Famine (The Four Horsemen, #3)

by Laura Thalassa

“I feel … everything,” he finally says. “Every blade of grass, every drop of rain, every centimeter of sunbaked clay. I am the storm that rolls in, I am the wind that carries the bird and the butterfly.” As he speaks, he begins to gain confidence.

“That’s the difference between me and my brothers,” he continues. “We are all meant to ravage the world, but we have our distinctions: War is the most human, Pestilence perhaps next. But even Thanatos—Death—is intimately connected to life. “I am the one least truly alive. I have more in common with wildfires and clouds and mountains than I do anything else. So to be something that lives and breathes is a stifling, unpleasant experience. I am ... trapped in this flesh.”

I let out a wretched laugh. “You give God a bad name.” Famine forces out his own laugh. “You give humans a good one.”

“Because you are human and I imagine you like compliments far more than I do. And for whatever insufferable reason I want to give you many.”

Famine takes my hands and moves them away from my face. “Don’t hide from me,” he says. “All I want is to see you right now.”

“I see you,” Famine says. He leans in and kisses one eyelid, then the other. “Only you.”