Around us, people meander about, but as we pass by them, they pause, their eyes wide. There’s no mistaking Famine for anything other than what he is—a horseman.
Once we reach what seems to be the densest section of Taubaté, the Reaper stops his horse, grabbing his scythe from where it’s strapped to his back.
I glance over my shoulder at him. “Why are we stopping?”
Famine smirks at me. “You’ll see.”
“I really don’t want to,” I say, because I have a feeling I know what’s coming. The same thing that always comes at the end of our stays. And the last thing I want is to see these people die. Not after all they’ve done for me.
“Don’t give me that look,” Famine says. “This will be fun.”
Fun?
“Your idea of fun is gutting someone alive,” I remind him.
He smirks again, his eyes twinkling, and that look does nothing to calm my nerves.
The Reaper swings himself off his horse and pounds his scythe against the ground, startling the already startled onlookers. Despite the fact that it’s common knowledge that the horseman is bad news, a crowd has begun to gather.
The horseman’s gaze sweeps over the growing crowd. “If you wish for your town to be spared—”
“Wait, we’re staying?” I interrupt.
He gives me a look that states plainly, please shut up.
Famine continues, “—then these are my terms: my wife—”
“Whoa, what wife?” I interrupt again. “Wait, me?”
The horseman doesn’t even bother pausing this time, “—and I need an unoccupied place to stay, and I require offerings. Lots of offerings. Do this, and I will not destroy your lives and livelihoods.”
I swear there’s a collective pause, then people scatter.
Well, that went well.
“Wife?” I repeat to Famine, raising my eyebrows. “What lies have you been telling people while I’ve been sick?”
The look he gives me is downright nefarious. “It’s only a lie if you don’t intend to follow through with it.”
One, that’s not how lies work. And two—
“Is that … a proposal?” I say. My heart beats faster than it should. “Because if it is,” I continue, “that’s going to be a no from me.”
I think about Martim, how he promised me marriage, then broke his promise and my heart in the process.
That’s not happening again.
At my words, Famine rears back. “No?”
“I want an actual proposal,” I continue, staring down at him from the saddle. “With sex. The ring is optional. Groveling is a must.”
“Groveling?” He lets out an incredulous laugh. “I’m not a dog begging for scraps.”
“Nope, right now you’re a dog with zero scraps. I want sex, a pledge of your undying love—”
“Now it’s a pledge of my undying love?”
“That goes without saying,” I reply as townspeople begin to approach us.
The Reaper looks irked.
“You’ve gone down on me,” I say, “so you’re already an old hand at this groveling business.”
An older man who’s approaching us overhears my comment, and much to my delight, he looks properly scandalized.
“That was not groveling.” Famine’s jaw clenches.
“I don’t know why you’re so horrified,” I say, ignoring his comment. “You’ve literally held me as I peed,” I say. That’s about as horrifying as a situation can get. “I might’ve even gotten some on your shoe.”
Judging by the tick in Famine’s cheek, I definitely got some pee on his shoe.
Before he can respond, the older man and several other townspeople close in on us. They carry blankets and tallow candles and jugs of oil and liquor and milk and pottery and jewelry and baskets of eggs.
“Marry me,” Famine says, ignoring them as he stares up at me.
My breath catches for an instant. “No.”
He looks greatly annoyed. I’m beyond gleeful.
“This isn’t over,” he vows.
I sincerely hope not.
By sunset, Famine has not only amassed a small kingdom’s worth of goods, he’s also managed to secure us a house. He didn’t even have to kill anyone to get it.
“The woman who lived here died, and her children weren’t able to sell the place,” one of the townspeople told me earlier, when she was giving me a walk-through of the previously boarded-up home.
I understand why no one wanted the place. Not only was it built before the apocalypse—and thus full of relics that are useless at best, and dangerous at worst—but as far as practicality goes, it seems like it’s more work than it’s worth.
It still has a garage full of rusted out cars, and kitchen appliances that are filled with cobwebs and rat droppings, and sinks with faucets that haven’t moved water in more than a decade.
At least the toilets have been updated.
Around me, half a dozen people bustle by, sweeping floors, removing moldy linens and shaggy curtains.
Beyond them, Famine stands with his arms folded, listening to some woman, a bored expression on his face.
The horseman must feel me watching, because he glances in my direction.
His eyes brighten when he sees me. “My little flower. Do you like it?” he calls, gesturing to the room around us. It’s a genuine question, and God, but he actually looks hopeful, like his happiness rests upon my answer.
I cut across the room towards him. “You’ve really manipulated your way into getting us the best house,” I say, even though this is not the best house by a long shot.
The horseman flashes me a sly grin as I approach him. “Would you rather we stay in a different house? I’m sure any of the families here would be happy to be kicked out of their homes so that we could move in. That’s always an option.”
People are still cleaning the room around us, but now many of them stiffen a little.
I suppress a shudder. “Thank you, no,” I say.
I step into Famine’s space. “You mentioned earlier that you were trying something new,” I say. I gesture to the house around us. “How is this new?”
