Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,68

myself—a pair of jeans that actually fit (I’m keeping them forever) and a black shirt. I even have enough time to make myself a pot of coffee. I hum away as I heat up water over the stove.

“You seem inappropriately happy.”

I scream, whirling around and clutching my chest just as Famine strides into the room, his scales in hand.

“Oh my God, give a girl some warning,” I say leaning back against the stove for a split second before the hot metal has me jerking away from it.

“Is that what you say to all your clients?” Famine says, setting his scales on the table.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Is that another sex joke?”

The corner of his mouth curls up.

I look at him curiously. “But I thought … ”

I thought that Famine didn’t do sex. Of course, you don’t have to bang a human to poke fun at the act.

Rather than finishing my question, my gaze moves over the Reaper’s face. Right now he’s particularly destabilizing, mostly because he seems so … not horrible. I don’t really know what to make of it, just as I don’t really know what to make of his gentleness last night.

My gaze goes to the scales on the table. Unlike his armor and his scythe, the two metal pans look old and worn.

“Why do you never keep those out?” I ask. In the time I’ve traveled with the horseman, I’ve only seen his scales a few times.

“I have them out now.”

I give him a look. “You know what I mean.”

He glances down at the scales, considering them. “Perhaps I care more about death than I do justice.”

“Is that what they’re for?” I ask. “Justice?” I assumed they were for weighing shit.

He jerks his chin to the stove behind me. “Your water is boiling.”

I turn back to the pot, cursing under my breath. I feel flustered and off-kilter, and Famine is to blame.

“Drink your coffee,” the Reaper says at my back. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

He begins to walk away, then pauses. “Oh,” he says over his shoulder, “and while you’re at it, pour me a cup.”

Throughout our ride, I keep looking over my shoulder at Famine.

“What?” he finally demands, his gaze moving down to me.

I shake my head.

He sighs. “Whatever’s on your mind, just say it.”

“You’re different today.”

He arches one eyebrow, his green eyes glittering. “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter, studying his face as though it holds the answers. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Could it have simply been what I said last night? Famine has made an exception of me since we reunited, but when I explained a bit about my own troubled past, his demeanor shifted, and it hasn’t shifted back.

And now he’s been acting … not nicer, necessarily, but—I don’t know—more relatable maybe?

We spend the whole day traveling. Long after the sun has set, we’re still in the saddle. Just when I’m sure Famine is going to make me sleep on his horse again, he turns off the highway.

“What are you doing?” I yawn.

“Finding a place for you to rest.” He doesn’t sound particularly pleased by this.

My stomach drops at that. “I don’t want to stop.” Not if it means Famine might kill someone else.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “I know you’re tired.”

“I’m fine, I swear.”

There’s a long pause, then—

“Whatever stranger you seek to protect, they will die anyway. The moment we pass them, their lands will blacken, the soil will turn unforgiving. A quick death is kinder.”

I shake my head. “Please. Just ride on.”

But he doesn’t. A mere fifteen minutes later the horseman directs his steed to a dark structure. Famine rides up to what appears to be a home and hops off his mount.

I’m not getting off the horse, I’m not.

But then Famine grabs me by the waist and pulls me easily off his steed.

Setting me down, he holds me close, and I stare into his eyes.

“Please don’t, Famine.”

He sighs. “While I appreciate that you always assume the worst of me, you’re wrong this time.”

I frown, confused. “I don’t understand …”

“Go inside and see for yourself.”

I glance at the ominous structure, and I almost say, you first. But then, I know how that story ends.

With lots and lots of dead bodies.

Swallowing down my fear, I head towards the door. It’s only once I’m standing on the stoop that I understand what the Reaper meant.

Overgrown shrubs press against the doorway, almost completely blocking it from view.

Famine steps up next to me and brushes the plants aside with his hand. It’s