War (The Four Horsemen, #2)

by Laura Thalassa

“You don’t get to touch me,” I say softly. His eyes narrow. “Sonu moamsi, mamsomeo, monuinme zio vavabege odi?” Then tell me, wife, how do I get to touch you? “You don’t.” He smiles at me, like I’m charming and quaint and extremely ridiculous in the most endearing way. “Gocheune dekasuru desvu.” We’ll see about that.

Still staring at Elijah, War reaches over his back and grasps the hilt of his enormous blade. The steel zings as it’s pulled from its scabbard. I cringe at the sight of it, remembering my own close encounter. But instead of swinging it down on the man, War tosses the blade in front of him. “Sunu uk. San suni, adas Susturu tıtuu üçüt huniştüü nunıtnuu utenin dukikdep nurun.” he says. Take it. Prove that you are worthy enough to defy me, human. Elijah is shaking, either from fear or from exhaustion, but he doesn’t look like he regrets his actions. War backs away slowly. “San Tuduygu uturun teknirip, nik niygiziş üçüt hutişnüü nunıtnuu utenin dukikdep nurun.” Prove that you are worthy enough to defy God Himself.

The horseman’s eyes search my face. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you, wife?” He studies me some more. “Yes, definitely trouble,” he says to himself. War removes the last of the space between us, his leather armor brushing against my chest. He’s close enough for me to see the gold flecks in his eyes. Those eyes are terrifying. Beautiful and terrifying. “You’re wrong if you think that angers me.” His smile is menacing. “Everything you are has been made for me.” This arrogant bastard. I bet he thinks all humans were created for his entertainment. To fight, to fuck, to kill. The horseman reaches out and draws a finger over my collarbone, his gaze never leaving mine. “I saw you, and for the first time, I wanted.” His words pucker my flesh. “And so, I took.”

“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.

He turns to face me. “I am yours and you are mine, Miriam—” I quake at those words. “—but I am not like you, and you should never forget that.”

I glance around. “Where are the chains you’re supposed to shackle me with?” Pretty sure that was on the list of things a proper husband should have. “Packed with the rest of my tent, unfortunately.” War says it so calmly that I think he may not be kidding—until a sly smile creeps up on his face. “Next time then,” I say. “I’ll hold you to that, wife.”

“And when you speak in dead languages,” I say, “why is it that I can still understand you?” War gives me a patient look. “I told you, you are my wife. You will know me and my heart, whether you want that or not.”

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.”

“So,” I begin. He turns his head to me. “Yes?” God, that deep voice. My core clenches at the sound of it.

I wake in War’s arms. I know it before I open my eyes—even before I fully shake off sleep. I’m far too warm, and I can feel his heavy limbs draped all over me as I lay on my side. Still, when I blink my eyes open, I’m not prepared for the reality of it. My face is all but buried against his naked chest. I pull my head away a little. This close to him, all I can see is the crimson glow of his markings and endless olive skin. How did this happen? I glance down between us and—damnit, we’re on his pallet, not mine, which means I scooched over to him at some point in the night, sacrificing my blankets for his thin mat and thick muscles.

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.”

Instead of answering me, War reels me in, tilting my face up. Before I fully know what he’s doing, his mouth is back on mine. His kiss isn’t anything like the one I gave him. I know it the moment our lips crash together. This kiss is raw desire, and it cuts me wide open. I haven’t been truly kissed in over a year, and even that experience pales to this one. War’s lips burn against mine as he crushes me to him. My knees were already weak from his earlier words, but now they completely give out, and it’s his grip alone that keeps me standing. The horseman smiles against my mouth, more than aware of his effect on me. His need is sparking my own. I kiss him back—I don’t think I could do anything but kiss him back in this moment. I’m going to pay for this later … but right now I don’t really give two shits. I’ve forgotten what self-control feels like.

War parts my lips with his own, and suddenly his tongue is pressing against mine. His body feels like sin, but he tastes like heaven. My hands move back into that soft hair of his, and my core is on fire. If this is what his kiss does to me, I can’t imagine what everything else would feel like. I don’t know who ends the kiss, but eventually our lips part. I stagger out of War’s arms. Now I’m the one who’s gobsmacked. I stare at his mouth. My God, I’ve never so badly wanted someone I disliked. But then again, here’s another side of War I’m only beginning to see—the reckless, passionate warlord.

