Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,113
shaky breath. Has anyone truly been angry on my behalf? There were my friends at the bordello—Izabel in particular knew about the beatings and she’d cursed my aunt a time or two. But even her indignation never had the same sort of depth and weight that Famine’s did. He looked at me last night like I deserved better—like if he could, he’d go back in time and erase my pain—or punish those who caused it.
And I can’t help but be … moved. So moved.
Which is awfully problematic because everything between me and Famine is supposed to go back to the way it was. That was the agreement.
So I need to stop thinking about him like things between us have changed.
When I trust that I’m not going to get sick again, I pad over to the dresser and pull out a filmy dress from the top drawer, this one the color of rouge.
There’s a half full pitcher of water and some stale bread sitting next to my bed, and my throat tightens at the sight.
Did Famine leave that for me?
Warmth spreads low in my belly.
Stop it, Ana. He’s just a bossy asshole that you’re reluctantly friends with.
… Friends with benefits.
That’s all.
I eat the bread and drink most of the water, and then, stomach sloshing, I crawl back into Famine’s bed.
But when I close my eyes, all I see are the memories of what we did in this bed for the rest of the night. No sex—but everything right up to it.
At least I don’t think there was any sex … things got a bit blurry there towards the end.
It doesn’t help that the memory of Famine’s deft hands and that cruel mouth against my skin is reawakening my lust.
Everything will go back to the way it was tomorrow? I had asked.
Idiot, idiot, idiot.
My mind is never going to wash away those memories. And until it does, things are not going to be the same between us.
Eventually, Famine comes for me.
I hear his footfalls coming up the hall. With every step he takes, my heart speeds up. The footfalls pause outside his room, and then the door opens.
Even though I’m curled up on myself, my back to the door, I can still sense the horseman’s eyes on me. My skin tingles with awareness.
Then those footfalls again. My pulse is pounding in my ears and I feel sick with anxiety and the worst sort of excitement. Oh, and legitimate nausea. That too.
Getting drunk is definitely overrated.
Famine stops a meter from the bed.
“What’s wrong with you?” His deep voice raises goosebumps along my skin.
God, he’s awful.
He’s also clearly having no problem returning to the way things were.
I bury my face in my pillow.
Does he even know about hangovers? If he doesn’t, I’m not sure I have the energy to explain.
I also hate that his voice is making my cheeks heat and my headache pound against my temple.
“Everything,” I mumble, drawing the blankets closer to me. “I want to forget the last twenty-four hours.”
“That would require more alcohol.”
I groan. “Never again,” I rasp. Just the memory of all those different liquors has me gagging.
Famine continues to stand there. “Are your regrets catching up to you?”
“They caught up a while ago,” I say.
“And?”
And?
I flip over to face the Reaper. “And what?”
Famine is looking at me funny, but I can’t say whether it’s my words or the sight of me so obviously sick. He crouches next to the bed and reaches a hand out, touching my skin. The moment he does so, I have a flashback to last night.
Tangled arms, tangled legs, his kisses down my breasts and between my thighs …
I have to take a steadying breath, just to push those memories away.
“Did we … have sex?”
He frowns. “You don’t remember?”
“I remember most of last night …” Enough to know the two of us let things get out of hand.
He grimaces, but he doesn’t leave. The Reaper’s gaze travels over my face, his entire expression full of yearning. In response, I feel my stomach clench in a very primal way.
He brushes his knuckles against my cheek, the action painfully kind.
“What?” I say eventually.
Famine shakes his head, then strolls over to my empty pitcher of water. “Do you want more? I know humans need absurd amounts of this stuff …”
My stomach flutters.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out a bit hoarse.
Those green eyes of his move to me. Right now they don’t look nearly as apathetic as they should. “Is this a trick question?”