s coming from. It rests in the corner of the cart, and from its decorative silver casing, I know exactly who it belongs to.
Get your things and go!
Quietly, I grab my bow and quiver from where they rest at my feet. No wonder I couldn’t find them last night. I’d been looking in the wrong area the entire time. Never taking my eyes off of the horseman, I quietly grab them and lower them to the dirt outside the cart. Then I scan the wagon for that damned bag of mine. I finally catch sight of it, wedged between the horseman’s shoulder and wing.
Oh, come on.
I swallow, my gaze fixed to the satchel.
Just leave it.
But damnit, it contains the last few items I owned from before my life was destroyed, and I really, really don’t want to part with them.
My gaze returns to the horseman. Who’s alive and who could wake at any moment.
I can do this. I’m ballsy, and I’m not going to let this asshole cost me the last of my personal possessions. He’s taken enough as it is.
With that pep talk, I unsheathe my blade and slowly move myself until I’m kneeling on either side of the horseman, his legs trapped between mine. Bringing the knife up to his neck, I reach for my bag.
It takes one forceful yank, but I finally get the thing dislodged.
Beneath me, the horseman stirs, his black brows pulling together before smoothing out.
I think I’ve truly run out of time.
I could bolt now, but then, there’s another option, one that’s far too tempting for my vengeful side.
So, after tossing my bag into the grass next to the cart, I stay there, knife pressed to his neck, and wait for him to wake.
I can’t keep myself from staring at him. His face is unmarred—as though it weren’t run through by several arrows only a day ago. Stranger still, there isn’t a speck of blood on him.
That’s different.
Every time I’ve died—no matter how briefly—it’s always left some trace behind. Ripped clothing, bloody skin—something. But staring down at the horseman, it’s as though yesterday simply didn’t happen at all.
I frown as I study him. I’ve never seen anyone so … so grotesquely handsome—handsome and lethal. There should be a name for that kind of beauty, the kind that literally kills.
As I keep vigil, he stirs again. Only this time, his eyes flutter, then snap open.
The first thing he sees is me.
“Hello again, Death,” I say. “Did you miss me?”
Chapter 12
Bardstown, Kentucky
October, Year 26 of the Horsemen
He begins to sit up.
“Ah ah,” I say, pressing the knife a little firmer against him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He glances down at the blade. When he looks back at me, his eyes are glittering with malice. “You intend to hurt me?”
I lean in close. “I already have.”
It takes him a moment to remember, but eventually Death’s eyes narrow on me. “The arrows,” he murmurs. “That was you.”
It wasn’t really me. I’m pretty sure my own shots went wide. But I’ll still take credit for the attack.
“I vowed I’d stop you.”
I don’t see the horseman’s hand move until it’s wrapped around my neck. I forgot how damn fast he is.
He doesn’t squeeze and I don’t bother trying to pry his fingers off of me. This is the cursed retribution I feared, yet I’m surprised by how unafraid I am in the face of it.
“Let me go, or I’ll slit your throat,” I say softly.
He gives a low laugh, one that’s full of menace. He does, however, remove his hand from my neck. I realize a second too late, he does that only so that he can wrap an arm around my waist and flip us, forcing me to the floor of the cart.
My knife slashes down his throat with the movement.
Death curses, snatching the blade from my hand and tossing it away. Then once more he pins me down by the neck.
Now he’s the one looming over me, the blood from his wound dripping onto my lips and chin. The moment I taste the iron tang of it, I begin struggling again.
“Foolish woman,” he hisses. “You should’ve slit my throat before I woke.”
I know.
He waits for me to stop struggling, staring down at me with eyes that seem to glitter.
“Killing me won’t stop anything. You cannot save your people,” he says, his weight bearing down on me.
“Not forever,” I agree, “but I’m going to make you work for each one of those deaths.”
He practically growls out his displeasure, his feathers ruffling at his back. “Leave it be,” he says. “I am not interested in battling you.”
I lift my chin. “Then stop the killing.”
His nostrils flare, and maybe it’s my imagination, but the horseman actually looks vexed.
“Do you think I want to be here? That I like riding through cities and doing this?”
“If you don’t like doing it, then that’s all the more reason to stop.”
He scowls, looking fierce. “People go when it’s their time, kismet, and it’s not my place to make exceptions.”
I’ve had about enough of this.
I strike out at him. “It’s—not—our—time.” Each word is punctuated by a swing of my fist or a thrust of my boot.
My attack is messy, and the horseman dodges each blow, but that doesn’t stop me from continuing to swipe at him. I swear to his sanctimonious god I’m going to claw out those stupid eyes of his.
He leans away, managing to keep just out of reach. “You think to hurt me again, mortal? You forget who I am.”
Death doesn’t bother squeezing my neck and yet—and yet …
My back arches and my eyes widen as pain lashes through me.
What are you doing? I try to say, but the sensation robs me of breath.
Feels like … like I’m withering away. Like my life is being sucked from my flesh.
I stare up into Death’s eyes as he takes my life. That must be what he’s doing. I feel the years peeling away from my bones and I’m being devoured from the inside out. I try to scream, but it comes out as a strangled cry.
The longer the horseman stares down at me, the more his expression changes, his brows pinching together in confusion. That somber façade of his gives away and his chest rises and falls faster and faster. Now I reach for the hand wrapped around my neck and try to pry it loose.
I’m impossibly weak—far too weak to remove Death’s grip on me. I choke on my own breath. Next time I catch this monster I’m definitely stabbing him before he wakes.
All at once Death gives a frustrated shout. He releases me then, casting himself as far away as he can get.
“Why did you do this?” he demands, looking heavenward. “I don’t want to feel like this.”
I lay there, trying to draw in air.
He swings himself out of the c
art then, moving around it to get to his horse, preparing to flee from me once more.
As he passes me, he pauses, his eyes moving to mine. He takes me in, looking disturbed by what he sees.
“I’m sorry,” he says, the words clipped.
“Don’t be,” I wheeze out. “Next time we meet, I fully plan on gutting you alive.”
And this time I won’t let my damned conscience get in the way.
Chapter 13
Cincinnati, Ohio
November, Year 26 of the Horsemen
Grave-robbing is a deplorable act. Unfortunately for me, I’ve been forced to resort to it.
I press a handkerchief to my nose as I reach into the pocket of a bloated corpse,
“So … fucking … disgusting.”
I knew the dead smelled, but I had never realized just how putrid every single thing about decomposition could be. Not until I started encountering cities of dead.
This body in particular is grotesquely swollen.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to the man, “but I need you to give—up—your—wallet.” I jerk on the object in question, which doesn’t want to come out of the swollen corpse’s pocket.
“Lazarus.”
I nearly fall face-first into the corpse at the sound of my name echoing in the air.
I know that voice.
It’s been only a little over a week since I last heard it, but it feels like I confronted him only yesterday.
Dropping my handkerchief, I grab my bow and draw an arrow, swiveling around.
There, less than a block away, standing among the rubble of the razed town is the horseman.
My breath catches at the sight of him. Clad in his silver armor and shrouded by his black hair and wings, he looks every bit the dark deity he is.
I aim my weapon at his chest. How long has he been standing there watching me?
Death’s gaze drops to my bow. “Your weapon won’t protect you, kismet.”
“What are you doing here?” I demand. I’m breathing faster than I should, surprise making me jittery.
“You’ve been following me,” he states.
Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4) Page 5