Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,130

carrying me down a narrow hallway.

Then he’s laying me down on a bed.

I cling to him. I have this nonsensical fear that the moment I let him go, I’m not going to be safe anymore.

“Little flower,” Famine says softly, so softly, “you need to let me go.”

Reluctantly, I do, opening my eyes long enough to see him. “Please don’t leave me.”

He takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “I won’t.” The Reaper says this like he’s swearing an oath to me.

Now that I have his word, I relax. The bed is soft and I feel so terrible that it’s easy to slip off to sleep.

I’m not sure how long I drift for. It could be minutes or hours …

“Why is she deteriorating so quickly?” Famine’s voice sounds far away.

I fall back to sleep before I hear the answer.

I wake to the feel of a wet cloth against my forehead. I crack my eyes open and see the Reaper peering down at me, his hands on the cool material. Over his shoulder someone else holds a basin of water. I give both of them a tired smile.

“Ana—” the Reaper begins, but I’m already fading away.

I wake again to the feel of foreign hands on me. They don’t feel right. They’re dry and calloused and they’re moving my body around like I’m a puppet.

I try to push them away.

“What are you doing to her?” Famine’s voice has me prying my eyes open.

A shrewd older woman leans over me. “I’m trying to help her—unless you’ve suddenly changed your mind.”

Before the horseman can respond, those hands take my chin and move my head to the side.

Pain explodes through my neck and temple.

“Well, this is why she’s so sick,” the woman says. Her voice sounds like her hands feel—scratchy but firm and full of authority. “It’s festering.”

“Can you fix her or not?” the horseman demands.

“You can’t fix a human,” the woman says. “We’re not houses with leaky roofs or broken windows.”

“No, you’re all a scourge across the land, but I’m not here to play semantics with you. Now, tell me what you can do for Ana,” he says.

“Without antibiotics? Not much,” the woman says. “I can clean and bind the wound and make her a poultice to draw out what I can of the infection. But I doubt it will do much good at this point. Her body is going to have to fight this on its own.”

My gaze moves to the horseman. I’ve never seen that look on his face—I think it might be desperation. It, more than my fever, alarms me.

“Am I going to die?” I ask as he catches my hand, holding it tightly. I don’t know how I feel about that—death.

“No.” Famine says it like a vow. “Not in my lifetime.”

Chapter 44

Famine

It’s strange, having a body. I feel too big for it. I am too big for it. It’s the greatest relief, you know, spreading my disease through the fields. Spoiling fruit and poisoning seed. I feel more like myself.

Unlike this … this strange human experience I’m forced to endure.

I stare down at Ana’s sallow face, a hot, prickly feeling overcoming me.

It might’ve been fine if I never met you. If you hadn’t saved me those years ago.

Your arms were too slender and your cheeks too gaunt, and yet somehow you dragged my body to shelter, and you offered me water, and I couldn’t stomach any of it. A human girl hiding me from my tormentors and giving me what little she had.

You stayed by my side that agonizing night, even though I know I frightened you. And when those men were hunting me down and their voices came so chillingly close to us, all you had to do was call out and your nightmare would’ve been over. They would’ve taken me back to that prison. I might’ve been there still.

But you didn’t call out, and despite your fear, you didn’t leave me.

You saved me when you had every reason not to.

You broke me.

And in the process I broke you.

And now I fear the only way we will ever be whole again is together, all your jagged edges nestled against mine.

I hate that I want that.

But I do.

I want to be whole with you.

Ana

Bathroom.

That’s the one thought I wake to. My bladder is screaming at me to be relieved.

The sheets are pulled back, and then Famine’s scooping me up, his hand carefully cradling my head and neck.

I must’ve spoken the request unknowingly because the horseman carries me outside, past several