War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,117
my blade into their flesh.
I want to scream.
“You think I wouldn’t know of your treachery?” War calls out behind me.
I turn to face my heavenly husband, and I’m shaking with all my anger and anguish.
“You hadn’t even left camp when my men told me.” He begins to casually close the distance between us, ignoring the carnage around him, even as blood sprays onto his black clothing. “How my wife slipped away—on my horse no less.”
There is only one thing in this world he will spare, one thing he can’t bear to lose. One way he might stop.
Fear washes through me.
Be brave.
I let him get close. It’s only at the last minute that I bring my dagger to my throat.
War stops, still too far away to make a grab for my weapon, but close enough for him to see it pressed to my skin. His eyes widen, just for a fraction of a second. The horseman didn’t foresee this coming.
“Miriam,” War uses his menacing voice, the one that makes you want to piss yourself. And yet there’s a spark of fear in his eyes.
Right now I’m too reckless to care about either.
“Stop the attack,” I demand.
“I will not be threatened,” he warns.
I dig the knife a little deeper, until I feel a sharp prick and warm blood spills from the wound and down my neck.
The horseman’s eyes follow the line of blood, and now he looks like a man watching sand slip through an hourglass.
But I’m the one running out of time. The screams are quieting now; the dead have overwhelmed the living. It’s not going to last much longer.
“Let them live,” I say. I think I’m back to begging.
He doesn’t.
He doesn’t, and I feel my heart break. I didn’t even know it could be broken. Not by War.
I can’t sway him. We are all truly lost.
I feel my tears coming faster now, each one dripping down my face. It obscures the horseman’s form, which is probably how he manages to close the remaining distance between us.
In an instant, he’s looming in front of me. He wraps a hand around the hilt of my knife and tries to pry it from me. He’s being too gentle, holding his strength back, and rather than forfeiting the knife, I move with it, stumbling into War’s body so that now he’s holding both me and the blade. The edge of it still bites my skin.
“Do it,” I say, goading him. “It was so easy for you to kill them all off. Kill me too.”
Now he does use his inhuman strength. War yanks his old dagger away, and I see fury in his eyes.
“You are mad, wife!” he says.
“You can’t do it,” I say, even though I already knew this. “You’re so sure of your cause, and yet you can’t kill me.”
“Of course I can’t, Miriam. God gave you to me!” he bellows. “Do not squander your life to make a point! I promise you, you won’t get it back.”
“You don’t think I know that?” I say softly.
The horseman grabs me, too angry for words. Deimos has loitered nearby, and War stalks over to the creature, carting me along with him. He hoists me onto his mount.
Only hours ago this man was inside me. I remember his eyes on mine; he stared at me like I was some strange miracle.
That was the dream. This is the reality.
He hasn’t joined me on his horse yet, and I stare down at him as the last of the city falls, their cries going silent, one by one.
“You’re only willing to follow your god when you have nothing to lose,” I say. “But when you do, then you defy him? You’re no tragic savior, you’re a weak-willed monster.”
Chapter 43
We ride in silence for a long time, during which War has tried to touch my neck wound twice, only for me to slap his hand away. It feels too much like giving in, letting the horseman heal me.
“I’m not going to stop trying to warn them,” I say into the darkness. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
“I’ve gathered as much,” he says.
I don’t know what to make of that. But at least the battle lines have now been officially drawn.
“I could kill them all instantly, you know,” War says, out of the blue. “Every town, every nation. Man wouldn’t stand a chance.”
I don’t react. I think I’m numb.
“I used to do such things,” War continues.
I stare out at the dark landscape, repulsion rolling through me.