Famine (The Four Horsemen, #3)

by Laura Thalassa

“You said everything was going to go back to the way it was before,” I accuse, my voice a whisper. “I lied.” There’s no remorse in his tone. “I cannot forget how you saved me and all you have admitted to me since. And I cannot forget how your skin felt against mine and the look in your eyes when I touched you. But most of all, Ana, I cannot ignore the way you draw me in, again and again.” My heart starts to pound loudly, so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. These are things lovers—true lovers—say to each other, and I can’t bear it. It’s my weakness. Ask any girl who’s known too little love in her life and she’ll tell you—this is how you ensnare us. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been reconsidering it yourself?” Famine says. I glance away, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “Ana.” Reluctantly, my eyes return to his, and he sees it. I know he does. His eyes widen, then after a moment, he flashes me a triumphant grin. “You have.” He stares at me a little longer, and I hear him inhale a breath. “That’s what you’ve been keeping from me all day,” he says, like he’s finally figured it out. But I don’t think he has. I think if Famine knew the depth of what I’m feeling right now, he wouldn’t be so pleased.

He looks mildly amused as his gaze moves from one highwayman to the next; the weather, however, gives him away. The rain pounds down on us, and behind the Reaper, lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating his form. “Well, who the fuck is this?” the leader of the group says, clearly unaware who has just joined them. I hear the slide of wood against wood as he grabs an arrow and nocks it. “Most call me Famine, though I must admit, I have a particular fondness for ‘the Reaper.’” Another bolt of lightning streaks down from the sky, and for an instant, I can see the horseman in all his malevolent glory.

I continue to stare up at the Reaper. You saved me. I don’t bother saying it. He and I both know it. Famine cups my face, and how strange, I can feel his hand trembling. And now that I’m looking, his expression is more intense than I’ve ever seen it, and his breathing is a little harsh. He searches my face, and then he very deliberately says, “Fuck things going back to the way they were.” With that, he kisses me.

I kiss the horseman with all the urgency I’ve held back until now. With all the desire and hope and all the terrible, wonderful emotions that have moved through me in the last day. God, but this man feels like home, and that’s more than a little wondrous to a woman like me, who’s never really had a home.

I stare at Famine, whose face is lit by the soft glow of his markings. His jaw clenches again, like he might be angry, and right then it really, truly hits me— “You’re worried about me,” I say. What a crazy, wondrous thing. “Of course I am,” he says, his voice so low that I almost miss the words. I feel warmth spread throughout my body.

This, even more than his compliments, is my undoing. I reach for him, moving with confidence. My arms wrap around his neck. He looks at me, shocked. “What are you—?” Before he can finish his sentence, my lips find his and I kiss him with the same fervency I did outside. For a second or two, he responds … and then his mind catches up to him. Famine breaks away, looking angry. “Are you just going to ignor—?” “Yes,” I say, and then my lips are back on his. Yes, I am going to ignore the fact that a man just tried to slit my throat. I fucking survived it, and now I’m floating on this adrenaline high and I need to feel the horseman against me.

Sex always felt like an exchange. I was a prostitute. I wasn’t getting paid to be adored. I was getting paid to slake someone’s lust. Famine’s expression changes, becoming empathetic—so, so empathetic. I think, when it comes to pain and vulnerability, he sees me more clearly than anyone else ever has. That warm, uncomfortable feeling blooms low in my belly. This time, I don’t fight it. The horseman brushes back my hair, his eyes moving between mine. “Tonight,” he says softly, “you’re going to forget all the ways you were mistreated. I’m going to make sure of it.”

How Famine is acting right now goes against everything he’s led me to believe. He shouldn’t be sentimental—there’s no room for sentimentality in that dark heart of his—and yet he’s handling me like I’m precious to him. Naked, he kneels at my feet. He takes one of my ankles and presses a kiss to it, running his lips over my skin. Jesus, he’s going to drag this out. It’s probably not the best night to drag this out; the rain didn’t wash away all the mud and blood on my skin … I reach for him, ready to speed things up. Famine catches my hands and, twining his fingers between mine, he pins my arms above my head, draping himself over me. I can feel his hard cock pinned between us.

