Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,93

feet.

Overhead, the dark sky seems to churn as thick clouds gather.

The Reaper walks around, towards the back of the cart, whistling a tune as he goes.

Several of the men are already pulling themselves to their feet.

“What the devil?” someone says.

“Not the devil,” Famine says, “the Reaper.”

And then he begins to kill.

The horseman brings his scythe down on man after man, whistling the entire time. A few of them are able to flee the cart, dashing in every direction.

One of those directions just happens to be my way.

I assume that the man is heading for the estate’s exit, but the closer he gets the more I realize that he’s headed straight for me.

Dropping the horseman’s scales, I turn on my heel and take off, sprinting for the archway.

I’ve only made it a few meters, however, before the man collides against my back, tackling me to the ground. Desperately I try to drag myself away.

Before I can, a rough hand flips me over. I’ve barely looked up at his shadowed face when his hands go around my throat, and he begins to squeeze.

“I’ll kill her!” the man shouts over his shoulder. “I’ll do it if you don’t let us go.”

The whistling stops.

I’m choking, and all I want to do is pry the man’s fingers off my throat, but I have a knife in my boot.

My leg is half-pinned under the man and I only manage to bring it partway towards me before he leans his weight on the leg, but partway is enough.

I grope around for the hilt, even as my vision starts to cloud. My fingers find it then, and I withdraw the blade, nicking myself in the process.

Without hesitation, I slam the knife into his side.

The man cries out, his hold loosening. I’m able to draw in a large lungful of air, but then his hands are clamping around my neck once more.

Withdrawing the blade, I stab at him again.

He grunts, but holds me fast.

Dear God, let me go.

Before I can stab him again, a booted foot kicks the man off of me.

I lay there, gasping for breath as Famine steps up to the man, his boot landing on my attacker’s throat. At the sight of the Reaper, my assailant makes a startled noise.

Famine wears an unforgiving expression as he stares down at the man, his scythe holstered at his back. Behind him, lightning flashes towards the earth, illuminating the horseman’s armor and hair.

BOOOOM! BOOOOM-BOOOM-BOOOOOM!

“Never, ever fuck with what is mine,” he says.

And then he crushes the man’s windpipe.

For several seconds, I don’t move, my breath coming in heavy pants. Almost immediately the crackle of thunder and the flashes of lightning fade away. It’s only then that I realize how ominously quiet it is.

Famine comes over to me then, and lifts me into his arms. My bloody body meets his unyielding one.

“Fuck,” I say, my voice shaky as my arms go around his neck. I lean my forehead against his breastplate.

The horseman’s grip tightens.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

I nod against him.

After a moment, I say, “You’re good too?” I ask.

“Now I am.”

I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me. He cares about me, and damn, it feels so good to be cared about—and to be held. Whatever closeness the two of us forged out in the fields around us, it hasn’t left.

When I open my eyes again, I look around at the dead bodies that lay scattered.

“Are they all dead?” I ask.

He stares down at me, his gaze growing distant. After a moment, he says, “Now they are.”

Once I’ve fully caught my breath, Famine sets me down and approaches the overturned cart. He uses his plants to right the thing, and then spends a minute soothing the spooked horses still hitched to it.

After he seems to have calmed them, Famine moves back to the cart itself and hoists himself into the driver’s seat.

He pats the empty space next to him. “C’mon, Ana, let’s go find Heitor and have a little chat with the bastard.”

The ride back to the estate seems much shorter than the one out. Above us, the sky continues to lighten, turning a blue-grey color.

At the sound of our cart rolling in, I see several men walk forward. It’s still dark enough that most of our surroundings have a deep, shadow-y hue to them; that must be why it takes them so long to recognize us.

The moment they do, Famine’s plants sprout from the ground, snatching the men. A chorus of screams arise as our cart