War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,22

black shirt hugging his frame as he does so. He dumps the bag at my feet.

It only takes a moment for me to recognize my old canvas satchel.

But I’d left that back at …

My eyes snap to War. “You saw my flat?”

I try to imagine the horseman filling up my home, his sharp eyes moving over my space. He would’ve seen all the mementos I’ve kept of my family. He would’ve seen my messy workbench—made even messier by whoever raided the place—he would’ve seen the pictures hanging on the walls and the wall clock and the cluttered kitchen and my dirty clothes and my rumpled bed and a dozen other personal details.

What must he have thought, looking at my things?

When he doesn’t respond, I turn my attention back to my satchel. Kneeling in front of the bag, I open it.

My eyes first land on my leather roll. I pull the case out and unravel it. My various wood-working tools are tucked into its soft pockets. I set it aside and return to my satchel.

I catch sight of sandpaper and a couple clamps; it looks like he might’ve even packed one of my smaller saws and my axe.

War really did it. He brought me my tools from my house. I didn’t expect him to.

I still can’t believe he saw my place. It makes me feel oddly exposed, like he’s peered into my mind and seen its contents.

The tent flaps rustle then, and a phobos rider enters. “My Lord, we need to begin packing your things.”

War nods, and the rider moves to grab one of the smaller chests before leaving the tent.

Once the soldier is gone, the horseman closes the distance between us, his body eclipsing all our surroundings.

“You are to ride next to me.”

“Do you order around all your ‘wives’?” I ask.

War’s eyebrow arches. “You think there are others?” War gives me that smile of his, the one that’s fucking terrifying.

More of the horseman’s men enter the tent, immediately getting to work packing his things.

“Someone will see to your horse,” War says, backing away from me. “I look forward to our ride.”

I don’t understand why we have to ride horses when bikes exist. Bikes don’t get hungry or tired, they don’t shit, and they definitely don’t try to kick you because they’re temperamental bastards.

Though, to be fair, an army of soldiers on bikes doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of men.

I stare down at Thunder, the horse I’m sitting on. I only barely managed to avoid getting punted by this beast, and now I have to ride him.

Pretty sure the horse senses my inadequacy as a human being.

It takes an eternity for camp to ready itself. By the time everything is packed up, the horde is now gathered into one giant procession made up of mounted soldiers, hitched wagons, and many, many individuals loaded with packs.

The horseman is the last one to come riding out, looking portentous on his steed. He’s clad once more in his leather armor, his gigantic sword strapped to his back and his gold hair pieces glinting in the sunlight. He doesn’t look like anything that belongs to this century.

War rides up to my side. “Ready?”

Not like I have much of a choice. I nod anyway.

“Follow me.”

He rides off, his horse racing to the front of the line that’s formed. People cheer as he passes them by, like he’s their savior rather than some supernatural menace. I watch him for several seconds before I coax Thunder to follow the horseman.

People don’t cheer when I ride by, but I feel their curious, questioning gazes.

Who is she?

Why is she following War?

I make my way to the front of the procession, and then past it altogether.

There, War waits. His eyes seem to dance as I get closer to him. Once I come to his side, he wordlessly begins to ride, setting the pace for us.

No hi, no how are you? Just a quiet confidence that I’ll fall into line.

I glance back at the horde, which is beginning to move. It’s clear from their pace that they’re not going to catch up to us. Never have I wanted such a faithless mass of people to save me as I do now.

They follow behind us for half a kilometer before the horseman and I pass a bend in the road, and then the two of us are alone.

The silence swarms in. I wait for War to break it—surely he’s going to break it—but he just rides on, those dangerous eyes of