War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,155
reminding myself. Not permanently at least. But then, with every corpse I pass I feel a little less certain.
What if God turned His back on my horseman now that War’s decided to end the fighting? What if He’s decided that this time dead means dead?
I can’t catch my breath. The thought is absolutely terrifying.
I don’t know how long I ride before I register the wet, thumping noise coming from one of the saddle bags. I reach for it out of irritation. The moment I touch the canvas, my hand comes away wet. I glance at my fingers.
Crimson.
I jerk the horse to the stop, a bad feeling coming over me. Swinging off the horse, I loosen the saddle bag and—
I only catch a glimpse of familiar dark hair and a bloody, golden bead before I turn and retch over the side of the horse.
Whatever my eyes saw, they were mistaken. I shouldn’t look again. I shouldn’t.
I open the saddle bag further.
“No.” The word slips out.
War’s face is bloody and it looks all wrong. I have to lean over to vomit again.
“No,” I sob. My entire body is trembling.
He told me he couldn’t permanently die. He told me that.
But he never told me what would happen if someone did something this drastic, something like removing his head from his shoulders.
I sit there on the horse for close to a minute, aware that time is slipping by.
I don’t much care.
A choked sob slips out of me. I press the back of my hand to my mouth, a tear slipping out, then another.
War’s gone.
My husband, my love—the man who awoke everything in me.
The man who left a part of himself inside of me.
All I can remember now are the nights he held me beneath the stars, and the feel of his lips against my skin as he whispered his love for me.
He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone. I wanted that so badly once—to be free of him. It’s such a cruel irony that now that I want my horseman, someone’s taken him from me.
I never got the chance to tell him I loved him.
Another muffled sob slips out. I can feel myself beginning to tremble. I’m about to lose it completely. I can sense myself standing on that precipice, ready to fall headfirst into my sorrow.
I glance towards the horizon and force myself to pull it together.
There will be time to mourn War—endless, yawning amounts of time. I know that all too well.
But for now, while I can still claim it—
I want my vengeance.
I gallop down the road at full speed, anger driving me onwards. My thoughts are one continuous scream in my ears.
I can’t think about him or about the corpses that decorate the road like confetti.
I’m being held together by revenge and revenge alone.
Why must everything I love be taken from me?
I push the thought away before I slip down that rabbit hole again.
I spot a crumbling building off to the side of the road, and on a whim, I steer the horse towards the structure. Before the steed has fully stopped, I dismount, stepping over two piles of bones so I can slip inside the abandoned construction. I bring the horse in with me.
The phobos riders have to take this road back if they want to return to camp; it’s the only one that leads back there. And they will return to camp. They’ve left their possessions behind, and then there’s still me to kill.
I hold my bow in my hands, an arrow loosely fitted against it. It takes every last ounce of sheer, iron will not to slide my gaze back to that saddle bag, which is currently dripping onto the floor. I can hear the terrible sound of it.
Drip … drip … drip.
I grind my teeth together and stand at the window that overlooks the street. I pause briefly to knock out the glass pane, before I train my gaze and my weapon to the road.
And then I wait.
It feels like hours have passed by the time the phobos riders come galloping down the road. By then my mind is quiet and my aim is steady.
Quite steady.
I have no fear left in me, and my anger has all burned off, leaving nothing but grim purpose behind.
I count the riders. One, two, three—four. Four, when there used to be close to twenty. Which means that aside from this group and the man I shot earlier, there are still fifteen soldiers unaccounted for.