I let out a surprised yelp.
Shit, I stabbed him. I actually stabbed him. I stare, horrified, at the weapon protruding from his flesh. The satisfaction I was supposed to feel never comes.
The Reaper grimaces. Wrapping a hand around the hilt, he drags the dagger out and tosses the bloody blade aside.
I reach for my other weapon, but the Reaper grabs me by the throat and hauls me over to the table, slamming my body against the polished surface, his scythe trapped beneath me.
Famine’s pelvis grinds into mine as he pins me in.
“Foolish—little—flower,” he clips out, leaning over me.
I reach again for the holstered dagger at my hip. The Reaper beats me to it, his hand skimming down my side as he pulls the weapon out. He tosses it aside then grabs at the longer blade strapped to my chest, giving it a cursory look before chucking it far out of reach.
Just like that, the last of my grand scheme is gone. For the third time in my life, I’m at the whim of the horseman.
“This was your plan?” he grits out, some of his blood dripping onto my chest. “To come here and kill me? You make a worse killer than you do a whore.”
I spit in his face.
In response, he squeezes my throat tighter.
“Unless, of course, you didn’t want to kill me,” he says, searching my gaze. “You’ve seen that I cannot die, and you know what I’m capable of. Surely you’re not stupid enough to think you could end me—”
Somewhere in the mansion, a door opens.
He casts a hateful glance towards the sound. I use that moment to draw my leg towards my chest, and then I kick out, ramming the fucker in the gonads as hard as I can.
Famine lets out a pained grunt, releasing me to cup himself, and I use the distraction to dash from the room.
Get out get out get out.
I leap over the dead body, round the corner—
A man stands in the way.
Shit.
His eyes widen a fraction when he sees me. I try to stop my momentum, but I slam into him anyway, the two of us going down in a tangle of limbs.
I’m desperately trying to extricate myself when I hear Famine approaching. Before I can get to my feet, the man on top of me is kicked off of my body. The Reaper’s scythe goes to his throat.
“What did I tell you about staying away?” the Reaper says conversationally to what must be one of his guards.
“But—” The man’s eyes dart to me.
Faster than I can follow, Famine slices the man’s neck, blood spurting from his opened artery.
I scream at the sight. The man is still looking at me, his expression shocked and frightened as he reaches for his gaping throat.
Not how this evening was supposed to go.
Once more I frantically try to get up.
The horseman presses a booted foot to my chest. “You, I’m not done with.”
He raises his scythe back to his side, the blade now tipped in blood.
I close my eyes against the sight, and breathe in and out, trying not to completely lose it.
“What makes you think I won’t kill you right here and right now?” the Reaper says.
“I’m not afraid of death,” I say softly.
“Oh really now?” Famine sounds amused. “Then open your eyes and look at it.”
It’s the taunt in his voice that has me blinking my eyes. I glare up at him.
He tilts his head. “There you are. Let me look at you.”
If he weren’t so far away, I might’ve tried spitting at him again.
Famine takes his time. “I wondered if we might cross paths again. You should’ve told me who you were. I would’ve spared you.”
I guffaw. Like he was ever going to listen.
“But you didn’t,” I say. “Take a look at my chest and you’ll see for yourself that I wasn’t spared anything.”
“Yet despite it all, you lived.” He scrutinizes me, as though he can hardly believe it. “Why find me and risk my wrath yet again?”
Something warm and wet touches my shoulder then spreads down my arm and up into my hair. I realize too late that it’s the dead man’s blood.
I grimace up at Famine, breathing through my nose to keep my emotions under control. “I wanted to hurt you.”
He raises his eyebrows. “My balls are sore, little flower, I’ll give you that.”
I feel my cheeks flush with anger even as the horror of my situation sets in. “Fuck you.”
The horseman presses his boot down harder against me. “You tried that already, remember? I still don’t want your pussy.”
This is all a joke to him. My pain, everyone else’s.
“You took everyone I loved from me the first time we met,” I whisper. “And then you did it all over again.”
He scowls. “That’s what I do, mortal. It’s what I will continue to do until I am called home.”
Famine takes me in for another second. Then, removing his boot from my chest, he reaches down and hauls me up. “I thought, however, that you were different from the rest of these parasites.”
Grasping me by the upper arm, he begins to haul me down the hall, pausing only to grab a length of coiled rope hanging from a mounted coatrack.
I struggle against him, letting out a frustrated noise when it gets me nowhere. For the life of me, I have no idea what’s going on. Famine has had several opportunities to kill me. He’s taken none of them.
Then again, maybe he’s simply drawing this out.
Famine jerks me into an empty room. Tossing me inside, he kicks the door shut behind us.
I hit the ground hard, my teeth clicking together. The Reaper stalks after me.
I scramble backwards, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m trapped in this room with an unearthly monster.
For a split second, the two of us stare at each other—hunter and hunted.
He’s going to kill me. I can see in his eyes just how much he hates us, how much he enjoys snuffing us out one by one. He’s still holding the scythe, along with the rope he grabbed.
