War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,94
day.
“Oh, Miriam,” the horseman calls out to me just as I reach the tent flaps. “One last thing: tomorrow, when we head into battle, you will be riding with me.”
The next morning I wake to the feel of War’s mouth trailing kisses over my shoulder. The room is dimly lit by oil lamps. The two of us are naked, and I feel him hard against me.
His kisses move down my arm.
This is what I’ve feared about living with the horseman. How is a lonely girl like me supposed to fight this? It’s everything I’ve craved, and the devil next to me knows it.
“Surrender,” he whispers against my skin.
I stretch back against him. “You surrender.”
He groans, a hand gripping my hip. For a moment, he grinds into me. I feel him lean his forehead against my back, his breathing heavy. “I’m going to be damn near distracted today, imagining you right here, against me.”
Reluctantly, he gets up, and while I might hate who he is and the fact that he’s forced me to live with him, right now, I’m most upset that he’s left my side. How’s that for having your heart and your head at war with one another?
I really need my own fucking tent back.
“Come, wife,” War says. “It’s time to prepare for battle.”
The reminder sobers me up. More people are going to die today. First it was Jerusalem, then Ashdod, then Arish. Now, from the whispers in the air, it sounds like we’re attacking Port Said. I scrub my face, not ready to face another day of carnage.
Across the tent, War pulls on his black pants, and then his black shirt. This outfit of War’s is always the same, and it’s always in pristine condition in the morning, regardless of how mangled and bloody it might be the day before.
I grab my own shirt and pants, which aren’t nearly so clean, and I pull them on. I sit back down to lace up my boots, then I start donning my weaponry, starting with my bow and quiver.
“Why do you keep letting me ride into battle?” I ask him as I finish securing my quiver.
From his perspective, I can’t see any reason to let me keep joining the fight.
The horseman glances over at me from where he’s lacing up one of his leather greaves. “Why indeed?” he muses. “Would you prefer I chain you to our bed like the doting husband I am?”
“Only if you stayed with me,” I say, not missing a beat. I’m being half serious. If I could keep War from battle … but no, his army and his dead would just do the killing for him.
His eyes heat at that.
“You were made to tempt me, wife,” he says.
The horseman finishes lacing one greave and moves to the other. “You told me we’re to respect one another in a marriage.”
I … did. I’m surprised he remembers.
“You want to fight. This is me respecting your wishes.”
This is War’s version of respect? I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. He’s forced me to sleep in his tent—I mean, fuck respect right there—but he’s still going to allow me to fight in a battle that could get me killed because that’s the husbandly thing to do?
To be honest, it sounds very much like horseman logic.
“Besides,” War adds, unaware of my own thoughts, “you’re killing humans.”
“Not the ones you want dead,” I argue, securing my dagger to my side.
“I want them all dead,” he says. “You’re making my job easier.”
I stare at him for several seconds, and it’s like a grenade explodes in my mind.
I’m helping his cause.
Every single person I kill is one less person living on earth.
All thoughts of respect dissolve away as an acute sort of devastation sinks in. I sway a little on my feet, and for a moment, I think I’m going to be sick.
I assumed I was actually doing something useful.
War finishes putting on his armor and comes towards me. Outside the tent I can hear a few muffled footsteps as soldiers quietly leave their homes, readying themselves for a day of fighting.
“Ready?” he asks.
I almost say no. I’m still reeling from that revelation. The last thing I want right now is to play into the horseman’s hand by killing more people.
But then I remember those soldiers who liked to use raids as an opportunity to rape women or commit other atrocities. Someone still needs to keep them in line—War’s words be damned.
I nod to the horseman, and together we leave the tent.