War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,138
to make my next move.
Be brave.
My mantra crashes over me, and for once, I think about it in a whole new way.
I’ve assumed the entire time I’ve been with the horseman that I have been brave, but I haven’t. I’ve been denying and running from this terrible, heady feeling I get when I’m around him.
But there is no outrunning him or these feelings.
I need to face the horseman down—in love or in war. Even if it means the worst.
No more deeds done in the dark of the night. Whatever comes, I’ll face it head on.
In the distance I swear I can hear the pounding of hooves. Maybe it’s just my imagination.
I squint into the darkness, and no—there looks to be a figure on the road.
There’s only one other person confident enough to venture along these roads at night.
War and his steed manifest out of the darkness, Deimos’s deep red coat looking almost black right now.
The horseman pulls up short.
He looks at me, his eyes wild. “Where are you going?” His face is almost mad with panic.
Be brave.
“I was running from you,” I say.
His face crumbles. It’s an expression I’ve never seen on him before.
“Do you truly hate me that much?” he asks, his voice lowering with his emotion.
“I don’t hate you at all, War,” I say, the evening breeze tugging at my hair. “And I should, I really should.”
He stares down at me from Deimos, looking so tragic. The wind tugs at his own hair, and God, even cast in shadow, he’s magnificent. He could never pass for a mortal, not ever.
I put a hand over my stomach. For the second time today, the horseman notices the action … and again, it doesn’t register.
“Did you ever think about what would happen?” I say. “A human and an immortal get together, even though he’s sworn to kill her kind, and she’s determined to defend them? Did you ever think about the ramifications?”
War hops off his mount, moving slowly, like I might run if he makes any sudden movements. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, we can fix it—I will fix it.” He takes several steps forward, stopping just short of me. “Hate me, curse me, just please come back to me, Miriam,” he says. His voice breaks. “Please, come back.”
He’s begging. And I’m trusting the universe to pull through for me because there are too many forces at work that are bigger than me.
I begin to nod, closing the distance between us.
That’s all the confirmation War needs to reel me into his arms. He holds me tightly for a long time, like I might slip away with the evening breeze.
Eventually he pulls away enough to gaze down at me, his eyes intense. “I love you,” he confesses.
I don’t breathe.
“I love you, Miriam,” he repeats. “I hadn’t known until last night what this strange happiness I felt around you was. But I do now. Being with you makes me feel as though I have swallowed the sun. Everything is brighter, fuller, better because of you.”
I have no defense against this. I never have. I can take War’s cruelties, I can take his violence. But his love—it cracks me wide open.
“I love you,” he continues, “and yet it has been destroying us both.” He shakes his head. “I won’t let that continue to happen. I have wounded you and wronged you, and I will change—I vow I will change.” He grips me tightly.
I suck in a breath at that.
War told me once that human oaths were brittle things—bound to break with time. In the same conversation he said that his vows—those were unshakeable. And he was right. I begged and pleaded for him to change, I threatened and betrayed, and I got nearly nowhere with him.
Until now. Because now his vow is changing. And I don’t know what exactly this one entails, only that I’m stupid enough to be hopeful.
No, not stupid. Brave. I’m brave enough to be hopeful.
“Say something,” he says.
Have faith. That’s what I told War earlier. And that’s all religion ever really was for me. Faith. That things will get better, in this world and the next.
It’s time for me to remember how to have faith in the universe.
I open my mouth and the words spill out.
“I’m pregnant.”
Chapter 50
It takes several seconds for the words to percolate through War. His brow furrows and then—
The horseman’s eyes widen, and his grip on me tightens just a fraction.