Page 133 of Famine

Famine leans against a nearby wall, his fingers tapping along the side of the crystal tumbler he holds. He’s giving me a funny look.

I sit up a little straighter, waking up fast now that I realize I have the full attention of the horseman.

“What time is it?” I ask, glancing out the window, where the sky is a greyish purple.

The Reaper doesn’t respond, just taps those fingers along the side of his glass. He looks wholly untouched, like he was never butchered apart to begin with.

“You’re better,” I say.

“Mmm …” he responds distractedly, those sharp green eyes still taking me in.

“What?” I finally say, because his focus is getting awkward. “Is there a big-ass bug in my hair or something?”

“Do you regret it?” the horseman asks, his voice neutral.

“Regret what?” But then I see it in his eyes.

Saving him.

I assume he’s referring to last night.

“Should I?” I ask him.

He takes a sip of his drink, studying me like I’m some sort of puzzle he can’t figure out.

“Why did you do it?” he asks.

“Save you?” I raise my eyebrows as I look at him. “Because you needed saving.”

He frowns, and I’m pretty sure he hates how simple I’ve made the situation sound.

I thought we were beyond this. I assumed that last night brought the two of us closer, but now he seems skeptical and distant.

My gaze moves away from the Reaper and out the window. I can’t see the main house from here, but I can sense it out there. Somewhere inside it, a dozen men are trussed up.

The thought makes me feel vaguely nauseous.

“Is everyone … ?”

“Dead?” Famine finishes for me.

I nod my head.

He takes another drink. “Unfortunately.”

I sense that if the Reaper could’ve, he would’ve kept them alive and lingering for just as long as he was once kept alive and suffering.

He lifts his glass. “Want one?” he asks, scattering my thoughts.

“Yes,” I say, before I can even consider the fact that eating first might be the better option. After the night we had, alcohol sounds like a godsend.

Famine pushes off the wall, heading to the bar nestled in the corner of his room. There’s a crystal decanter already sitting out, and with a shock I realize that while I slept, the Reaper moved about the room. I should be mortified at the thought—especially considering what happened the last time a man entered my room while I slept—but all it does is make my stomach clench strangely.

Famine grabs a glass from beneath the counter and sets it next to his. Uncorking the decanter, he pours the amber liquid into both glasses. The Reaper takes his own glass, lifts it to his lips and throws it back, swallowing it in a single gulp. He pours himself another drink, then grabs both glasses.

I slide out of the bed and meet him in the middle of the room, taking the glass from him. Now that I’ve slept and Famine’s enemies are dead, the reality of last night sinks in.

I move to the bed, sitting down heavily on the mattress. I take a long drink of the liquor. It doesn’t burn as much as it should, so I take another drink—and another—my hand beginning to shake uncontrollably.

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