With a shuddering breath, I wait for the blade to strike, but he hesitates. From the way his flames warm my breasts, it’s not a stretch to imagine why. The horseman pulls me into his chest, filling my nostrils with the scent of sulfur–probably because he’s fresh out of hell. I’ve got to act fast. My life flashes before my eyes. Vague recollections of the parents who died when I was four, followed by a bleak childhood spent in foster homes.
