Page 129 of Famine

There’s a tightness in my chest, one I’m trying to ignore.

The horseman strides past me, the light, lacy garments fluttering under his arm.

“Those aren’t even mine,” I say, watching him leave the room.

“Now they are,” he responds smoothly.

I trail after him, into his room. I stop just inside the threshold, feeling out of place. Maybe it’s all the carnage we’ve seen, or perhaps it’s just that things between me and the horseman have shifted into uncharted territory, but suddenly I feel pulled taut like a bowstring.

Famine, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to share my mood.

He tosses my new clothes into the top two drawers of a nearby dresser, then shoves them closed. Turning, he faces me once more.

My attention catches on the wound above his eye, the one that was created by that arrow. Now it’s mostly healed, but it still looks a little red and raw. My gaze drops to the arm that had been amputated at the elbow. In the hours between when I found him and now, it’s reformed, but it still looks meaty in a way that’s not at all natural.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, nodding to the arm.

“I’ll be fine,” he says.

I take that for ayes.

He gestures to the bed. “Go ahead.”

My brows draw together. “What are you talking about?”

He gives me a speculative look. “Sleep. I’m sure you need it after the night we’ve had.”

Oh. Of course. I’m seriously questioning the state of my mind that I didn’t understand his meaning. And now that he mentioned sleep, I can feel it tugging at me.

But still I hesitate.

Famine sighs. “What is it?”

“I don’t really want to get in,” I say, indicating to my blood-splattered, dirt-stained body.

He raises an eyebrow. “This place will be left to the vultures in another day or two. No one cares.”

“I don’t want to sleep bathed in your blood.” And the blood of those other guys. The ones I stabbed. I suppress a shudder.

The horseman nods to the bathroom connected to his room. “That’s all yours.”

I hesitate for only a moment. Then I make my way to it. I turn on the faucet, a spark of wonder filling me at the sight of running water.

Stripping off my clothes, I step in as the bath fills, the water cool and refreshing. It doesn’t warm, not even by the time the basin is full. Perhaps that’s why I don’t linger in there for long. Or maybe it’s the fact that I can hear the horseman prowling around his room like a caged creature.

I scrub my skin until it’s raw and wash my hair until I’m sure I’m clean. And then I’m out of the tub, unplugging the drain and wrapping myself up in a towel, my head far clearer than it was when I entered the bathroom.

When I pad into Famine’s room, I find that the horseman has finally managed to settle himself. He sits in a chair next to the bed, staring at his raw hand. He has a sad, troubled look on his face, one that makes my stomach dip.

As though he senses my gaze on him, he looks up, our eyes locking. For a moment, the expression he gives me is naked vulnerability, and again, I physically react at the sight of it.

Crossing the room, I walk up to Famine and silently grab his good hand, giving it a tug.

“What are you doing, Ana?” he asks.

“For starters, I’m trying to get your ass off the chair,” I say, giving his arm another tug. It feels good to curse at him, like I’m re-establishing our previous relationship.

Reluctantly the horseman gets up, though he looks wary of me. I don’t know why; we’ve been through hell and back over the last twelve hours. Threading my fingers through his, I lead him over to the bathroom.

---