War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,123
I remove it and head back across the tent.
My mother’s voice rings in my ear.
Miriam, don’t do it … I can’t tell you how stupid this idea is.
I set the rope on the table then walk over to the pile of clothing War left behind. Sitting on top of it all is the horseman’s sheathed sword. He probably intended to put the blade away, but sex then sleep distracted him.
I pick the weapon up, and—
Holy balls, this weapon is fucking heavy. I can’t believe he swings this thing around all day.
Carefully, I remove the sword from its scabbard. The blade sings when it leaves its sheath.
On the pallet, War stirs.
Biting my lower lip to keep from making a noise, I watch the horseman resettle himself. His breathing evens out, and I relax.
I quietly approach the horseman, using both hands to carry his mammoth weapon. War’s head is turned away from me, and for that I’m especially grateful. I don’t want to see his sleep-softened features. I’ll definitely lose my nerve.
I approach the bed. The sheets only rise up to War’s waist; the rest of his naked body is exposed in the dim lamplight of the tent. The tattoos on his chest glow crimson against his olive skin.
While I watch, he shifts in his sleep, turning back to face me.
I stare down at his face, the sword in my grip feeling impossibly heavy. The kohl lining War’s eyes is smeared; I can practically see where my fingers ran through it, and right now his features are so soft. He looks very human.
Too human.
I can’t do this.
Of course I can’t. It’s one thing to fight someone in battle or self-defense. Another to coolly calculate … this.
My foot moves back a step, inadvertently kicking over a metal pitcher of water perched near the bed—the one I usually drink from when I get thirsty at night.
The deep, reverberating sound of it is deafening in the quiet room as it tips over and spills across the carpet.
Fuck.
War’s eyes snap open, and it’s too late to back down now. His sword is in my hand and I’m looming over him. It’s too late to unravel my plans like I was about to.
“Miriam,” the horseman says, his brow pinching as he takes in me, then his sword. He looks hopelessly confused.
I would’ve thought he’d recognize treachery quicker than this. He’s plenty familiar with it.
He trusts you, his wife, absolutely.
Using both hands, I point the sword towards the horseman’s sternum.
War’s grogginess is bleeding away, along with his confusion. “What are you doing, wife?”
“You’re going to stop hunting us humans down. No more raiding, no more massacring. Whatever quest you’re on, it ends, tonight.”
Now he’s awake.
“What is this? A threat?” The horseman raises his eyebrows from where he lays. His gaze moves over me, and I can tell he’s searching for some reason—any reason—to explain away my behavior.
I don’t move, just keep the blade steadily pointed at his chest, even though my wrists are straining from the effort.
His mouth curves into a mocking smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And if I say no, then what? You’ll kill me?”
Yes.
He stares at me, and his expression changes just the slightest. I’ve seen this look on him before, when men dared to cross him.
War sits up a little, propping himself on his forearms even though that brings the blade perilously close to his skin. He’s not concerned. At all. I’d forgotten that from the last time I threatened him with a weapon. Pain doesn’t frighten him.
“Have you fully thought this through, wife?” he asks.
I thought I had, but …
“Because if you have,” he continues, “then you’ll know that I’ll only stay dead for a little while,” he says. “And when I’m alive again …” he gives me a hard look, “my wrath, once stoked, is unquenchable.”
I can already feel that fury of his building behind his eyes, rising with every passing second.
My breath hitches and my pulse is like a drumbeat in my ears. His words have me hesitating. But I tighten my grip on the hilt and press the tip of his sword to his skin, my resolve redoubling on itself.
“Agree to it,” I demand. A drop of blood wells beneath the blade, marring that perfect skin of his.
There’s no going back.
“You would have me surrender,” War says the word like it’s an insult.
“It’s what you asked of me.”
Those eyes of his look as black as the night right now. “No.”