Famine (The Four Horsemen Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  I hug my arms together. What am I supposed to do?

  Tell the town. People need to know the horseman has come.

  Would anyone even believe me? An hour ago I wouldn’t have believed me.

  So what if they believe you’re a fool? Tell them and let them make up their own minds.

  I get to my feet and begin to walk away, my steps hurried.

  But then … then I stop. I cast an unsure glance over my shoulder.

  That man—supernatural or not—is too hurt to harm anyone. And judging by his wounds, he’s not the great monster the stories made him out to be.

  Someone did that to him. Someone who was surely a human.

  I stare at his crumpled form for a little longer.

  Help. He’d used his only breath to ask for my help.

  The thought makes my chest tighten.

  If this truly is the horseman … I really should just walk away.

  Still, I linger there, in the middle of the road, my eyes fixed on him.

  I think about my aunt, who hardly gives two shits about me. If I were lying in a ditch, I’m not sure she’d save me.

  I know what it’s like to not be wanted.

  And if I were the one hurt and begging for help, I’d want someone to care. Even a stranger.

  I swallow.

  Fuck, I’m going to do this.

  Rain pelts my skin as I grab the horseman under the armpits, my gaze moving up and down the muddy road. There’s no one on this backcountry trail. No one but me and the horseman But someone will come, it’s just a matter of time.

  One painstaking step at a time, I drag the horseman off the road and towards an abandoned house that I used to play inside when I was a kid. Even missing appendages, he weighs more than a freaking cow—and a fat cow at that.

  The whole time, my heart pounds. Whoever did this to him really could still be out there.

  And they’re probably looking for him.

  Once I’m inside the building, my legs buckle, and I fall, the horseman collapsing on top of me.

  For several seconds I lay beneath his bloody body, struggling to breathe. Of course this is how I would meet my end—suffocating to death under the weight of this gargantuan man. Only I would get myself into this stupid situation.

  Can’t believe I’m actually trying to save a fucking horseman of the apocalypse.

  Grunting, I push the man off of me, letting his body roll to the side.

  I glance at the horseman’s twisted form, frowning.

  Maybe save is the wrong word. The man seems pretty dead. And yet still I’m here, hanging out with his body when I should be getting home.

  This is why my Aunt Maria doesn’t like me. I can hear her even now. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.

  At the thought of her, I remember the basket of fruit I left back on the road. If I’m not only late getting home but I somehow also manage to lose both the fruit and her basket, she’s definitely going to disown my curious ass.

  I drag myself back outside into the pouring rain and fetch the stupid basket, half hoping that the horseman is somehow gone when I return to the abandoned building.

  But of course he’s not. He still lays in the bloody, dripping heap where I left him.

  It’s not too late to walk away—or to tell someone about him.

  Of course, I’m not going to.

  Too sentimental, my cousins call me.

  I set the basket aside and crouch near the horseman. My muscles still tremble from my earlier exertion, but I force myself to lay the horseman out, trying to situate him in as comfortable a position as possible. The whole time I grimace at the cold feel of his body.

  He has to be dead.

  But the last time I thought that, he wasn’t, and that’s enough to keep me inside this damn house.

  So I sit across the room from him as the rain pelts against the leaky roof, ignoring my rising anxiety that I’m not home and will most definitely get a beating for it. I close my eyes and lean my head back against a nearby wall.

  I think I might’ve nodded off because when I blink open my eyes it’s nearly dark outside.

  On the other side of the room, I hear a terrifying, keening sound. My eyes cut to the source, and there’s the horseman, his weird glowing tattoos giving the house an eerie green glow. In the fading light, I can see the whites of his eyes. He looks confused and frightened.

  He is alive after all.

  I haven’t exactly thought through what I’m doing when I get up and move over to him, kneeling at his side. He’s staring at the remnants of his arms, which I swear look as though they’ve regrown …

  I place a soothing hand on his bare chest. At my touch, the horseman flinches, as though he expects a hit to come. My throat tightens at that. I know the feeling all too well.

  “You’re safe,” I whisper.

  The horseman’s gaze snaps to me. His face is still swollen and bruised but I think—I think beneath all those injuries he has a beautiful face.

  Why are you thinking about his face?

  He tries to move his arm—I think to push me away—but there’s not enough arm to move.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I vow, my voice resolute. I hadn’t fully committed to helping this man before, but now, seeing him hurting and frightened, I won’t leave him.

  “Are you thirsty?” I ask.

  He studies me, those green eyes almost as piercing as the markings on his chest. He doesn’t respond.

  He must be thirsty. He hasn’t drank anything all day. I unhook the canteen I carry at my side and move it to his lips.

  The horseman gives me one hell of a distrustful look.

  I raise an eyebrow. Does he think I poisoned the water? As if I’d go to that much trouble.

  Just to prove to him that the water is fine, I bring the canteen to my lips and take a swallow. I lower it from my mouth and bring it to his.

  He gives his head a shake.

  “You must be thirsty,” I insist.

  “I’m fine,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse.

  “Suit yourself,” I say, setting my canteen aside.

