Famine (The Four Horsemen, #3)

by Laura Thalassa

His gaze narrows, and some of the desire clouding it now vanishes. “What is it now?” he asks. “I want to look at you,” I say. “You want to look at me,” he repeats tonelessly. My gaze sweeps over him, from that beautiful, wicked face that I’ve all but memorized to the less familiar parts of his body. His shoulders are pleasingly wide, and then there’s those glowing tattoos that ring his neck and upper chest like some sort of thick necklace. The pale light of them illuminates the plants around us. My gaze moves lower, over a muscled torso that God just gave him because for whatever reason Famine has to go around looking like a babe while he kills us all. His torso tapers off to a slim waist and— This is a well-endowed man. “Well?” he says. “Is your primitive human brain satisfied?” he says. I flash him a wolfish smile, approaching him once more. “You’re really pretty,” I say. “Pretty?” he says derisively. I walk into his arms. “It’s a compliment.” He grimaces at that. The horseman scoops me up and carries me forward.