Famine by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 39

Rain patters against the roof, and I can hear the steady drip of it from several leaks in the roof.

I sit on the blanket Famine laid out for me while the Reaper rummages around the house. My stomach is full from eating the food the horseman packed for me. Now that it’s dark, I should be tired.

Instead my senses buzz. Night has always been the time I worked, so I’m used to feeling awake when most people are settling in for the evening. However, I’m not used to my heart leaping and my skin pricking with awareness at the horseman’s every word and gesture.

Right now I can hear him strike a match. There’s a hiss and a burst of light. A minute later he strides over to where I sit, carrying the clay oil lamp I saw earlier, a lit wick peeking out of it. He lowers himself to the ground next to the blanket, setting the lamp down beside him.

I pat the blanket. “You can sit here you know.”

“That’s your bed,” the Reaper says.

Calling this blanket a bed is giving it far too much credit, but that’s cute of him anyway.

“I’m used to sharing,” I reply.

In the lamplight, our eyes meet, and last night silently plays itself out in our minds. Famine still hasn’t moved.

“Don’t make this weird,” I say. “Nothing’s changed between us.”

The horseman gives me a sharp look, one that makes my stomach dip, but he does move onto the blanket, sitting across from me.

Seconds pass and that gravity is still in his gaze, like he is swimming in deep, deep water and he wants to drag me under with him.

I turn my attention to the house around us, listening to the steady drip of rain.

“Sleepovers in derelict buildings are kind of our thing,” I say, softly.

“Mmm.”

I drop my gaze back to Famine, and damnit, he’s still looking at me like that.

“Stop it,” I whisper.

“Stop what?” he says, not looking away from me.

Stop making me feel lighter than air and heavier than iron. Stop sucking me under.

“Nothing’s changed between us,” I insist. I don’t know how I manage to say that lie in a normal voice.

The Reaper smiles at me then, his expression wry, like I’m the naïve one and he’s the one with the worldly experience.

I glance away, unable to hold his gaze. I’m desperate for a distraction. Anything that might make me forget I’m incurably attracted to him.

My eyes land on the oil lamp. It’s nothing more than a shallow bowl with a little pinched lip for the wick. That’s all the light we have to talk by tonight.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

Rather than responding, the Reaper waits for me to continue.

“Why did everything fail?”

I can tell that’s not the question he was expecting. He was expecting a question about us, but hell no am I going to ask him something that will force me to confront my feelings for him.

“You mean human technology?” he asks.

I nod.

There are junkyards full of rusted automobiles and appliances and televisions and computers and those cute little cellphones people used to carry. There are landfills full of other things too—things that I don’t even have proper names for, things that once worked but no longer do. I’m too young to have seen cars drive and planes fly and machines wash clothes and chill food. It all sounds like witchcraft.

Maybe that’s why it all failed—I don’t think God is a big fan of witchcraft.

“It all failed because humans got carried away,” the horseman replies. “You were all naughty children who didn’t listen when God told you in His quiet way to stop,” Famine says idly. “So now He’s being loud about it.”

“Is that why is God punishing us?” I ask. “Because we were too … innovative?” I’ve heard of a lot of sins; I didn’t realize curiosity was one of them.

“God isn’t punishing you,” Famine replies smoothly. “I am. God is merely balancing the scales—so to speak.”

“Because we invented too many things?” I ask.

“Because the world fell out of balance,” he says. “And humans are to blame for that.”

There’s that word again—balance. The Reaper has mentioned it a couple of times now. Immediately, my eyes move to the kitchen, where I last caught a glimpse of his scales. He brought them in with the rest of our things, though he didn’t properly unpack them.

“There are some good things about humans,” Famine adds. “If there weren’t, this would’ve happened long ago.”

I take that in, trying to process the fact that the horseman is admitting that people have some goodness to them.

I don’t say anything, caught between shock and a fragile sort of hope that maybe, maybe were aren’t totally and completely screwed.

