Famine (The Four Horsemen, #3)

by Laura Thalassa

I glance over my shoulder at Famine. “You know what eye-fucking is?” I have the oddest urge to laugh. The Reaper looks down at me. “I wasn’t born yesterday.” I gaze at him a little longer, and then I grin, my lips spreading wide. “What?” he says. “Nothing.” “What?” “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” “Flower, I don’t get jealous.” “Uh huh.” “What is that tone?” he demands. “What tone?” I ask innocently. “Do you not believe me?” Famine’s voice rises with his outrage, and it is music to my ears. This is what I’d been missing with the Reaper. I can play a man like a hand of cards, but a horseman … I thought I was out of my element, but it seems as though they too can behave like men. “I’m not jealous,” he insists. “Sure,” I say, tucking a lock of dark hair behind my ear. “Damn you, Ana. Stop toying with your voice. I’m not jealous.” “I’m not the one getting worked up,” I say, swinging my feet back and forth. God but I’m enjoying this. Famine lets out a frustrated growl, but doesn’t respond. I smile for the rest of the ride.