War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,85

the street …”

Mamoon stirs, and Zara lets the story trail away.

“What does he know?” I ask, nodding to her nephew.

Her features crumble and she shakes her head. “I’m not sure. He hasn’t spoken much.”

“At least he has you—and you have him.”

Zara takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods.

She wipes her eyes again and looks me over. “How are you?” she asks, pulling herself together. Alarm rushes into her eyes. “Oh my God, this afternoon,” she says, like she’s realizing what happened for the first time. “You did so much for my nephew, and then you were caught for it—I’m so sorry.” She begins to cry again, and I catch her hand.

“Hey, hey—hey,” I say. “I got myself into that mess. Not you. Don’t be sorry for it. Besides, War won’t let me die, so …” So I get to be the little asshole that wrecks his plans. Kind of. I then have to make up for it in sexual favors that I enjoy more than I should.

“I don’t want you to suffer for my situation,” Zara says.

Suffer might not be the word I’d use …

“I’m not,” I assure her.

“Be careful with the horseman,” she says to me. “What he did today … he’s more than just enamored with you.”

I swallow a little. I assumed War liked me solely because he believed his god made me for him. To think that there might actually be real feelings …

No, Zara must be mistaken. War feels passion and possession towards me but nothing more.

Absolutely nothing more.

“The warlord wants to see you,” Hussain calls out from the other side of my tent late that same night.

By then I’ve long since returned from seeing Zara and her nephew. I’ve even managed to finish making two arrows.

I set the book I’m reading aside, blow out my oil lamp, and leave the tent, following the phobos rider towards War’s quarters.

Out of nowhere Hussain says, “You better watch your back, Miriam.”

I glance at him sharply. Is he threatening me?

He meets my gaze, then sighs. “The men have been talking about you, and they haven’t been saying anything good.”

It’s not a threat, I realize, it’s insider information he’s passing along.

“Listen, Miriam, just … be on your guard,” he continues. “War doesn’t pick his phobos riders for their honor.”

Meaning that I’m a marked woman. My arms break out in goosebumps at that.

The two of us arrive at War’s tent. Hussain bows his head, then backs away into the darkness, leaving me alone.

I take a breath and force myself to set aside that worry for another time. I have more immediate matters to deal with. I pull back the flaps of the horseman’s tent and step inside.

Only … the horseman is nowhere to be seen.

Panic.

This was a setup. Whatever Hussain was alluding to, it’s not going to happen at some point in the future; it’s about to happen right now.

I pull my dagger from its sheath just as the tent flaps are pulled back.

War walks in bare-chested and he’s drunk. Very drunk.

“Wife.” His eyes alight when he sees me. He crosses the room, wholly ignoring the dagger in my hand. Sweeping my hair back from my ears, he takes my face in his hands.

His eyes are bleary. “Lay with me.”

For a moment, I don’t breathe. I don’t move at all, even though those three words have pulled all sorts of inappropriate responses from my body.

A minute ago I was sure I was about to be ambushed; instead I’m getting propositioned. By a drunken horseman.

“I thought you wanted me to surrender first,” I say.

“I changed my mind.” His thumbs stroke my cheeks, and it’s so damn tempting. So, so tempting.

He must see how weak I am because he leans in and kisses me ferociously. The second he does, I taste the spirits on his tongue.

I pull away. “How much did you drink?” I ask him suspiciously. War’s a big man; he’d likely need to drink an entire trough of alcohol to get to this point.

“Enough to cast aside my reservations.”

Lay with me.

I lean my forehead against his shoulder as a thought comes to me. “Even if I wanted to—

“You want to,” he says, his voice sure.

My stomach clenches at his voice. It’s low and certain, and he sounds like a lover—like my lover.

“What about protection?” I say. Something I distinctly haven’t thought about until now, though I definitely should’ve.

He pulls my face away from his shoulder, his bleary eyes sharpening.

“Protection?” he says. “From what? I am the embodiment of war. Whoever attempts