Famine’s eyes move to mine again, and that look is back. He leans forward and reaches out, his fingers skimming my cheeks.

At his touch, I still.

“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 catches my chin and pulls my face closer, leaning in until only a few short centimeters separate our lips. “Little flower, I’m happy to give you an encore of last night,” he says, his voice low. I can hear his own desire, and it is not helping anything at this point.

I stare at the horseman, unwilling to speak. I don’t trust my mouth; it might blurt out every tangled, confused emotion I’m feeling right now.

“I’m used to having casual sex,” I admit, “but this … this isn’t casual, Famine, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

The horseman’s eyes are bright and deep, and part of me really wants to know what he thinks of that.

“I’m not used to handling any of this,” he says.

He releases my chin and sits up. “Get comfortable.” He nods to the blanket we’re sitting on. “I’ll tell you a story—with a head scratch—and then I’ll leave.”

I frown at the leave part, but then—head scratch?

I’m laying down in a matter of seconds, Famine sitting at my side.

His hand slips through my hair, and I have to bite back a very sexual-sounding moan because it feels so good.

“How about I tell you about the time I met one of my brothers,” he says thoughtfully.

“Mmm,” I say noncommittally, not really paying attention to his words until—

“Wait.” I begin to sit back up. “You mean here, on earth?”

Famine pushes me back down. “Yes.”

“Which brother?” I ask, head scratch forgotten. “And what was he doing? What were you doing? What did you do to each other?” Oh my God, the questions I have.

Famine continues to rub my head. “I was making my way south through Europe. I’d already left the mainland, and I was crossing the Aegean Sea. I was about to arrive on Crete when I crossed paths with War.” His gaze grows distant.

“In this form,” Famine says, “it’s hard to sense my brothers, but it isn’t impossible. I knew War was close; I could feel him approaching me just as he must’ve felt me approaching him.”

I had never thought to press Famine for information on his brothers. Clearly, I should’ve.

“He met me on the beach,” he says.

I try to picture it in my mind—Famine meeting War, one of his brothers.

The Reaper falls silent.

“And?” I prod.

“He told me to leave.”

“Did you?” I ask.

Famine’s eyes slip to mine, a wry smile on his face. “One does not pick fights with War, not even in his mortal form. I left him and his family alone—”

“Family?” I interrupt, shocked.

What in the actual hell?

“War has a family?”

“So does Pestilence.”

I stare at Famine, trying to process that. “You mean to tell me that two of your brothers have settled down and had kids?” I say carefully.

Famine nods.

“… How?” I finally ask.

The horseman gives me a sly look. “It’s really quite simple, flower. They fucked mortal women. Those women got pregnant. Now they have families.”

My eyes feel like they’re bulging from their sockets. Right now, everything this horseman says is wilder than the thing before it.

“You horsemen can get women pregnant?” I ask.

Jesus. I hadn’t even thought about that.

“I can eat and sleep and do just about everything else a human can,” Famine says. “Is being able to procreate really so shocking?”

“Yes.”

It’s really, really freaking shocking.

The next question slips from my lips. “Do you have any children?”

“God, no,” he says, “I’ve made sure of that.”

“You made sure—” I sit up again. “What is that supposed to mean? Did you kill your kids?” I can feel how wide my eyes are.

The Reaper pushes me back down.

“Would that actually shock you?” he says.

“Oh my God, you did.” I don’t know why, but that changes everything.

I begin to get up, and once more Famine pushes me back down. “Calm your tits,” the horseman says, and how fucking dare he use my own line against me— “They never lived to begin with.”

I stare up at him, breathing heavily, my mind racing to catch up with his words.

“They never lived … ?” I echo.

“I have the power to make things grow and die,” he says. “I can prevent conception.”

That is so much more information than I bargained for. But also, sex with the horseman is back on the table.

Jesus, did that thought actually cross my mind?

Famine stares down at me. “Are you good?”

