Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,147

at the bronze device. It’s the one possession of Famine’s I usually forget about. Now, however, he’s giving the thing an inordinate amount of attention.

From a nearby drawer, the Reaper withdraws a knife with a wicked sharp blade.

“What are y—?”

Quick as lightning, he slices his forearm, then holds it directly over one of the bronze pans.

The scale wavers, bobbing up and down, up and down. Like last time, the pan with the horseman’s blood rises higher than its empty companion.

Famine wipes the blade on his sleeve. Then, he grasps my hand.

“Famine.”

His eyes hold mine, and they’re lethally steady. “Just trust me.” Even as he speaks, his cut continues to bleed everywhere.

He doesn’t look away from me, not until I give him a reluctant nod. I don’t know what’s going on, but I do trust him. I trust him with my life.

He takes my index finger, and using the tip of the knife, he pricks it.

Instinctively my hand jerks back, but the horseman holds it fast. Moving it over the scales, he squeezes out one—two—three drops of blood from the tip of my finger, each droplet hitting the saucer across from his. Last time we did this, Famine had weighed my blood against an empty saucer. Now he’s pitting it against his.

I expect my side of the scales to dip as it did before. I expect to see Famine’s blood rise above mine like it did last time.

Instead, the tray holding my blood rises and rises. It shouldn’t be a strange sight. There’s more blood on Famine’s saucer after all; his side is heavier. But his scales have never weighed the literal mass of things.

I suck in a breath. “How … ?”

How could I possibly be holier than you?

“It was my mind all along that ruled the scales, not God’s,” Famine says.

My eyebrows draw together in confusion.

He’s still holding my hand and blood is slipping down my fingers and onto his skin and the look he’s giving me … like he’s trying to will the answer into my head.

“It’s not you who has changed,” he says, “It’s me.”

I search his eyes. “But … you still hate humanity,” I say. Because those scales were never just about me. They were about what I represented—humankind.

“Not anymore,” he says, repeating his earlier words. “Which is why my brother has risen.”

I still don’t understand that. I don’t understand any of this. Famine supposedly tried to give up his task … but maybe it didn’t work? And now the fourth and final horseman has awoken and … he’s coming here? The more I process what’s happening, the sicker I feel.

“What does he want?” I ask.

“There is only one thing Thanatos ever wants,” Famine says. “Death.”

Famine

Death doesn’t show himself. Not in the hours that follow. Day turns to night and still he hasn’t arrived.

I can feel him out there. There’s no agitated energy, just cold, emotionless determination. He’s coming closer and closer, but there’s no urgency.

I stare down at Ana from where I sit on the bed. She’s finally managed to fall asleep, our sheets tangled around her legs. She’s absolute shit at sharing blankets. Just that one small detail has my chest tightening.

How many more things have I yet to discover about her? There’s an entire world contained beneath that skin of hers, and I hunger to explore it all.

But I might not get a chance to.

Not without facing my brother first.

I cannot tell what his intentions are—nor God’s for that matter. That was part of the deal: once we’re human, we live as humans do. The only divine intercession I’ve felt since I arrived was the Angelic word Ana spoke—and perhaps Ana’s miraculous recovery from the injuries my men wrought on her.

Of course, if Death awoke, perhaps it was God who woke him. I cannot recall what woke me, only that it was time.

Ana murmurs in her sleep, then shifts. Without intending to, I move over to her and kneel at her side.

I brush her hair back from her face, my thumb stroking her temple.

I didn’t know it would be like this. That it could be like this. I had seen humans’ hate, and I had felt the depths of it, but I never imagined they could love this deeply. That I could love this deeply.

It’s frightening and it’s making me obsessive.

“Nothing will happen to you,” I breathe. “On my very existence, I swear it.”

Death can come, but he will not take my Ana.

My brother doesn’t come that day or the one that follows—or even