War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,23

his fixed on the road ahead.

I clear my throat. “Why did you want me to ride next to you?” I ask, finally breaking the silence.

“You’re my wife.”

I’m not your wife, I want to insist. Not in any way that matters.

The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but then I study War’s profile, and there’s something so … certain about the way he handles me. I take him in for a bit longer, from his dark, shoulder-length hair to his curving lips and sharp jaw.

“Why do you think I’m your wife?” I say.

War’s eyes flick to just beneath my chin.

“I don’t ‘think’ it,” he says. “I know it.”

Chills. There it is, that certainty. You’d think that if I was supposed to make a husband out of War, I’d know it too.

“If I’m your wife, why don’t I sleep in the same tent as you?” I say. “And why don’t—” I stop myself before I can say more.

The horseman glances at me. Now I’ve caught his interest.

“Go on,” he says. “Tell me, Miriam, all about the rest.”

I don’t.

“Why don’t I fuck you raw and feast on your pussy and keep you chained to my bed like a proper husband?” he finishes for me.

Chained to the bed like a proper husband?

I glance over at him. “Who the hell educated you on marriage?”

Seriously, what the fuck?

Forget God. This dude has to be a demon.

War takes one look at my face and laughs. “Is that not what proper husbands do?”

I have no clue if he’s actually kidding.

Holy fucking balls.

“Who says I’m not already married?” I don’t know why I say it. It’s certainly not true.

For a moment, War doesn’t react. Then, ever so calmly, he glances over.

“Are you?” he asks softly. “Do you have a husband, Miriam?”

His voice, those frightening eyes … it sends a chill down my spine, and I remember all over again that this isn’t a man; War is some preternatural creature who kills without remorse.

“No.” I couldn’t lie under that gaze even if I wanted to.

War nods. “That’s fortunate for you—and for him.”

Another chill.

I suddenly have no doubt that if I were married, this horseman wouldn’t think twice about ending it. I sway unsteadily in my saddle at the thought.

War is most definitely a demon.

It’s quiet for a few moments, then while he takes in our surroundings, War asks, “Do you have any family?”

“Did.” I have to force the word out. “But then you already knew that, didn’t you?” The horseman had been inside my flat—or at least I assume he was the one who went there to retrieve my tools. He would’ve seen the pictures of my parents and the childhood photos of me and my sister.

“What happened?” he asks.

You happened, you crazy bastard.

I glance down at the hamsa bracelet I wear. It’s nothing more than a single metal charm shoved onto a leather cord—the red string it was originally threaded around has long since broken. But that simple metal charm was the last gift my father gave me.

To protect me from harm.

“My father died the day you and the other horsemen arrived.” He’d been crossing the street, on his way back to the university after having lunch with another professor. The bus hit him and his colleague, and neither had survived.

“My mother and sister—”

The gunfire is deafening. The three of us run out of the city with nothing more than a backpack each. We’re the lucky ones. But then, that boat, that ominous boat—

“There was war in New Palestine long before you came around.” For as long as people have lived in this corner of the world, there’s been war. “We were escaping it …”

I can feel the horseman’s eyes on me, waiting for me to finish, but I can’t talk about the rest of it. This loss is fresher than the other one.

I shake my head. “They’re gone too.”

We ride west, away from Jerusalem, along the lonely road. It’s shockingly quiet, like the very earth doesn’t have words for what’s happened to this land.

I glance over my shoulder, looking for some sign of the horde traveling behind us, but for the last twenty minutes I haven’t been able to see any sign of them.

“They’re back there,” War says.

I’m not sure if he’s reassuring me or warning me—probably both.

“How do you get them to follow you?” I ask. “Not just right now, but in battle?”

One small oath of allegiance cannot possibly be enough to earn an army’s devotion, especially not after the atrocities we’ve all