Page 69 of War

“I heard your cries.”

“How did you know they were mine?” I ask. There are hundreds of women in his camp; surely my voice isn’t that distinct.

Now his eyes meet mine. “The same way you know my words when I speak them. Wife, we are connected in ways that defy human nature.”

It’s a ridiculous answer, and I don’t know if I believe it. I know I don’t want to.

“I still hate you,” I say, without any heat. Mostly because I need to remind myself.

I draw those words around me like a cloak.

The corner of his mouth curves up. “I’m aware,” he says.

War works in silence for a bit longer, and I watch him and his careful hands, the wonder of it all not wearing off.

“How do you do it?” I finally ask. “Heal me, I mean.”

“I will it. It is as simple as that.” He pauses, and I think that’s the end of his explanation, but then War adds, “My brothers and I can all do the opposite of our powers—Pestilence can spread sicknessandcure it. Famine can destroy cropsandgrow them. Death can give and take life at will.” War pauses. “I can injure … and I can heal.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I think my mind is being blown right now. They were all tasked to end humanity … but they were also given the tools to save it.

War stares at me for a long moment, then his eyes go to my lips. This time, I can feel the kiss about to happen. War is unconsciously leaning closer, and I am angling my face to better meet his mouth.

War is violent and uncompromising, but he’s not pure evil. He’s proving it right now while his touch still warms on my skin.

I’m leaning in, and he is too—

At the last moment, I turn my head away.

I can’t.

Forgiveness is one thing. This is another. I can’t cross that line.

I can’t.

I keep waitingfor that horrible moment when War’s going to want his bed back, but it doesn’t come. Not that afternoon, when I drift in and out of sleep, and not that evening, once the sun has gone down and the camp has quieted.

War comes to me several times, either to quietly set food by my bed, or to place his hands on my skin and continue to heal my injuries, his ruby red tattoos glowing in the darkness.

“How are you still awake?” I mumble when I feel his hands on me for what has to be the fifth time tonight.

“I don’t need to sleep,” he says.

I crack my eyes open at that.

After a pause he adds. “My body doesn’t require it. It’s a human trait I’ve simply taken up over the months.”

At first, it doesn’t really compute. My brain is too foggy from sleep. But then it does.

“You really don’t need it?” I sit up a little at that.

“I can heal the injured and raise the dead, but you’re shocked by this?” he asks, a wry smile on his face.

Fair point.

I lay back down. “What else can you do?” I ask.

“You already know all my other secrets. I don’t need to eat or drink—though I do enjoy it. My body can heal itself. I can speak every language known or once known to man, though I prefer to speak in dead languages when giving orders. And I can raise the dead.”

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