War (The Four Horsemen, #2)

by Laura Thalassa

You are my wife.

“I forgot—you’re used to hotter climates,” I say. “I hear hell is particularly warm this time of year.”

“We’ve talked about how different you are and how difficult you are to understand, but we haven’t talked about me,” I finally say. “I don’t want you as a husband, and I don’t accept you, and whatever your god thinks he wants to do with me and the rest of the world, I will fight it with my every last breath. “Oh, and I’m not surrendering anything to you, motherfucker.” War gives a malevolent laugh, and despite myself, it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “Fight all you want, wife. Battle is what I’m best at—and I assure you, you won’t win this one.”

His eyes are like honey when he says, “Stay with me, Miriam.” His hand flexes against my side. “Sleep in my tent. Make your weapons. Argue with me.”

“I’ve forgotten his voice,” I admit. “That’s the most terrifying part of it all. I can’t remember the way he sounded. I can remember things he’s said, but not that.”

:(

Resting alongside the lamp is a pitcher of water, a glass, and a platter of fruit, cheese, pita bread, and what looks to be hummus. Caught beneath the platter is a letter that reads, For my ferocious wife and child. I am hoping that if I feed you while I sleep, you won’t try to stab me again. Consider this a peace offering.