Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,32

the rising heat of the day, goosebumps break out along my skin.

Life really isn’t going to ever go back to the way it was. I mean, I knew that the moment Famine rode into my city, but I hadn’t fully processed it until now. There will be no more farmers, no more market days. There will be no more lazy afternoons at the bordello or evenings where it’s business as usual. Here in southern Brazil, farming is our main form of commerce. If Famine wipes that out … he won’t need to kill us in an instant. We’ll all eventually starve.

“You’ve presented me with a problem,” he admits, cutting through my thoughts.

“I’m going to put this in the nicest way possible:” I say, swinging my bare feet back and forth, “you can go fuck yourself and your problem away.”

His grip digs into my thigh. “Is fucking your only solution to any problem?”

“Is killing yours?” I shoot back.

“My problem,” he continues smoothly, as though we weren’t just arguing, “is that I’m here to blight crops and starve your kind, yet I must feed you.”

He sounds truly torn about this.

“What will you do?”

“You would be wise not to offend me,” he says. “I have seen humans boil their belts and their Bibles’ leather casing, all so that they might fill their stomachs with something representing food. I’ve seen them eat all manner of inedible things. I’ve even seen them eat their own kind. All in the name of relieving that painful ache in their guts. I don’t need to make your survival easy or comfortable.”

“You’ve actually let people live long enough to boil their belts?” I say. “I find that hard to believe.”

I shift in the saddle, and I swear I feel the searing heat of his gaze on my legs.

“You know,” I add, “you’d probably be much less bloodthirsty if you banged your aggression out.”

“I don’t want to be less bloodthirsty—and I definitely don’t want to ‘bang’ you.”

“I wasn’t offering, though I’m sure you could find someone open to the idea. Probably not a living someone, but still, someone.”

“You say that as though you didn’t throw yourself at me mere weeks ago,” he says, sounding exasperated.

I didn’t throw myself at him. Ana da Silva doesn’t throw herself at anyone; she coyly lures the unwitting into her sex den and enslaves their wills to hers … for a time.

“I was blinded by memories of a nicer Famine,” I say.

“And I have been blinded by memories of a nicer, less sexual version of you.”

I raise my eyebrows, an unwilling smile spreading across my face. “I didn’t realize my sexuality mattered to you.”

He growls. “Will you be quiet?”

“Only if you put something in my mouth. Dicks are still an option,” I say, just to taunt him.

“I thought you weren’t offering,” he says.

I open my mouth to argue, but—oh, he’s right.

“I might make an exception just this once,” I say, “for the sake of humanity, of course. A blowjob to end all bloodshed—that sounds appropriately valiant.”

It really does.

A horseman was brought to his knees when a human got down on hers …

The PR might need to be adjusted a bit, but I’m definitely liking the sound of that. Who knew prostitution could be such a noble cause?

“Fucking fine.” Famine halts his horse abruptly.

Oh shit.

“Wait,” I say. “Are you actually taking me up on the offer?”

I was more interested in taunting the horseman than actually following through on my word. But now …

Famine dismounts. A moment later, he reaches for me, cuffs and all, dragging me off his horse. My bare feet stumble against the earth, my shackles clanging as they shift.

“Alright,” I say, glancing around. “Right here. Okay.” I swallow, clear my throat. “I didn’t realize you were so eager.”

I glance at the horseman’s pants. I’ve seen him naked before, but he was so badly hurt then that I hadn’t really noticed his genitals. Now, however, I’m oddly piqued at the thought of seeing his dick, damn my curious mind.

When Famine doesn’t make a move to undo his pants, I reach for them.

He glances down at me. “What are you doing?”

I can feel all that disapproving energy focused on me.

“Getting things started. If you’re a little shy, we can take this slower—”

“Shy?” he echoes.

Understanding flashes in his eyes a second later, followed by—wait for it—annoyance.

He swats my hands away. “Stop,” he says, vaguely irritated.

I give him a confused look, but he’s not even paying attention to me. His focus is on a grassy patch of