“Miriam—Miriam.” War’s voice … I’ve never heard it sound like this. Soothing and agonized all at once. “It’s only me.” I cry out as he lifts me. “No.” The word comes out garbled as I try to push his hands away. “Ssssh. You’re safe.” War’s voice is deep and rough and terrible and—shaken. Or maybe my ringing ears are playing tricks on me.

His hand closes over my wrist, and he pushes the sleeve of my shirt up, revealing the discolored, swollen skin. My eyes are on the horseman, taking in his deep frown as he stares at my injuries. But then I’m distracted by the feel of his hands on me. War runs his palm over the tender flesh of my forearm, his tattoos bright against his knuckles. Beneath his touch, my skin warms. And then, something strange happens. Before my eyes, my bruises morph from plum to a brownish yellow, and some of my skin’s sickly pallor recedes, like poison being drawn from a wound. I glance up at War, my eyes wide as the realization hits me. “You’ve been healing me.”

“My brothers and I can all do the opposite of our powers—Pestilence can spread sickness and cure it. Famine can destroy crops and grow them. Death can give and take life at will.” War pauses. “I can injure … and I can heal.”

“Close your eyes,” I say abruptly. “Why?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s still unlacing his shin guards. “Because I’m naked and I want to get out and I don’t want you to keep looking at me.” The heat in those eyes seems to deepen. “I will see that pretty flesh eventually, wife.” Again my core clenches at his voice.

War finishes removing his armor, then stands. I don’t know what I’m expecting him to do next, but I am definitely not expecting him to drop his pants. Which is precisely what he does. “Holy crap!” I shield my eyes. At least, I shield them a little—I mean, be brave is my mantra … Technically, I should’ve seen this coming. He was undressing after all. I just expected him to wait until I wasn’t looking to change. Also, two words: no underwear. And now I know for sure that if War ever wanted sex, he’d break me. Holy balls—or maybe holy dick is more appropriate. Clearly the nudity is a me thing, because War seems unfazed by it. He’s not even looking at me as he walks across the room, towards the basin. There’s just zero awareness that’s he’s naked and I am perversely intrigued massively uncomfortable.

For absolutely no logical reason whatsoever, today I’m unable to ignore him. Or maybe there is a reason; maybe War’s barbaric justice earlier today broke something in me. Whatever the reason, now I can’t help but notice the sharp cut of his jaw; his dark, almost black hair; and those curving lips. I take in his red leather armor and his powerful thighs. I’m having thigh fantasies. About my enemy. I’m a fucking moron. Naturally, of course, that doesn’t stop me from continuing to glance at War, and the longer I look, the more certain I am that I want to run my fingers over his strange, glowing markings and smear the kohl that lines his eyes. I want to taste those lips again. I want it all, and I’m not supposed to, which makes me want it all the more.

“I am not yours.” There’s a very big difference between wanting to fuck a pretty man versus being his. The corners of War’s sinful lips curve upwards. “You are mine. You knew it the moment you stared up at my face that day in Jerusalem. Just as I knew you were mine then too.” His gaze drops to the hollow of my throat, where my scar is. War steps in closer, drawn by my old wound. “Mine by violence. Mine by might. Mine by divine proclamation.”

“You don’t need to go to bed just because I am,” I say. “I don’t want to be awake when you’re asleep. Talking with you reminds me of how lonely it is to exist.”

Now he turns his head to face me. “So, you find love beautiful, Miriam?” he asks. “No,” I say, my eyes meeting his in the near-darkness. “Not love itself.” Everything I’ve ever loved I’ve lost. There’s no beauty in that. “It’s the power of love that I find beautiful.” It can change so many things— For better, or worse.

I wake against War. Just like the last time this happened, I’ve left my pallet, my body gravitating towards the horseman’s like a magnet. I lift my head a little and see that at least this morning, War has left his own pallet as well, the two of us meeting somewhere in the middle. That only makes me feel a smidgen better.