I nod, maybe a little too quickly. “I’m good,” I say, just to reassure him.

The horseman is looking at me as though I can’t be trusted.

“So War lives on an island?” I start again, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself. “With his family?”

I’m trying to imagine someone like Famine being a father. I can’t picture it.

“Mhm,” Famine says, still giving me a skeptical look. His hand moves back to my hair, and his fingers begin rubbing my scalp once more.

“So, he loves them then?” I ask. “His family?”

“The fuck if I know,” the Reaper says. After a moment, he adds, “But I imagine he does.”

I lay there, trying to figure out how the hell these women managed to tame two horsemen of the apocalypse.

“Does that mean War’s not killing people the same way you are?” I ask.

“He had been,” Famine admits, “but yes, at some point he stopped—as did Pestilence.”

“Why?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

The horseman frowns. A moment later, he stands. “Get some sleep. I’ll be near.”

With that, he crosses the room and opens the door. Famine slips outside, into the drizzling rain. The door clicks shut behind him, and then he’s gone.

It takes far longer than it should to fall asleep.

At first, all I can think about is his parting story and all of the information he revealed. But as my shock settles, other things begin to creep in.

I cannot forget how your skin felt against mine and the look in your eyes when I touched you. But most of all, I cannot ignore the way you draw me in.

I’m haunted by the horseman’s words and the look on his face when he said them.

I don’t even have a dick in me, and I’m fucked.

So, so fucked.

Somewhere between one troubled thought and the next, I slip off to sleep.

BANG!

I jolt awake, trying to figure out what’s happening, even as I hear shouting. Panic floods my system.

I push myself up on my elbows just as someone says, “Don’t move another centimeter unless you want a hole in that pretty chest of yours.”

My gaze goes first to the intruder speaking, then to the bow and arrow he has trained on me.

“Told you there was someone at the old Monteiro place,” a woman behind him says.

My heart begins to gallop.

Highwaymen.

I hadn’t given much thought to the bandits that roamed the roads since I began traveling with Famine. After all, anyone who came close to the horseman died.

Where the hell is the Reaper?

Earlier he’d said that he’d leave—and he did. I just hadn’t thought he meant permanently. But has he come back since he left my side?

And then another insidious thought creeps in.

What if something bad happened to him again?

Another man steps out from behind the one with the bow and arrow and walks over to me. He grabs me roughly by the arm and hauls me up, then drags me to the door.

I stumble along as I’m hauled out of the house and into the rain. I can no longer see the arrow aimed at me, but I sense it at my back.

The darkness is illuminated only by the dim glow of a lantern sitting on the porch. I can just make out the group’s three horses, tied to a nearby tree. Famine’s steed is nowhere to be seen.

Maybe I really am alone.

I take a deep breath at that.

The man at my side presses a blade to my cheek. “Where’s the other one?” he asks, his voice raspy.

“The other what?” I say. My mind can hardly keep up with the unfolding events.

“Don’t play dumb, bitch. We saw the second set of footprints.”

Famine and I tracked mud inside. I hadn’t even thought of that.

“Where is the man you were with?” my captor continues.

I feel fleeting relief that at least these three haven’t done anything to him.

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?” the man growls, giving me a vicious shake. I barely catch myself from falling into the mud.

I give him a nasty look; years of barroom brawls have prepared me for men like him.

“I mean that I just fucking woke up, you ass-licking bastard.”

The knife leaves my cheek long enough for the man to cock his fist and hit me across the face.

My legs fold, and now I do fall to the ground. I hear him spit, though I don’t feel it with all the rain pummeling me.

“Bitch. We’re going to have to beat some manners into you.”

Distantly, I can hear the other two bandits moving through the house.

“What the hell is this?” one calls from the doorway. I glance over my shoulder as the woman saunters out, tossing Famine’s scales in front of me. The metal plates clink together.

At the sight, I feel a spark of hope.