I close my eyes against his kisses, drinking them in. Each press of his lips is unspeakably tender. This is a side of him that I didn’t know existed—that I hadn’t imagined could exist—and it’s doing strange things to me. I slide my palms over Famine’s shoulders, marveling at his smooth flesh. This body of his has seen and felt so much pain, and unlike me, he has nothing to show for it. No scars, no disfigurement, just an alarming amount of nightmarish memories. I twine my legs around his, the pads of my feet skimming over the back of his calves, trying to feel every part of him at once. My heart feels too big for my chest. He slides his hands over my skin, breaking off his kisses to just look at me. It’s the oddest thing in the world, seeing him marvel at my form like he’s discovering desire for the first time. His gaze moves to my eyes, and at his expression, I still. I don’t simply exist, he once said, I hunger. I see his desire now so clearly, but it’s not as simple as most of the lustful looks men have given me in the past.

My throat tightens, and my eyes prick. Am I seriously going to cry right when my pussy is getting its first real taste of heaven? Is this who I’ve become? Famine is looking down at me like I’m some sort of miracle he’s stumbled upon and I have to bite back a sob. Yep, apparently this is who I’ve become. My hands move to my face again. Don’t want him to see me like this. 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.”

Reluctantly, I do. Whatever he sees on my face causes his brows to draw together. “What’s wrong?” “Everything. Nothing.” This is unlike any experience I’ve ever had, and already he’s ruined me, completely ruined me, for sex. My career as a prostitute is finished. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks. “No.” He looks unconvinced. Damnit, I’m going to have to tell him something. I take a deep breath. “I just … I’ve had so many letdowns in my life, and this … this feels too good to be true. And I feel like you can see everything on my face.” Which is ironic, considering how little light there is in this room.

His lips part, but then he shakes his head, and the moment is gone. Famine leans in and kisses me, and I feel some bittersweet mixture of relief and regret. He isn’t freaked out by my words, but he’s also not about to reassure me that I have nothing to worry about. He’s Famine, he crushes things for fun—humans and their simpering emotions most of all.

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

Then he begins to laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh. It shakes his whole body. I pull away to take him in. My heart squeezes at the sight of Famine smiling, laughing. I’ve never seen him this way. Carefree. Happy. All because he got a little pussy. I smile, tracing his lips with my finger. My heart is doing funny things; it feels both light and heavy. “This is insanity,” he says against my finger. “I’m having a human experience, and for once, I like it. Shit, I more than like it.” As he speaks, he pulls me in close and kisses the side of my face. Before I can respond, he rolls us so that I’m pinned beneath him once more. His gaze searches mine. “This is … I want to be in you again. And I want another smile from you. Many of them. Your smiles make me feel more like my true self.”

You saved me when you had every reason not to. You broke me. And in the process I broke you. And now I fear the only way we will ever be whole again is together, all your jagged edges nestled against mine. I hate that I want that. But I do. I want to be whole with you.

“I never could’ve imagined that I would love the slope of your nose or the space between your eyes. I know you are considered lovely by human standards, but I don’t have human standards, and Ana, you are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Even when you sleep with your mouth open. Even when you yell at me—especially then because I love seeing your fire.”

“You were made from the earth,” I whisper to her skin, “I can feel the universe moving through you, and yet you are something else unto yourself. “I never wanted to love a human. I fought you with everything I had. You were everything I shouldn’t want. But then, your compassion pierced me deeper than any blade. “I have felt the earth move, I have felt the grinding of rock as mountains shift and the world changes shape. None of it could prepare me for you. “I love you. Maybe more than all of what I am. And I don’t understand why, but I do. I love you.”

Ana once asked me why I was so good at dancing. The truth is that while killing is easy, miracle-working is a more complicated process. The human body is a symphony of actions and reactions all tangled together, and right now, my job is to listen to her body’s symphony and move in time with it. And that’s exactly what I do. It feels like it takes a lifetime to heal her, but it must only take mere minutes. And then it’s done. And I bring Ana back to me.

“I love you,” he says. I stare at him for a long moment, my point forgotten. I love you. Those words are ringing in my ears. I’m sure I’ve misheard him. Famine looks just as wide-eyed as I know I must look. “What?” I breathe. “I love you, you foolish little flower.” My heart begins to hammer against my ribcage. “It’s rather an unfortunate realization,” he says, his breath fanning across my cheeks, “but despite every one of my convictions, I do.” He loves me. He loves me. Me.

His eyes brighten when he sees me. “My little flower. Do you like it?” he calls, gesturing to the room around us. It’s a genuine question, and God, but he actually looks hopeful, like his happiness rests upon my answer.

“I suffered here for years, brother,” I say, cutting him off. “Years. Where were you then? Why didn’t you slay my oppressors and save me so that I could return to my task?” Death is quiet. I point to Ana with my scythe. “It was this woman with her pleasing enough form—” Ana—God bless her vanity—frowns at that. “—who saved me,” I say. “So, you and your offensive trade can fuck—right—off.”