  “Why?” he grits out.

  Why are you helping me? he means.

  “It’s what any decent person would do.”

  He lets out a disbelieving huff, like there’s no such thing as a decent person.

  The two of us sit in silence. I want to ask him all sorts of questions now that he’s awake, but I bite them back. He’s in pretty rough condition.

  Just as the thought crosses my mind, he makes a low noise, his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

  “What’s wrong?” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering.

  I hear his teeth gnash together and the high pitched sound of a bottled up scream.

  Oh. Duh, Ana. The man is in major pain.

  Without much forethought, I reach out and run my fingers through his hair. My father used to do this to soothe me when I was sick.

  Another pained sound slips out of his mouth, and I withdraw my hand, thinking that maybe this isn’t so calming after all. But then the horseman leans his head towards my hand, seeking out my touch.

  Feeling brave, I scoot closer, until his head is nearly in my lap. Then I resume running my fingers through his hair. The action seems to soothe the horseman. As I watch, his eyes flutter closed and his breathing evens out.

  “What happened to you?” I murmur.

  He doesn’t answer, and I don’t expect him to.

  What are you doing, Ana? Of all the mistakes I’ve made, this may be my worst one yet.

  Problem is, I don’t regret it, even though I should.

  I most definitely should.

  I wake up in the middle of the night to distant shouting. I push myself up, blinking around me. Last I remember I was running my fingers through the horseman’s hair. But then I’d gotten tired and laid down …

  I rub my eyes and stifle a yawn. It’s still dark out and—

  �
��… got away! … motherfucker … away!”

  That wakes me up quickly.

  The horseman is still lying next to me. The green glow from his markings illuminates his face; his eyes are open. He’s already aware of them.

  I glance out the window, straining to hear what’s going on.

  “… all the men … dead …”

  I glance down at the horseman. If I heard that correctly, then this man murdered people before I stumbled across him. A shiver runs through me.

  The horseman meets my gaze. I wish he didn’t look so damn vulnerable.

  It must’ve been in self-defense, I tell myself. I saw his wounds with my own eyes. I’d probably kill whoever did that to me too.

  “You’re safe,” I repeat, my heart beating madly. I’m not going to give him up now.

  The room we’re in is illuminated in the horseman’s soft green light, and unfortunately for us, this house is not so far from the main road. Eventually, those men are going to notice the light coming from this place—if they haven’t already.

  Making a quick decision, I pull off my shirt and throw it over the horseman’s chest. The fabric mutes the glow almost completely, making the room too dark to see.

  The two of us sit in the darkness, listening.

  “… can track him … can’t be far …”

  I feel myself go cold all over.

  “… pointless … rain … tracks … morning …”

  Maybe the rain washed away all evidence that I dragged the horseman here. Maybe we got lucky.

  I think of how little luck I’ve had in my life. Best not to assume it will suddenly save the day now.

  The voices move off, and they don’t come back. Whatever they decided, it doesn’t lead them back our way.

  Maybe we’re okay—for now.

  After that, I can’t sleep, too afraid of those people finding us.

  My gaze creeps back to the horseman’s dark form. I can’t get that first image of him out of my head. He was so mutilated … the thought still takes my breath away. It doesn’t help that every so often I hear a gasp of pain in the darkness. I can no longer tell if he’s sleeping or not. I go back to stroking his hair, and the action seems to calm him.

  As the night wears on, the chilly air pricks at my bare skin. I don’t dare take my shirt back from the horseman, even though I’m freezing. I begin to shiver, my teeth clicking together.

  “You’re cold.” His husky voice seems as though it’s pulled from the darkness itself. It makes my skin prick, though not in an unpleasant way.

  “I’m okay.”

  I’m in such deep trouble it’s not even funny. If I don’t get caught in the crosshairs of those men who are looking for the horseman, men who might not mind hurting a teenage girl, then my Aunt Maria is going to disown me.

  I can hear her shrill voice even now. Thought you could spend the night with some boy, you little idiot? Well, if you think you’re old enough for sex, then you’re old enough to live on your own.

  And that would be that.

  Or maybe she’ll just beat the living shit out of me.

  Not all my shivering is from the cold.

  “Lay next to me.”

  The horseman’s voice drags me from my thoughts.

  I stare at where I think his eyes are as his words coil low in my belly. I can tell he doesn’t mean to make the offer sexual, but between that rough voice and the fact that our torsos are both bare, my mind can’t help going there.

  I’ve never laid next to a man who I wasn’t related to.

  “You’re hurt,” I say. “I don’t want to jostle—”

  “If you were worried about jostling my injuries, you wouldn’t have dragged me damn close to the point of death.”

  To be honest, I think I dragged him past the point of death, but apparently he can live through that too.

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I say. “I was trying to help you.”

  He grunts, though I have no clue whether he believes me or not.

  “I … couldn’t leave you,” I admit, picking at a fingernail.

  The room is quiet for a long moment. Then—

  “Lay down next to me,” he says again.

  I run my teeth over my lower lip.

  “I don’t trust you,” I confess.