Famine kneels down at my side, that painfully beautiful face of his illuminated by nearby oil lamps. As he does so, blood drips from his chest, where I so recently stabbed him. My gaze moves to his neck, which is also smeared in blood. Despite his earlier words, I did manage to hurt him.
The horseman grabs one of my wrists, and maybe it’s his touch or the look in his eyes, but the hairs along my arm stand on end.
“Let me go.” I jerk my arm against him, but his grip doesn’t loosen.
He grabs my other wrist, pressing my two arms together before he begins winding the rope around my wrists.
“What are you doing?” I struggle against him. Once again, it’s absolutely useless. He seems to have unnatural strength.
“I’m subduing you,” he says. “I thought that was obvious.”
Famine finishes winding the rope around my wrists, his expression placid. He leans back on his haunches and appraises me. “Will you try to kill me again?”
I pause in my struggle.
That’s what this is about? He doesn’t want me to get violent with him again?
I wait too long to answer.
A corner of his mouth curves up. “As I thought,” he says, taking my silence as a yes.
In all fairness, if given the chance, I will definitely try to incapacitate him again.
The horseman spends the next moment taking me in.
“For a man who’s scared of pussies,” I say, “you’re spending an awfully long time looking at me.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait.
“Tell me,” the Reaper says, leaning back on his haunches, “if you were in my shoes—if a girl who once saved you then tried to kill you were suddenly your prisoner—what would you do?”
This is the part where I die. Painfully. I did in fact squander my second chance at life.
I glare up at the horseman, defeated. “I can’t say,” I respond bitterly. “I’m not a mon
ster.”
Those unnerving eyes continue to assess me.
“I have never made an exception for a human before,” he admits, “and I’m loathe to make one now.”
I can hear the but coming.
“But I’m afraid there has only ever been a single instance where a human saved my life. It, unfortunately, has made an impression on me.” He leans in close. “That should worry a feeble little flower like you.”
Don’t worry, buddy, it does.
He gets up, his green eyes still on me. “We’ll talk again in the morning.” Famine heads out of the room, but pauses when he gets to the doorway. “Oh, and if you try leaving this place, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
My mind flashes to the bloody body in the living room and the mass grave outside. I might be brash and defiant, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to attempt an escape tonight. Famine is not exactly a man to test.
The horseman eyes me up and down. “You really should’ve stayed away. You may still be that same little flower who saved me, but then, I’m not known for letting flowers grow …”
Chapter 11
“Wake up.”
I start at Famine’s voice, my eyes opening.
He’s staring down at me, a scowl on his lips, like he’s angry I’m even here.
I blink blearily, glancing around at my surroundings, before my attention returns to the horseman.
“Have you ever heard of knocking?” I say, stifling a yawn.
“You’re my captive. You don’t get the luxury of a warning.”
“Mmmm …” My eyes drift closed.
“Wake. Up.”
“Unless you plan on cutting away these restraints—no,” I say, not bothering to open my eyes.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve slept with bound hands. However, it’s definitely the shittiest time I’ve had with them. At least in the past I got paid for this sort of thing.
A moment later, Famine rips the covers off the bed. But if he thought to intimidate me, this isn’t the way. I’ve come to expect all sorts of weird shit when it comes to me and beds. What can you do? Hazards of my trade.
I hear the metallic zing of a blade being unsheathed. “You seem to have a shockingly bad sense of self-preservation,” he says.
I force my eyes open again, shaking off the last of my sleep so that I can focus on the dagger he holds. “You’re just mad I’m not more scared.”
The truth is, I decided last night that Famine isn’t going to kill me. I think. At least, not for the time being. That’s definitely emboldened me. The rest of my attitude is simple bravado. Another knack I’ve picked up since I became a lady of ill repute.
Famine grabs my wrists roughly and begins sawing away at the bindings.
I stare at him as he jerks at the rope. Today, he’s wearing his full regalia, his bronze armor polished to a high sheen.
“You smell like pig shit and blood,” he comments.
I raise an eyebrow. “Because I care so much what you think.”
If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m halfway enjoying not having to look and smell like a man’s wet dream. It’s a nice change of pace. Also, super low-maintenance.
“Keep going, little flower, you’re reminding me of all the reasons I despise humans.”
“First off, the name is Ana,” I say, sitting up a little. “Second of all, horseman, let’s not mince our words. You hate humans because long ago we were God-awful to you, not because you have a problem with my mouth.”
In fact, I know I have a nice mouth—or a naughty mouth, depending on who you talk to—but it’s well-liked, all the same.
He glances up at me, and I have to force myself to not be affected by his beauty.
Famine frees my hands then leaves my side. He crosses the room and opens a closet. Several dresses hang inside, the size and style of them making me think a teenager used to live in this room. I don’t let myself think about what must’ve happened to her.
“So,” I say, shaking out my wrists to get the blood flowing through them. “Did you decide whether I get to live or die?” Because I have to ask.
“Do you really think we’d be having a conversation if I wanted you dead?” he says, yanking one of the dresses off its hanger.
