War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,154
going to come back to camp to dispose of me as well.
Shit. They might be coming back for me this very moment.
Part of me wants to continue storming headfirst towards War, but the more calculating, survivalist part of me knows that the only advantage I have on two dozen armed phobos riders is surprise.
I scan my surroundings as I run, until I catch sight of a rusted out car which sits just off the road. I make my way to it, and crouching behind its rough metal frame, I train my weapon on the road coming in.
I don’t have to wait long before I hear the pounding of hooves in the distance. Peering over the hood of the car, I see a mounted rider. They’re too far away for me to make out their features, but I can already tell it’s not War. The steed is black and not red, and the rider’s stature is not nearly as staggering as the horseman’s.
I keep my arrow trained on the rider and wait until he gets close. Then, I pull the bowstring back.
Inhale. Exhale. Aim. Release.
My arrow strikes the rider square in the chest, throwing the rider back in his saddle.
Another arrow is in my hand in an instant. The man is only just righting himself when I step out of my hiding spot and release the bowstring.
The shot clips him in the arm—not where I was intending, but hell, it hit him. That has to count for something.
“Miriam!” he bellows, closing in on me. “What the hell are you doing?”
It’s weird to hear my name on his lips when I don’t know who this man is. Or to hear him shout his indignation when he must know exactly why I’m shooting him.
The rider slows his horse as he gets close to me, then he hops off it. Only now do I see that it’s the burly, bearded man who entered my tent this morning. He now has a sword sheathed at one hip and a battle axe at the other. Roughly, he grabs the arrow embedded in his arm and rips it out, tossing the weapon aside.
I nock another arrow, aiming it at him. “What are you doing?” I’m impressed that my voice is as steady as it is.
He walks towards me, giving me a disdainful look. “I’ve seen you march about camp for the last few months like you’re some kind of goddamn queen.” His hand touches the top of his battle axe.
“Touch that weapon again, and I’ll shoot.”
“But you’re not a queen,” the phobos rider continues, his hand falling to his side. “You’re just a cheap whore who got herself pregnant.” His eyes meet mine. “You put that weapon down now, and I’ll give you a quick, clean death. Otherwise, I’m dragging you back to the rest of the men, and we’ll each enjoy fucking you a few—”
My arrow hits him cleanly in the throat, and his words cut off with a choke.
I’m not in the mood to listen to this shit.
He takes an unsteady step back, looking more surprised than actually pained. They always look surprised. I don’t know why. I already shot this man twice, and I threatened him a third time.
The rider tries to draw the arrow out as blood cascades down his neck. He sways a little, then staggers to his knees, reaching an arm out to brace himself. More blood spurts onto the ground.
I step up to him, readying another arrow. “Where is my husband?”
The rider does the best he can to look up at me, considering there’s an arrow running through his throat. He smiles cruelly as he tries to speak. The sound bubbles out his throat instead.
It doesn’t matter. I saw the words form on his lips anyway.
War’s dead.
Chapter 57
The phobos rider slumps over shortly after that. I lean down and pry his axe from his hand. I use his pants to wipe the blood from the weapon, and then I thread the wooden handle through my belt loop.
The rider’s horse has only ambled away a short distance. Stepping over a pile of bones, I reach the horse and pull myself into the saddle. It only takes another few moments to turn the beast around, towards Karima. And then I ride like demons chase me.
War’s dead. The words replay themselves over and over again. Maybe that’s why his zombies fell all at once. Maybe he didn’t release them, maybe his power over them died with him.