Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,96
“Heitor made us.”
“Do you think I actually give a fuck about your reasons?” Famine asks. The ground beneath us trembles, then begins to lift, the marble floor cracking as the tiles are displaced. I stagger, bracing myself against a nearby wall as a forest of plants rise up from the ground, wrapping themselves around the men.
Even in their weakened states, a few try to run. It’s useless—it’s always useless. The branches and vines snap out like snakes striking, wrapping themselves around them.
My stomach still quakes at the crunch of bones breaking and the men’s agonized shouts.
The Reaper turns from the room of guards and comes over to me. He closes his eyes, breathing in and out.
When he opens them again, he says, “It is done.”
“What’s done?”
The horseman gives me a meaningful look.
I don’t know if I sense it, or if I just put the pieces together, but eventually I realize Famine means the people here. The people of São Paulo.
This is another thing I’ll never get used to—that the horseman can mercilessly kill entire towns in a matter of moments.
There must be something in my expression because Famine frowns at me. “Come now,” he says. “You mean to tell me you’re actually upset about this?”
Yes. Of course I’m upset over absolutely everything except for maybe the last dozen deaths I witnessed.
Gentler than his mood seems to indicate, Famine takes my arm and leads me forward through the jungle of tangled vines and human limbs. We cross the room, then head out to the courtyard.
“Where are we going?” I say, feeling like I’m walking in a daze.
“Your room,” the horseman says, and there’s a note to his voice …
I glance at him, but his face tells me nothing about his mood.
We wind our way through the courtyard and enter the wing of the estate that houses his room and mine. I stiffen a little when I see the door to my room open.
Famine releases my arm and saunters ahead of me, heading down the hall before slipping into my room. I’m slower to approach, my heart beginning to pick up speed the closer I get. It’s a ridiculous reaction; I know that Heitor is imprisoned in one of the Reaper’s horrific plants, but I still have to take several steadying breaths and force my legs to move towards that room.
Inside, the horseman’s gaze scans the surroundings, taking in the rumpled bed, the candelabra, and the few droplets of blood on the ground. After a moment, he moves to a nearby closet and opens the door. I can see feminine garments hanging inside. Apparently Heitor kept this room stocked for whatever poor soul stayed here before me.
Famine begins yanking them off, one by one, letting them fall to the ground.
“What are you doing?” I ask Famine.
“You’re staying in my room,” he says, not looking back at me.
“Why?” I ask, curious. I mean, I’m not against this arrangement, just piqued that Famine’s all for it.
He scoops the pile of garments up. “I would think the answer is self-explanatory,” he says. “You were ambushed when you were alone. I don’t want that happening again.”
There’s a tightness in my chest, one I’m trying to ignore.
The horseman strides past me, the light, lacy garments fluttering under his arm.
“Those aren’t even mine,” I say, watching him leave the room.
“Now they are,” he responds smoothly.
I trail after him, into his room. I stop just inside the threshold, feeling out of place. Maybe it’s all the carnage we’ve seen, or perhaps it’s just that things between me and the horseman have shifted into uncharted territory, but suddenly I feel pulled taut like a bowstring.
Famine, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to share my mood.
He tosses my new clothes into the top two drawers of a nearby dresser, then shoves them closed. Turning, he faces me once more.
My attention catches on the wound above his eye, the one that was created by that arrow. Now it’s mostly healed, but it still looks a little red and raw. My gaze drops to the arm that had been amputated at the elbow. In the hours between when I found him and now, it’s reformed, but it still looks meaty in a way that’s not at all natural.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, nodding to the arm.
“I’ll be fine,” he says.
I take that for a yes.
He gestures to the bed. “Go ahead.”
My brows draw together. “What are you talking about?”
He gives me a speculative look. “Sleep. I’m sure you need it after the night