I frown at the garment, suspicious that he grabbed it for me.
Famine heads for the door. “Follow me,” he says without glancing back.
I stare after him for several seconds, not sure what to make of my situation. But I really don’t think he intends to kill me, and I need to wake up a bit more before I consider my next move, so reluctantly, I pad along after him.
Famine leads me into another bedroom. Resting on top of the mattress is the horseman’s scythe and what I have now learned are his scales. The rest of the room is full of a stranger’s things.
The Reaper crosses the room, heading to a connected bathroom, and I trail after him. There’s a fancy clawfoot tub and a toilet, both which actually look as though they’re connected to plumbing. The bathtub even has a lever to pump water in. Whoever these rich bitches were, I’m almost envious of them.
They’re surely dead.
Maybe I’m not too envious of them …
In front of the tub is a pitcher of water, which rests on a shallow basin. A washcloth lays on the lip of the bowl. There’s a clawfoot tub, and yet the horseman chose a pitcher and basin to bathe with. You would’ve thought a presumptuous prick like Famine would at least try to fill up a tub.
“Living in the lap of luxury, are we now?” I say.
“That’s for you,” he says.
Ah. Now I understand why he skipped the tub. Heaven forbid he does anything lavish for anyone else.
“Because you stink,” he adds.
“I’m blown away by your hospitality,” I say, padding over to the pitcher.
What I don’t say is that this situation is odd. Really, really odd. Famine still hasn’t killed me, and now he expects me to bathe? In his personal bathroom, no less?
Does he plan on watching?
The horseman tosses the dress he holds onto the nearby counter, leaning against the vanity a moment later. When he doesn’t leave, I realize with a jolt of surprise that yes, he does plan on sticking around.
How scandalous!
Ignoring the pitcher of water, I head over to the tub and try the lever. I give it a test pump. Immediately, water hisses out of the spout.
It works!
Fuck that sponge bath.
Turning my back to the horseman, I begin pumping water into the basin. He doesn’t stop me either, which I half expected him too, given what a little shit he is.
It takes a long time to draw in enough water to bathe in, and the water itself is a little chilly, but eventually it fills up.
When I turn around again, Famine is still there, in the bathroom, and he makes no move to leave.
I don’t know what to think of that.
I take off my shirt, then the thin bra I wear, uncaring that Famine’s getting an eyeful of naked lady chest. This is just an average Tuesday for me.
The horseman’s gaze drops to the wounds that decorate my torso. I actually hear his sharp inhale.
And now I think I understand his reason for lingering—he wanted to see my wounds.
He pushes away from the counter, his gaze locked on my scabbed-over wounds. “They tore you apart.”
I glance down, and the memory hits me again. I can feel those men’s hands on me and I can hear the wet, meaty sound of their knives stabbing me over and over again.
“There are eleven different marks,” I say. I don’t know why I tell him.
“And I imagine you laid for a long time in pain, alone and frightened.”
My steely gaze flicks up to him. “I wasn’t just frightened.” I was angry.
He must see the anger in my eyes when I look at him.
“Yes,” he says, “I know that look well.”
I force my emotions back down.
; After a moment, he moves back, towards the bathroom counter, putting distance between us. “Those don’t look like survivable wounds,” he says, his voice light.
I don’t bother agreeing with him. Instead, I step out of my pants, then slide off my panties, kicking them aside.
If I thought nudity would scare off the horseman, I thought wrong.
Huh.
I step into the tub and lower myself, until I’m reclining like a queen, sighing as I lean against the rim.
“How’s your abdominal wound?” I ask, draping my arms over the sides. My tits are wantonly exposed. I’m honestly enjoying the hell out of this; I hope the horseman is rattled.
Famine narrows his gaze on me. “Gone.”
“Too bad.”
“My balls are better too—thanks for asking,” he says.
“I wasn’t worried about your balls. It seems you have no use for them.” My mouth curves into a smirk as I speak. I really am enjoying myself.
The Reaper folds his arms, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Tell me, Ana,” he says, the sound of my name on his lips making my stomach clench, “what would you do if I let you go free?”
My gaze sharpens on him.
I could lie. But those reptilian eyes, they seem to unmask the truth anyway.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’d probably try to find you and hurt you again.”
Because this life has nothing else left for me. I have no home, no job, no friends, no family. Just this vendetta.
The horseman makes a sound low in his chest. “I thought as much.”
I should probably be worried at this point. But to be honest, I think I’m five cities beyond worried. I should’ve turned back from this long ago.
“I’ll still try to hurt you,” I add. “Keeping me close just makes it more convenient for me.
Now the horseman smiles, and dear God, he really does enjoy cruelty.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says softly.
He doesn’t say anything else, but then, he doesn’t need to. The threat is implicit: if I try to hurt him, he will make me learn what true pain is.
Pushing away from the bathroom counter, the Reaper moves to the doorway. “Tomorrow we’re heading out. If you try to escape, I won’t feed you.” He looks disturbingly delighted by that possibility.
Famine (The Four Horsemen Book 3) Page 7