His face is so close. Too close. It’s me that closes the distance between us. Me who presses my lips to his. This is pure, unadulterated impulse. So much for not pursuing him … He tastes just as I remember. Like smoke and steel. And unlike the rest of his body, War’s mouth is pliant. The kiss is supposed to be gentle, but the horseman hijacks it, crushing his lips against mine. He’s devouring me with the same intensity he has in battle. He rolls us over so that I’m on my back and he’s above me, pinning me to the ground. He keeps his weight off me, but even still, he feels as solid and heavy as those tanks rotting in Jerusalem’s junkyards. Shamelessly, I grind against him, biting back a moan.

“The feel of you against me …” he growls out, “all the saints, it’s like a memory of heaven.”

He begins stripping for me, and it’s so damn sexy. The horseman is shirtless, so there’s not much to remove once his shoes are off. His hands move to his own black trousers. He doesn’t look away from me as he draws them—and whatever he wears beneath them—down, down, down. My gaze dips, and—oh. A little tendril of nerves come back. His cock is enormous. Big enough to intimidate me, and big enough to hurt, if we’re not careful.

I’m struck again by how … off he is. He’s just a little too large, a little too ferocious, a little too captivating. He doesn’t shine like I always imagined an angel might, and he’s obviously not pure and clean in the way that angels are depicted, but there’s something about him, something alien and other. Something decidedly not demonic, though I want to demonize him—or I used to want that anyway.

“But in the end,” he continues, “that’s all they were—a good lay and nothing more. I haven’t tried to dabble in any sort of emotional entanglements until now.” With me, he means. “Why start now?” “Because you are here. Had you been here the day I awoke, I would’ve started then. It was never the when, but the who that prevented my heart from getting involved.”

feel a little off kilter. “How do you feel about your heart getting involved?” I ask carefully, staring up at him. “Exhilarated.” Another unapologetic answer I’m not ready for. He leans in close. “It is as thrilling as war.”

“God didn’t send me a wife,” he says under his breath. “He sent me my reckoning.”

Heart pounding fast, I begin to touch the horseman’s body. He’s still wearing armor, bloodied, dirty armor. I begin to pull at it. “Take this off,” I command. “First you get me to break my rules, now you give me commands?” He says this even as he begins to undress us both. “You’re playing a delicate, dangerous game.” “Aren’t dangerous games your favorite?” I say.

I take one of his hands, threading it between mine. The markings on his knuckles glow, and I kiss them one by one. These hands have caused so much death, but now they’ve saved me and another.

War’s cock is hot and hard against me, and I can sense that battle hungry buzz still burning through his system. He’s practically shaking with the need to bury himself in me. The idea of having sex with the horseman is utterly terrifying and completely exhilarating. I shift beneath him, until the head of his cock is pressed against my entrance.

“Stay with me in my tent,” War says against me, his breath fanning across my ear. “What will be left of me if I do?” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but the words come out anyway. “Wife, I’m not going to eat you if you move in—well, I will eat you, but I know you enjoy that sort of thing.” I feel my cheeks heat, remembering the feel of his mouth between my thighs.

The horseman steers us south, into the desert. There’s nothing out here except rolling expanses of dry earth. It’s beautiful in a very austere sort of way. We’ve only ridden for maybe five or ten minutes when War stops his horse. “Where are we?” I ask, glancing around as I hop off Deimos. “I don’t exactly know,” he says, dismounting, his kohl-lined gaze squinting at the sun. I glance around. “So there’s no particular reason why you brought me here?” I ask. “Oh, there’s a reason,” he says, “it just has nothing to do with our surroundings.” I’ve taken a few steps away from him, but now I glance back. “What’s the reason?” I ask. “I want to hear what you sound like when no one but me is listening.”

“Fuck it. I want a divorce.” “No.”

I’ve shored up all my desire for him during the long day, but now I gasp as his heavy hand moves down my neck and along my collar bone. My own hands find his abs, and God was clearly biased when he made this man because War is perfect. Every hard ridge, every sloping muscle and lean edge—perfect, perfect, perfect.

But this is War, War who insisted only moments ago that I wasn’t going to die. And his touch is so gentle—almost comforting. My eyes close and I release a shaky breath, leaning back into him. He brushes a kiss along my temple, and the two of us ride like that.