Famine often asks people for offerings and places to stay. To me, this is the same gimmick he’s always pulled.
The horseman pulls me into him. “You’ll see,” he whispers against my ear.
There’s a chair nearby. Famine snags it, dragging it over. He sits down in it, pulling me down along with him.
“Let me go, Famine,” I say, as he props me on his lap.
“No,” he says casually, reaching out to play with one of my curls.
“I’m serious.” This situation—Famine sitting in a chair like some sort of king—has always preceded terrible things. I don’t want to be here to watch.
“As am I,” he says.
Anxiety builds in my veins.
He runs a finger down my arm. “Relax,” he breathes against my ear.
But I can’t relax.
“What are you going to do to them?” I ask, my voice low so that the people around us can’t hear.
“I already told you, little flower: I’m trying something new.”
I peer at him for several seconds before realization hits me.
“You’re not going to kill them?” I breathe, my eyes widening. It’s too good to hope for.
The Reaper lifts a finger and traces the scab running across my neck, frowning at the sight of it. “Of course I’m going to kill them.” He doesn’t bother lowering his voice, and the people in the room with us flash him wide-eyed looks. “I just won’t do it yet.”
My gaze searches his. “Why?”
“Strange creature—would you like me to kill them straight away?”
“Jesus, Famine. No.” I’m not even sure he’s joking. “I just … I’m curious.” After all, the Reaper has never done anything like this before, and I want to know why.
He stares at me for a long time. I can practically see the scarred layers of
himself melting away as he takes me in.
“You’ve never asked me to change,” Famine finally admits. “Or to be something I’m not. You never needed me to be human to accept me.”
I mean, I wasn’t super accepting when I tried to stab him. And I don’t think I’ve ever accepted his cruelty. But he is technically right—I never actually thought to change his behavior. I never realized that changing him was an option. That would be like him trying to remove the human out of me—utterly impossible.
“I don’t understand where you’re going with this …” I say, still staring at him skeptically.
“I accept you as you are, Ana, with your lewd comments—”
“You like those,” I interrupt.
“—and your insatiable curiosity, and your human tricks—”
“You like those too.”
“—and your compassion,” he finishes. “Especially your compassion, even in the face of cruelty.
“This is my pledge to you, little flower,” he continues, “I will be at your side until my dying day, and I will hold off on the killing—for now.”
Chapter 47
I stare at him for a long time.
“I don’t believe you,” I finally say.
He laughs. “You’re welcome.”
Holy shit, he is telling the truth.
Which means … this is a legitimate vow. One that comes as close to undying love as it gets.
I will be at your side until my dying day.
I try not to swoon. Ana da Silva does not swoon, especially not over scary men. But I come close to it. I come damn close.
He wants to be with me. And bonus—he’s really not going to kill. And who knows how long that will last, but he’s going to try. He’s never tried before.
Wait a second.
I glance around at the house around us with new eyes.
I’m trying something new, he’d said. Could that actually mean … ?
“Is this house for us to keep?” I say, not daring to believe it.
Famine nods.
I can’t seem to get enough air in my lungs.
I focus on him again. “I want to be alone with you.”
The Reaper is going to get laid. Right here. Right now.
Not looking away from me he says, “Everyone out.”
Within a matter of minutes, the house is empty.
As soon as the last person’s gone, I stand and pull off my soiled dress, then kick off my socks and shoes.
The horseman watches me, his eyes gleaming.
Once I’m fully naked, I nod to Famine.
“Now it’s your turn,” I say.
“To get naked?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”
Oh my God.
I give him a look. “Do I really need to—?”
“I’m kidding,” the horseman says, and it’s unnerving how much he sounds like me.
He stands and begins removing his bronze armor. Famine is slower to get naked, his gaze drinking in my breasts … then my waist, then my hips, then legs, then back up, his eyes lingering on my pussy as his fingers undo his armor.
“Had I known this would earn me some eager sex, I might’ve given up my ways much, much sooner.”
I guffaw at that. We both know the Reaper fought his physical urges to the bitter end.
It only takes him a little longer to pull off the rest of his clothing. In the light of day, I see every exposed centimeter of him. I’m used to his nudity, but it still takes my breath away.
Famine’s wide shoulders give way to his rounded pecs and tapered waist. His abs are a thing of glory, but even they can’t hold my attention for long.
My gaze moves to his erection.
Cocks are kind of my thing. I’ve seen hundreds of them—fat ones, skinny ones, long ones, short ones. I’ve seen penises so small that I could barely fit two fingers around them and penises so large they never fully fit all the way inside me, no matter the position. There were dicks that swung to one side and some that grew to twice their normal length; there were some that were bulbous and fleshy and some that were utterly outshined by their owner’s enormous balls. And there was everything in between.
Famine’s cock is, like the rest of him, annoyingly faultless—thick enough and long enough to make a girl feel thoroughly loved, but not overly endowed to make her regret it the next morning. His cock even slopes with just enough arch to hit a woman’s G-spot.
