Page 66 of War

So fucking grateful.

I wasn’t when he spared my life in Jerusalem, nor was I very grateful when he stopped the zombie attacking me, but I now am.

Just then a soldier calls from outside the tent, “My Lord, there’s a matter with a new rider that needs—”

“It can wait,” War says.

My gaze flicks over him, lingering on the sensual curve of his mouth.

Whyam I thinking about his mouth?

“You can go,” I say to him. “I’ll be fine.”

War glances at me, and I see his hesitation.

“Seriously. I’m not going to die—thanks to you,” I tack on.

The horseman’s eyes deepen at that. His lips part, and I think he might respond, but instead, his gaze moves over my face, pausing here and there, his eyes getting more and more violent.

I must look like royal shit for his mood to darken at the sight of me.

“They will be fine without me,” he states.

“I’ve lived on my own for seven years,” I insist, pulling the fabric of my shirt tight over my chest. “I’ll be fine while you’re gone.” I could use a little privacy.

He stares at me for several long seconds. Then reluctantly, he stands, striding over to a chest where a holstered dagger rests. My eyes watch the way his massive body swaggers with each step of his.

Stop it, Miriam.

War picks up the dagger and comes back to me. Kneeling down, he places the weapon on my lap. “Anyone but me enters this tent,” he says, nodding to the tent flaps, “you gut them.”

Said like a man who knows his way around a good murder.

My hands clasp the weapon. Right now I’m not feeling too pious myself.

“Ten minutes,” he vows rising to his feet.

He heads to the tent flaps. He’s nearly left when he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“There’s food on the table.” Giving me a heavy look, he repeats, “ten minutes.”

With that, the horseman leaves, and for the first time since last night, I’m alone again.

I was nearlyraped and beaten to death.

Now that War’s gone, I’m sort of just coming to terms with that.

It probably doesn’t help that I’m in a tent again, and everything hurts, and I’m alone, and I don’t know how well I’d truly be able to defend myself if someone comes at me again.

Not that I was about to tell the horseman that when he was considering staying. It’s one thing to feel vulnerable, another thing to showcase it to the world.

I probe my face a little, trying to figure out by the feel of it just how bad off I am. Along with a split lip, my nose is tender and the skin around my eyes is swollen. Never have I been more thankful that there’s no mirror in sight. I don’t really want to see the pulpy remains of my face.

I sit there for several minutes, bored and restless all at once. My skin throbs like it has a pulse, and you’d think that the pain would push out every other human urge, but it doesn’t.

My stomach knots. God, am I hungry.

I look forlornly towards the food War had mentioned. The table might as well be a million kilometers away in the state I’m in.

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