  “That makes two of us.”

  I make a disbelieving noise. “I saved you.”

  “If this is your idea of saving a man—” His voice cuts off and he takes a ragged breath, “then I don’t want to know what your idea of punishment is.”

  “I can’t believe—” My teeth chatter, “I actually felt bad for you. You’re so rude.”

  “Fine,” he says, “stay cold.”

  I glare at his form in the darkness. It’s clear he’s done talking.

  I last maybe another fifteen minutes before I curse under my breath, then scooch over to his side. I bump into something wet and gooey. The horseman hisses in a breath.

  Shit—

  “Sorry!” I apologize.

  He grunts again.

  Gingerly I lay myself down next to him, bumping his arm twice more on accident. Each time he makes a low, pained sound.

  Bet he’s regretting his offer now.

  Finally, my bare skin presses against the side of his torso. The only place to put my head is on his shoulder, and I can’t help but breathe him in. This is how lovers sleep, nestled in each other’s arms.

  Why am I even thinking about that?

  “Don’t get any ideas,” I say out loud, as though the horseman is the one with the dirty thoughts.

  “Because your flesh is so tempting right now,” he quips.

  My face heats a little. “I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

  “I don’t have hands at the moment. And until I reacquire them, I think you can save worrying about my capabilities.”

  “Wait—‘reacquire them’?” I echo weakly.

  The horseman doesn’t respond to that. But now my mind is hyper-focused on his injuries. I can still see his horrible, mangled body lying in the mud like he’d been discarded.

  “How did you survive what happened to you?” I ask.

  There’s a pause.

  “I cannot die,” he finally says.

  He cannot die?

  “Oh.”

  The silence stretches out.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. As far as I’m aware, there are four horsemen, and I don’t have a single clue which one this is.

  I swear I feel him looking at me with those frightful green eyes. In the darkness he begins to laugh.

  “You don’t know?” he finally says. “I’m Famine, the third horseman of the apocalypse, and I’m here to kill you all.”

  Chapter 9

  Five years ago

  Anitápolis, Brazil

  Despite his words, he doesn’t kill me. At least not right then.

  However, he continues to laugh and laugh, raising the hairs along my arms. Now would be a really good time to move my head off of his shoulder and scoot my dumb little ass out of here.

  Why do I always get myself into these messes?

  Famine is still laughing and laughing and laughing. The man has officially lost it. Somewhere along the way, his laughter changes, deepening until he’s not laughing but sobbing.

  I lay in his arms, feeling even more awkward and uncomfortable than I did before. I don’t know what I expected when I saved him, but I don’t think it was this.

  The third horseman of the apocalypse is having a mental breakdown right next to me.

  The sound is awful, his shoulders heaving with each sob.

  I don’t know what to do. I thought the hard part would be saving him, but it’s clear that while the horseman’s body is safe—for now—his mind isn’t. It’s still caged in whatever prison he’s been locked up in, and I don’t know how to set it free.

  Finally, because I can think of nothing better, I reach out and begin stroking his hair again.

  “
Ssshhh,” I murmur, “it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” The empty platitudes slip from my lips. I have no clue what I’m saying. Of course nothing is okay and it won’t be okay, and I should not be making Famine (holy shit!) feel better.

  Under my touch his cries taper off until he’s left taking in ragged breaths of air.

  My hand stills.

  “Don’t stop,” he says, his voice broken.

  I resume my ministrations. For a long time the two of us are quiet.

  “So, you’re Famine?” I finally say. “What does that mean?”

  “Mortal, I have no idea what you’re asking.” He sounds exasperated. Weary and exasperated.

  “Um,” I say, “do you have any special powers?” I clarify.

  “Special powers,” he mutters. “I can make plants perish—among other things,” he says.

  “I had heard stories about you. That you’d been captured. I hadn’t thought they were true, but … were they? Have you been held somewhere?”

  His breath begins to speed up again. “Mhm …”

  Jesus.

  I run my fingers through his hair. I really want to ask him about his captivity—where exactly he was, what they did to him, how long he was there—but it’s clearly a tender subject.

  “What are you going to do now that you’re free?” I eventually ask.

  Beneath my hand, he seems to go still.

  I hear the menace in his voice when he says, “I’m going to get my revenge.”

  I didn’t think I was capable of falling asleep in the horseman’s arms, yet I must’ve because I stir at the touch of soft fingertips.

  I blink my eyes open, squinting at the morning light streaming in through a nearby window. A man looms over me, his green eyes piercing. After a moment, I realize I recognize those green eyes.

  Famine.

  I suck in a shocked breath when I truly take in the horseman.

  All of him is strange and lovely.

  When I found him yesterday, he wore blood and grime in place of clothing. But now he’s fully dressed, and over his black shirt and pants he wears bronze armor that definitely wasn’t there last night. The metal breastplate gleams in the morning light.

  How … ? Did he leave at some point to get his things?

  But then my focus returns to his powerful build. Even kneeling, he looks intimidatingly large, and I don’t have to see the skin beneath his armor to know he has a body made for battle.