As I stare at him, a grin spreads across my face.
This might be the most blasphemous thing I’ve ever thought, but God clearly made this man for fucking. Sure, killing too, but I’m just saying—this dick has enough bells and whistles to play itself a song.
“That look of yours always makes me nervous,” Famine says, reaching out and pulling me against him. He traces my lips, his pretty cock trapped against my belly.
“Say it again,” I say.
Famine lifts me up once more, forcing my legs to wrap around him again. “That look of yours—”
“Not that,” I laugh. “That you love me.”
The Reaper’s eyes grow heated as he carries me forward. “I love you, Ana.” When I smile he says it again. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Do you want me to keep going? I can do this all—”
“I love you,” I interrupt, placing a hand against his jaw. “And I can’t believe I get to have you, you sadistic little shit.”
As though to emphasize my point, I lean in and kiss him. I think Famine meant to take us back to a bedroom, but only seconds after my mouth meets his, my back bangs against one of the living room walls, the Reaper’s chest pinning me in place.
He stares at me as he lifts my hips, then lowers me down against, him, driving his cock into me.
I hiss out a breath at the sudden intrusion. For a moment, I can’t move, my core throbbing around Famine’s dick.
He shifts, sliding out of me. I make a sad sound, but then he thrusts back in and I let out a long, very unflattering moan.
A wicked grin splits his features and—
“Wait.”
Famine pauses, arching a brow.
I take a shallow breath, trying to think past the big fucking dick that I’m skewered on.
“Just so we’re clear—” I say, “I don’t want a child.” I now know he can work his contraceptive magic to make that happen.
The Reaper gives me an unreadable look.
“You being inside me is sort of contingent upon that.” Probably should’ve discussed this the first time we were intimate. “Understood?”
His hand comes between us and squeezes a tit. “Understood.”
He grinds into me, and that answer is going to have to do because holy shit, this man knows what he’s doing.
He should not be good at this too; this is my profession, not his. Which I know is completely ridiculous because Famine is making me feel fucking amazing and I should not be complaining, but the man with the perfect body and the perfect penis is really good at using both.
He must read my thoughts from my face because he says, “You’ve had all this practice pleasing people and no practice being pleased.”
I give him a look. “There’s no way you’ve ever pleased anyone besides yourself before now.”
He gives me a revealing smile. “Alright, you caught me. But—” He begins to piston in and out, in and out, drinking in my expression with heavily lidded eyes, “am I not a quick study, little flower?”
I don’t bother answering him. Those wicked lips of his have taunted me for weeks and weeks. I wrap an arm around his neck and pull him in close, kissing him as our hips meet again and again.
He pulls us away from the wall and, never fully withdrawing from me, moves us down to the ground.
Famine stares down at me as his thrusts begin to speed up, his hips slamming against mine as his cock drives deeper and deeper. He flashes me a wolfish grin, his caramel-colored hair dangling down.
“What?” I ask.
The horseman shake
s his head. “You are so fucking gorgeous, and I like this look on you.”
As he speaks, sensation is building in me, rising and rising.
“What look?” My voice has gone annoyingly low and breathy.
“Tousled hair, swollen lips, and bright eyes,” he says, devouring my expression as his cock continues to stroke me, faster and faster.
“You like the way I look all sexed up,” I say, a smile spreading across my face.
He stares at my lips, transfixed, and almost as though he can’t help it, he begins to smile back.
I reach up and cup his face in my hands, staring at him as he works me. His hair is caught in my fingers and his sweat is already beginning to mingle with mine, and amidst it all, I feel a deep connection with Famine.
“I love you,” I say. I can’t help myself. And I need him to hear it over and over again until he fully stops hating himself. And even then I’ll say it because those words feel like basking in sunlight.
The Reaper pauses, and I make a sad, disappointed little sound.
He grins back at me. “So impatient.”
Around us, I hear tile crack. The floor shifts, and I feel the brush of a plant. It brushes against my hair even as I hear more tiles around us crack, lifting up and sliding aside as more shoots push through.
And this is the part of Famine that I might just love most. He will always be inhuman, and do weird, inhuman shit—like grow plants while he’s inside me.
Leaning in, the horseman kisses me, while around us the foliage continues to grow. His kiss deepens, and I am consumed by the sensation of Famine in me and above me and around me and—
All at once, my climax crashes through me. I cry out into the Reaper’s mouth, pulling him in close as I ride out my orgasm.
He strokes me deeper and deeper, faster and faster, his balls slapping against me until I feel him thicken.
Famine groans against my lips as he comes inside me.
Eventually, his thrusts slow, turning gentle. The horseman rests his head against mine for a moment, his breathing ragged. I can tell he wants to say something about how amazing sex with me is (because let’s face it, my pussy is a man-slayer), but I’m not sure he trusts himself enough yet to do so.
Instead, he says, “I love you.”
Famine (The Four Horsemen Book 3) Page 35