Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,135

point forgotten.

I love you.

Those words are ringing in my ears. I’m sure I’ve misheard him.

Famine looks just as wide-eyed as I know I must look.

“What?” I breathe.

“I love you, you foolish little flower.”

My heart begins to hammer against my ribcage.

“It’s rather an unfortunate realization,” he says, his breath fanning across my cheeks, “but despite every one of my convictions, I do.”

He loves me.

He loves me. Me.

Only now is it really starting to sink in.

Famine’s green eyes, which I once found so unnerving, now stare intensely at me.

“I love you,” he repeats. No longer does he seem shocked by those words. That driving certainty that rules him is back.

He leans in to kiss me again.

At the last moment I bring my fingers to his lips. “Wait.”

His eyes focus on me.

I smile, first at his mouth, then up at his eyes.

“I love you too,” I say softly. My grin widens, even as his eyebrows lift. I drop my hand. “Just thought you should hear that when I’m not running a fever,” I whisper.

And then I let Famine kiss me.

Chapter 46

Several hours later, the two of us are back on Famine’s steed.

I’m still reeling from the Reaper’s admission that he loves me. I feel lighter than air. Has anything ever made me this happy before?

Not to mention that he healed me.

Famine holds me close in the saddle, and his lips keep brushing my temple, as though he were trying to press his adoration into my very skin. Honestly, I can’t get enough of it.

Not a half hour ago I thanked and said goodbye to our hosts—who, mercy of all mercies, Famine left alive. And now, by the looks of it, he’s left the rest of the city alive as well.

The two of us move through the streets of what I learn is Taubaté. Like most other Brazilian cities, this one has adapted to life after the apocalypse. Many of the old skyscrapers and highrises are abandoned, or have fallen into disrepair—if they haven’t been cleared away altogether—and the majority of the population seems to have shifted the city center to what must’ve once been the outskirts of town.

Here the streets are lined with stalls selling everything from street food to baskets, blankets, jewelry, shoes, dinnerware, and on and on. There are restaurants that spill out of the buildings and musicians playing along the street corners.

Whatever sort of city Taubaté once was, it looks like it’s remade itself into something new.

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