Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,122

He turns back to me, and I see the wild look in his eyes—

The blade at my throat is moving, slicing my skin open. I cry out at the sharp bite of pain, surprise making my eyes widen. I didn’t think he’d try to kill me, not now that Famine was here.

I go to push the knife away, but before I can reach it, a great, thorned plant drags my attacker off of me, and his knife falls harmlessly out of his hand.

Warm blood spills down my neck. I clutch the wound, the liquid slipping between my fingers. For a second, all I can think of is that the man must’ve nicked an artery, but then there would be more blood—right?

It’s hard to tell what a lot is, but after a moment, I think I’m okay. And now that I can feel the edges of the wound, I can tell it only sliced part of my neck, and it’s not so deep—

A hand goes to my shoulder.

I glance up and there’s Famine kneeling at my side, his green eyes focused on my face. He looks so angry, so vengeful. But behind all those potent emotions, I see panic. Cloying, dreadful panic.

His gaze drops to my neck, where I’m putting pressure on the wound.

“You’re hurt.” There’s no emotion behind the words, and yet the horseman’s fingers are gripping my shoulder so tightly, and the longer I stare at him, the more distressed he appears.

“I’ll be okay,” I say. I think.

His gaze searches mine, and I can tell he doesn’t know what to do.

Behind him, I can hear the cries of the two remaining bandits. I don’t have to look to know what’s happening to them.

I continue to stare up at the Reaper.

You saved me. I don’t bother saying it. He and I both know it.

Famine cups my face, and how strange, I can feel his hand trembling. And now that I’m looking, his expression is more intense than I’ve ever seen it, and his breathing is a little harsh.

He searches my face, and then he very deliberately says, “Fuck things going back to the way they were.”

With that, he kisses me.

Chapter 40

His lips are hot on mine, and all that fear and shock and pain and adrenaline finally catch up to me. I cling to him, holding on for dear life.

He saved me. I was seconds away from a swift death, and Famine saved me.

What had I told him a while ago?

I helped you once too—even though you wouldn’t have done the same for me.

I was wrong. Famine clearly would do the same for me.

And that realization shatters the rickety walls guarding my feelings.

Screw broken hearts. What good are they if you die and never actually get to experience anything worth experiencing?

I kiss the horseman with all the urgency I’ve held back until now. With all the desire and hope and all the terrible, wonderful emotions that have moved through me in the last day.

God, but this man feels like home, and that’s more than a little wondrous to a woman like me, who’s never really had a home.

Famine is kissing me with a ferocity to match my own, and around us, the rain is coming down in torrents, each drop hitting my skin so hard it stings. It washes away the mud and blood covering me, along with the last of my resistance.

The horseman’s hands slip down my cheeks, and I wince when he brushes my wound.

His lips pause, then he pulls away. “Ana.” The panic is back in his voice. His gaze dips to my neck.

“It’s not bad …” But even as I speak, I feel a little dizzy, a little disoriented.

Famine’s jaw clenches. “You are such a goddamned liar.”

A moment later he scoops me up and carries me inside. He sets me down on the blanket he laid out for me, then quickly removes his bronze armor, the metal clinking as he sets it aside.

He pulls his shirt off, revealing those mesmerizing tattoos that glow green in the darkness.

The Reaper kneels down at my side, pressing the black garment against my wound, staunching the flow of blood.

There’s nowhere to look that isn’t him, and I’m confronted once again by my feelings as I take in his features. The horseman is the most excruciatingly beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Usually, he looks like some proud, untouchable prince from a bygone era, but right now … he doesn’t look proud and untouchable. If anything, he looks young and uncertain and