Famine by Laura Thalassa
Chapter 55
Ana
I gasp in air, my eyelids fluttering open.
Famine stares down at me, my body cradled in his arms. As soon as he sees me awake, he pulls me into a tight hug, crushing me against his armor.
Of their own accord, my fingers thread themselves into the horseman’s hair, holding him to me.
“What … ?” What happened to me?
“I’m sorry,” the Reaper whispers, his voice broken.
“Sorry?” I say, confused.
My mind is groggy. There’s a metallic taste at the back of my throat, and I have this deep-seated and inexplicable feeling of being off.
I turn to the Reaper. “How did you get to me so quickly? Did I faint?”
The last thing I can remember is that Famine stood across from me and … Death …
I pull away from Famine, searching for his brother.
Death meets my gaze, his expression pensive.
Famine cups my jaw with his hand, and he’s looking at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.
“No,” he says simply.
“Then what happened?” Even as I say it, my voice wavers.
The answer is right there, in that taste at the back of my throat. Or maybe it’s my skin, which is cold and clammy in the most unnatural of ways.
But I want the Reaper to deny it.
To deny that I died.
He takes me in for a long time, and then he slowly nods his head.
I shudder, my spooked eyes moving back to Thanatos.
He killed me, and he did it so quickly that I didn’t even realize it. I try to recall anything that came after that … but there’s nothing there.
I couldn’t have been dead for very long. We’re still in that same bit of forest I last remember seeing, and the stormy sky looks about the same.
But if Thanatos killed me, then why am I breathing—?
The second awful realization hits me.
My gaze snaps back to Famine.
“You agreed to it,” I say. Death’s second offer. That’s why he’s apologizing to me.
The Reaper squares his jaw. “I did.” There’s no remorse in his voice.
It took months for Famine to set aside his murderous ways, but apparently only a few minutes to pick it back up.
All because of me.
I would’ve never imagined that the fate of the world might actually depend on me one day. I’ve always assumed my life was fairly insignificant. But somehow, without my say, I’ve now fucked everyone over.
I grip Famine’s arm. He winces, his arm jerking under my touch. I glance down. Seeing the odd bend to it, I release it immediately.
What happened to you? I want to ask. It’s clear there’s more to the story that happened while I was … gone.
“Why did you agree to it?” I ask instead, uncaring that we have an audience.
I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I barely coped with the horrors I already witnessed. I don’t know how much more I’d be able to bear.
Famine’s face is grim. “Because, despite how much or how little I care for humanity,” he says, touching my face again, “I still care for you much, much more.”
That’s the most beautiful, terrible thing he could have told me. It’s a compliment and a sentence all rolled into one.
The Reaper pulls me in close, pressing his lips to my ear. “All is not lost, little flower,” he says, his breath harsh against me. “Let Death see what it means to be human. If I can be swayed, so can he.”
Famine pulls away a little to meet my gaze. Keeping his voice low, he adds, “There is still hope for your world.”
“More people will have to die,” I say. My voice has grown rough.
“More people will die, regardless,” Famine says.
I hear the clatter of metal, and my gaze moves from him to Thanatos. The final horseman is picking up his armor and wiping the mud off. He inspects the silver breastplate, which looks badly dented, before tossing it aside. Death moves over to the two horses that wait nearby. He grabs their reins, then heads over to where Famine and I sit, leading the horses along behind him.
He steps in far too close to me, his presence stifling. I can still remember that lethal hand on my cheek.
Death is huge and muscled like Famine—truth be told, he might be slightly bigger—and he has that same sharp beauty that is somehow too pleasing to the eye to be fully human. His skin is pale, his cheekbones are high and his jaw is sharp. Those deep eyes of his are old—so old I can’t bear to look at them for too long—but his lips have a rueful curve to them. His hair is so dark I imagine it shines blue in certain light. Now however, the rain has plastered that hair to his face.
Where Famine is capricious and conniving, Death seems solemn … and ancient. … He’s beautiful in an enigmatic sort of way.
My gaze moves back to Famine, and for a moment, I simply stare at the two of them. They are leviathans, and I am nothing.
But that’s not true.
Death hands the reins to Famine. “Mount your steed, brother.”
The Reaper looks at the proffered rein for a moment before taking it. I can practically feel the weight of Famine’s task falling back on his shoulders.
An aching sort of despair fills me. This is all because my life means more to Famine than everyone else’s. If that suddenly weren’t the case, maybe the Reaper wouldn’t agree to Death’s terms …
My gaze cuts to a dagger sheathed at Famine’s side.
For about two seconds, I consider doing something self-sacrificing for the benefit of humanity, like falling on Famine’s blade, but … I’m not that broad.
I’m a bar-fighting, pussy-hustling, scrappy-ass bitch, and I’m not going to just go along with this quietly.
So I grab the hilt of Famine’s sheathed dagger and withdraw the blade. Weapon in hand, I spin on the other horseman beside me. Then, I do to Death what I could never do to Famine.
I stab that motherfucker.