Maybe the horseman hasn’t left after all.

But then I remember how he sometimes rides away without his scales, knowing they’ll turn up eventually. He could still be gone.

I’m pushing myself to my feet when the bandit next to me kicks me forward, forcing me back against the ground. My hands sink into the muddy earth.

“Well?” the man says. “Answer her.”

These men really have no clue who they’ve ambushed, even when the evidence is staring them in the face.

Not that it will save me.

I look over at the woman. “They’re scales, you cunt-munching idiots.”

That gets me another kick to the side. I gasp at the impact, curling in on myself.

“What did you find?” my attacker calls out to his comrades.

“Nothing much worth saving,” the woman says. “At least we can trade her.” She nods to me.

No.

I’ve been used enough in my twenty-two years; I won’t let it happen again.

I hear the third bandit’s footfalls as he leaves the house. “I don’t want to deal with traffickers,” he says, coming towards us. “Grab what you can and slit her throat.”

My muscles tense at that.

The bandit reaches for me.

Acting on instinct, I kick out at the man, missing his crotch.

“Stupid bitch,” he growls, lunging for me, his knife aimed at my chest.

I barely manage to roll away, the blade embedding itself into the wet earth where I was a moment ago. The man catches me by the waist and flips me onto my back, pinning my body beneath a knee.

I buck, trying to throw him off of me, but he’s too heavy.

Distantly, I’m aware that the other two bandits are packing up their horses, ignoring us as though midnight scuffles in the mud are normal.

My attacker grabs my hair and jerks my head to the side, forcing me to bare my neck. Then his muddy blade is pressed against my skin once more.

I go still, my eyes moving to his.

This is it.

I survived all manner of frightening men as a prostitute—I even survived a horseman of the apocalypse—just for it to end like this.

I have the oddest urge to laugh. It all feels so pointless. So, so pointless.

Behind us, there’s a rustling in the foliage that borders the house. My attacker pauses.

From over his shoulder I catch a glimpse of Famine stepping out of the shadows, fully clad in his armor, his scythe at his side.

He didn’t leave.

I exhale. Never have I been so grateful to see the horseman.

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.

No sooner has Famine revealed himself than the female bandit takes off, sprinting across the yard.

The horseman doesn’t even bother trying to catch her. Instead he throws his scythe with impossible force. The unwieldy weapon spins head over handle making a rhythmic chopping noise as it propels forward.

With a meaty thunk, it buries itself into the back of the woman’s skull. Her legs fold, and she falls, dead in an instant.

The man above me makes a startled noise as she collapses. He turns back to me, and I see the wild look in his eyes—

The blade at my throat is moving, slicing my skin open. I cry out at the sharp bite of pain, surprise making my eyes widen. I didn’t think he’d try to kill me, not now that Famine was here.

I go to push the knife away, but before I can reach it, a great, thorned plant drags my attacker off of me, and his knife falls harmlessly out of his hand.

Warm blood spills down my neck. I clutch the wound, the liquid slipping between my fingers. For a second, all I can think of is that the man must’ve nicked an artery, but then there would be more blood—right?

It’s hard to tell what a lot is, but after a moment, I think I’m okay. And now that I can feel the edges of the wound, I can tell it only sliced part of my neck, and it’s not so deep—

A hand goes to my shoulder.

I glance up and there’s Famine kneeling at my side, his green eyes focused on my face. He looks so angry, so vengeful. But behind all those potent emotions, I see panic. Cloying, dreadful panic.

His gaze drops to my neck, where I’m putting pressure on the wound.

“You’re hurt.” There’s no emotion behind the words, and yet the horseman’s fingers are gripping my shoulder so tightly, and the longer I stare at him, the more distressed he appears.

“I’ll be okay,” I say. I think.

His gaze searches mine, and I can tell he doesn’t know what to do.

Behind him, I can hear the cries of the two remaining bandits. I don’t have to look to know what’s happening to them.

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.