And then his sinful lips are back on mine, heated and demanding. I lose myself in the taste of him as he scoops me up and begins carrying me. I hear the rustle of canvas, and then War is setting me on my feet inside his tent. He looks at me and things are different. He’s different. The violence he carries around like a cloak is gone. My horseman seems … human.

I wake to the press of fingertips. They trail down my back, each one feeling sure and steady. The touch is so pleasant, so unexpected, that I arch into it. There’s a language to gestures. This one conveys a single emotion— Beloved. I squeeze my eyes tightly together, something thick lodging in my throat. It’s been … a long time since I felt that way. And with a man, never like this. I drag in a ragged breath when I remember the man behind the touch. War.

“War,” I breathe. I need him inside me. Screw my remaining injuries, they’ll heal—he will heal them. The horseman stills. I’m sure he hears something in my voice. He breaks away from my nipple, his gaze rising to mine. My breath is caught in my throat, and my body is beginning to tremble with nerves and excitement. I’m not sure I can force out the words I want to say. I hesitate, unsure of everything except my own foolishness. There can be no going back from this. I hold his gaze. “I surrender.”

He lays me down, only pausing to remove his pants. His cock springs free, and my God, I forgot how terrifyingly large his dick is. Large enough to make my jaw ache when my mouth is wrapped around it. And the rest of the horseman is so big and violent that for a moment, my desire abates. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He pauses, staring down at me. “Miriam?” “Just … give me a moment. It’s a lot …” Of dick. So much dick.

As I feel him stroke me deep within, I finally sense the horseman’s true nature. He cannot be anything other than battle breathed to life. All this flesh holds the violence of eons; I feel it in each thunderous thrust of his hips. And yet, as his hands slip over my body, there’s an unexpected softness to his touch.

“So beautiful,” he now murmurs. “How long I have yearned for you.”

War pulls me back down, luring me back to him with his heated kisses. “Not so quick, my wife.” He brushes my dark hair aside so that he can kiss the nape of my neck. “But I’m dirty,” I protest, desperate to put a little distance between us. “Nothing about what we did was dirty,” War says, a bit too fervently. “And I like having myself all over you.” That’s exactly what I’m having an issue with. “It is going to be different now,” he adds. I swallow. Uh oh. “Um, what do you mean?” I say carefully, keeping my tone light. “You are mine wholly and completely—and I am yours. For now and always it will be this way.” Oh dear God. That sounded a lot like a vow to me. What have I done?

“I’m fine,” I say. “You’re not,” War insists. “You look far too pale and tired—and skinny. Have you not been eating?” Worry pinches the edges of War’s eyes, and he still has a wild edge to his features. “Why do you care?” I ask him, not meanly, just curious. He hasn’t shown any interest in so long. “Wife, I have always cared.” That title! I didn’t realize how badly I missed hearing it until now.

“It’s you,” War continues, “who never cared.” There’s an edge of bitterness to his voice. He thinks I was the one staying away? I mean I was, but only because he seemed to have written me off completely. My wounded ego can only take so much bruising. “If only.” I look away from him. At my side, War stills. He takes my chin and turns my face, forcing me to stare him in the eye. “What do you mean by that?” he demands. “Isn’t it obvious?” I say miserably, half aware that Zara can probably hear every single word. Oh well. “Speak plainly, Miriam,” War says, his features sharp and his gaze intense, hopeful. Am I really going to do this? Shit, I think I am. I’m too exhausted to pretend away the truth. “I care about you, War,” I admit. “More than I want to—much more. It’s been hell, not seeing you.” War stares at me for a long minute, and then he smiles so big it seems to reach every corner of his face. It’s still a ferocious look on him with his sharp canines—not even happiness makes him look less dangerous—but my heart skips a beat at that smile. “I’ve missed you too, wife. More than I have words to express.” I flash him a shy grin of my own. Right now, he’s making me forget that I feel like roadkill. “I’m still angry with you,” I admit. “And I’m furious that you tried to gut me—with my own sword no less.” I think it’s that last part that really got to him. He leans in. “But from my wife,” he adds, “I expected no less.” The horseman leans down then and kisses me. I’m tired and s...

This is something new, something more than cut and dry sex. I can’t deny it, even if it startles me. I made love to the horseman. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once.

“I cannot unknow this feeling,” War continues. “You were right. Love is far more than longing. It’s far more than anything I imagined.”