Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,23

fills out, and from it blooms a delicate lavender-grey rose.

Famine plucks the flower from the bush and hands it to me, thorns and all.

“I won’t leave you,” the horseman says fiercely. For a moment, he sounds like the Famine I got to know last night. Someone who seemed to have a heart. “Get on my horse. Come with me. Please.”

I don’t take the rose. “I healed you, and you killed everyone I loved. Fuck you and your rose. Just … go.” I begin to weep.

It’s all finally starting to process.

Oh God, is it processing.

After a long minute, the horseman sets the rose on the broken ground in front of me.

“I won’t force you to stay with me. Not after …” He glances off in the distance, his eyes unfocused. He blinks away his thoughts, his attention returning to me. “Your choice is your own, but if you care for your life at all, then you should come with me.”

And witness more death?

I’d rather take my chances in this rotten world.

My gaze meets his. I should’ve never helped you.

The horseman must see it in my expression because, for an instant, something flickers across his features. I’d say it was regret or surprise, but who knows?

It’s enough to drive him towards his horse. He mounts the steed, sliding the scythe into a holster at his back. Clad in his armor and astride his horse, he doesn’t look like a villain. Not at all. It’s enraging.

“Goodbye, little flower,” Famine says, his gaze heavy on mine. “I will not soon forget your kindness.” He flashes me one last long look, then rides off.

Chapter 10

Present

Even now I taste bile as I recall the memory.

“You,” the horseman says. His gaze searches mine. “I had wondered …”

“What happened to me?” I say, finishing his sentence for him. “I survived.”

“I’m glad.” Famine takes a deep breath, the action jostling my blade. He settles himself into his chair, like he’s getting himself comfortable; it’s clear that whatever memory he has of me, he thinks it’s going to spare him.

My anger rises like the tide. “How I hate you,” I whisper.

“And yet you haven’t dragged the knife across my throat,” he says.

“Is that a dare?” I whisper against his ear.

My hand itches to do that very thing. To see his immortal blood spray from his neck. To see his pain. That’s why I’m here. Revenge. There’s nothing else left for me.

“Do it, flower,” he taunts, echoing my thoughts.

“Don’t call me that.”

I dig the blade in, the endearment only making me angrier.

Finish this, I urge myself. Still, I hesitate.

It’s just that I’ve never killed anyone before.

Would it technically be killing if the horseman didn’t die?

I should definitely find out. I owe it to Elvita, to my aunt and my cousins to find out.

I press the knife in deeper, watching as more blood slips over the blade.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” Famine says, his voice casual. I can feel him staring at me as though he’s committing my features to memory. That angers me too.

“Shut up.” I take a deep breath, gathering up my courage.

The horseman looks vaguely amused when he says, “You do realize I could stop you if I wanted?”

That causes me to pause.

The horseman openly smirks. “Girl, have you no memory of my capabilities?”

I meet his gaze.

One moment I’m in control, and in the next—

The floor bucks, the hardwood splintering beneath my feet. I’m thrown to the side, my shoulder hitting the wall. By some miracle I manage to keep my hold on my dagger. I can hear Famine’s chair scrape back, and then he grabs me.

Pure instinct has me thrusting my blade forward, the point of my dagger burying itself into his chest. Famine grunts at the intrusion, grimacing as he glances down at the hilt jutting from his abdomen.

I let out a surprised yelp.

Shit, I stabbed him. I actually stabbed him. I stare, horrified, at the weapon protruding from his flesh. The satisfaction I was supposed to feel never comes.

The Reaper grimaces. Wrapping a hand around the hilt, he drags the dagger out and tosses the bloody blade aside.

I reach for my other weapon, but the Reaper grabs me by the throat and hauls me over to the table, slamming my body against the polished surface, his scythe trapped beneath me.

Famine’s pelvis grinds into mine as he pins me in.

“Foolish—little—flower,” he clips out, leaning over me.

I reach again for the holstered dagger at my hip. The Reaper beats me to it, his hand skimming down my side