Page 138 of War

I wake tothe press of fingertips. They trail down my back, each one feeling sure and steady. The touch is so pleasant, so unexpected, that I arch into it.

There’s a language to gestures. This one conveys a single emotion—

Beloved.

I squeeze my eyes tightly together, something thick lodging in my throat.

It’s been … a long time since I felt that way. And with a man,neverlike this.

I drag in a ragged breath when I remember the man behind the touch.

War.

But even with him, this is new. When I was attacked in my tent, he touched me with care, and since the deal we made, he’s touched me with desire and affection. This, however, this feels a lot like—

I can’t even think the word. The entire idea of it is too scary—and too impossible.

The horseman’s fingertips leave my flesh. A moment later, I feel the warm press of his lips against my back.

Too much. My heart feels like it’s going to burst.

I flip over, and my gaze meets War’s. His eyes have gone soft and deep.

He strokes my hair. “For millennia I’ve craved this.”Human connection, he means. “For millennia it’s been just out of my reach.”

Until now.

My pulse is picking up. I’m still naked underneath War’s sheets, and with the horseman this close, I’msoaware of that fact. Excitement and fear are mixing together.

I place a hand against his chiseled cheek. War turns his head, his lips brushing a kiss against my palm.

Now it’s my turn to go soft on him. I’ve seen the horseman lustful, angry, determined, vicious. Seeing this doting side of him completely changes each one of my responses.

“Youundo me,” War says hoarsely.

My stomach flutters at his words.

A putrid smell outside briefly cuts through my soft thoughts.

God, what is that stench? It’s notmeis it?

“What happened, Miriam?” War asks, drawing my attention back to him.

His features have sharpened, and he’s back to looking like a creature who hunts humans.

He wants to know about today. About why I was in a burning building, a dead phobos rider at my feet.

I swallow a little. My throat still hurts and talking only makes it worse. “Uzair tried to kill me.”

The horseman swears under his breath. “My riders are the worst of your kind. Effective, but utterly devoid of compassion.”

Who is this man who speaks of compassion, and what has he done with War?

“And you bested one of them in close combat,” the horseman continues. He sounds almost … impressed. War bows his head to kiss my neck again. “I hope you made Uzair’s death slow and painful.”

I thread my fingers through his black hair. “That’s an awfully petty thing for a messenger of God to say.”

He presses his lips against my skin, and my hand tightens on his thick locks, holding him close to me.

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