War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,67
city.
War studies the topography, his chest bare, his tattoos glowing like rubies.
“There’s also Highway 55 to think about,” a female soldier says, moving her finger over a section of the map. “It does lead to the desert, but if people are desperate enough, they will use it to flee south—”
A hand wraps roughly around my upper arm.
“Spying on the warlord?” a man growls from behind me.
I turn and catch sight of yet another one of the horseman’s phobos riders. Uzair I think his name is. He’s got an especially mean look about him.
He shoves me inside War’s tent. The horseman and the other soldiers look up at the commotion.
“I found your woman lingering outside the tent. She was listening to your plans,” Uzair says.
War’s eyes flick over me before moving to the man. “Go.”
The rider hesitates. Clearly, he thought he was going to get a pat on the shoulder for ratting me out.
He gives War a stiff bow and leaves.
The remaining soldiers are watching the horseman, waiting on his cue before they act.
War jerks his head towards the flaps of the tent. Wordlessly, the lot of them file out. As they go, most of them give me hard looks.
I haven’t earned any allies amongst his men.
The horseman stares at the tent flaps for several seconds even after everyone has left.
“If you wish to know my plans,” he finally says, “you only have to ask.”
War and I both know I’d only use the information to sabotage his efforts.
“That’s not why I’m here,” I say.
“Then why are you here?” he asks, moving away from his map. His eyes are alight with interest.
Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.
He strides closer, and I take him in—really take him in. From his imposing frame, to his dark eyes and sharp cheekbones, his cutting jaw and the vast expanse of his bare torso. Everything about him was made to end lives.
I open my mouth—
Bail.
“You know what, forget about it.” The words rush out.
Another time, I promise myself.
Just as I turn to go, War catches my arm, and I twist back to look at him.
He searches my face. “You have a look in your eye …”
I have a look in my eye?
“Tell me why you’re here,” he commands.
My gaze moves from the hand on my arm to his face.
Just woman up say it already.
I exhale. “I have a proposition for you.”
“A proposition,” he repeats. His voice carries weight to it, weight that heats my cheeks.
If anyone would understand trades, it would be War. Opposing sides meet, exchange one thing for another, and then resume conflict in the morning.
He continues scrutinizing me with growing intensity. “What is it, wife, that you propose?”
While I stare up at him, I step in close. Very deliberately, I place my palm against his chest.
“I think you want this,” I say softly, unable to spell out exactly what I’m offering. “And more.”
So much more.
War breathes deeply, and his eyes burn. He doesn’t deny it.
“This is your proposition?” he asks.
My dreaded plan.
I nod.
“What do you want?” His voice is deep and resonate.
He wants to make a deal.
I release a shaky breath. This is exactly what I’ve been hoping for. The misgivings I have pale in comparison.
“Stop raising the dead,” I say.
I’m not asking War to end his damnable crusade; I’m simply asking that he not completely eradicate us all. Maybe then some people would survive War’s raids. At this point, some is better than none.
War closes his eyes and moves a hand over mine, pinning my palm to his chest.
“It’s a good offer.” The horseman opens his eyes. “I’m as tempted as I’ll ever be—”
I feel my hope expanding …
“—but no, Miriam, I will not agree to this.”
… then plummeting.
My cheeks flush at the rejection.
I was a fool to think I could persuade him so easily. Or to think that my body has that high of a price tag on it. And then there’s also the petty humiliation I feel. It was debasing enough to offer up my services—but to then have them turned down anyway?
All at once I’m angry—mostly at myself, but at War as well.
I begin to pull my hand away, but he holds it prisoner.
“So quick to leave?” he says.
I openly glare at the horseman, and the look causes him to laugh menacingly.
“Yes, hate me, savage woman; your anger makes you come alive.”
He still has my hand pinned.
“This is where we bargain,” he says.
“This is non-negotiable,” I say. “You can take my offer or leave it and let me go.”