Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,69

too dark to see anything clearly, but the plants seem to be curling back in on themselves to reveal the rotted front door.

Wow, uh, super uneager to touch that doorknob …

I end up not having to. The Reaper steps past me and turns the knob. The door swings open, and then falls off completely

“Charming,” Famine says.

I give the abandoned house a skeptical look. I really don’t want to go in. The sexual favors I’d commit right about now for a nice damn bed.

With a sigh, I step inside.

Dead leaves crunch under my boots, and in the distance I hear something scuttle.

It smells like mildew and rot, and the few things my hands brush feel sticky, like the process of this house unmaking itself is messy.

Can one sleep standing up? Because right now I’m sort of tempted to try.

Famine enters behind me, and I hear him kick something aside with his boot. I hear a squeak and a scampering sound as some unseen creature slips away.

I wander into what must’ve been the kitchen. There’s an old icebox in the corner, its surface banged up and tarnished. The cupboards are peeling paint and a couple of them lie on the floor.

I leave the room and wander into another, where an old washing machine rests on its side, the door of it hanging open. Pretty sure there’s a nest of some sort inside the thing …

Seriously, fuck this place.

Famine toes a broken pot. “Still want to sleep here?”

I glare at him. “You did this on purpose.”

The horseman kicks the pot out of the way. “Did what? Pick an abandoned house for you to sleep in? Little flower, don’t insult me—this was all your idea. But if you don’t like it, I’ll get my horse—” He begins to walk back towards the door.

“Wait,” I call out after him. If it’s between this and another death, I can do this.

Famine turns back to face me. “Really,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “You really want to do this?”

“It’s … it’s not so bad,” I say, sweeping debris aside with my foot to make a spot for myself on the ground.

He scoffs in response.

“I thought you of all people might like a place devoid of humans,” I snap, sitting down. It smells like vermin in here. Wet vermin. Ugh.

“How is this place devoid of humans? Everything about it was made for and by them.” He makes a face, and to himself he grumbles, “The only thing worse than human creations are festering human creations.” He punctuates his words by crushing something under his boot.

But even as he speaks, the horseman sits down near me, leaning his back against a nearby wall and crossing his arms over his chest. It can’t be very comfortable wearing all that armor right now, but he doesn’t complain and he doesn’t make a move to take any of it off.

I guess we’re really doing this.

Might as well get comfortable.

I lie down, putting my head in his lap. Immediately, his body goes rigid.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

“Calm your tits,” I say, settling in. “I’m not trying to steal your virginity. You just happen to be the cleanest thing in this house.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, but he also doesn’t push my head off his legs.

“I don’t have an appetite for mortal flesh,” he warns.

Imagine that—Famine not having an appetite.

“Why would you even say something like that?” I ask, curious. As I speak, I remember how he stared at my lips last night. He looked hungry then …

“You always bring the subject of sex up,” he says, “like you expect me to succumb to some base nature of mine.”

“You’ve succumbed to your anger,” I say. “Is lust really so different?”

“It’s not the same thing.” He sounds defensive.

“Hmmm …” I say.

“We were talking about your weaknesses,” he says. “Not mine.”

“Ah, yes,” I shift, my cheek brushing against his inner thigh. “My weakness for sex.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“Posturing doesn’t suit you, flower.”

“Oh, I’m posturing now?” I raise my eyebrows as I speak. To give him some credit, I’ve fashioned my weakness into a weapon. In a world where people believe an appetite for sex is a sin, I’ve wielded my sexuality like a sword.

“Beneath this … image you’ve built for yourself, you’re someone else entirely,” the horseman says, “aren’t you?”

I glance up at him. “We are all someone else,” I say.

I’ve seen men’s souls laid bare in the bedroom, and the biggest thing I’ve learned is that people are not what they