Page 160 of Famine

“Because the world fell out of balance,” he says. “And humans are to blame for that.”

There’s that word again—balance. The Reaper has mentioned it a couple of times now. Immediately, my eyes move to the kitchen, where I last caught a glimpse of his scales. He brought them in with the rest of our things, though he didn’t properly unpack them.

“There are some good things about humans,” Famine adds. “If there weren’t, this would’ve happened long ago.”

I take that in, trying to process the fact that the horseman is admitting that people have some goodness to them.

I don’t say anything, caught between shock and a fragile sort of hope that maybe,maybewere aren’t totally and completely screwed.

Famine’s eyes move to mine again, and that look is back. He leans forward and reaches out, his fingers skimming my cheeks.

At his touch, I still.

“You said everything was going to go back to the way it was before,” I accuse, my voice a whisper.

“I lied.” There’s no remorse in his tone. “I cannot forget how you saved me and all you have admitted to me since. And I cannot forget how your skin felt against mine and the look in your eyes when I touched you. But most of all, Ana, I cannot ignore the way you draw me in, again and again.”

My heart starts to pound loudly, so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. These are things lovers—true lovers—say to each other, and I can’t bear it. It’s my weakness. Ask any girl who’s known too little love in her life and she’ll tell you—this is how you ensnare us.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been reconsidering it yourself?” Famine says.

I glance away, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.

“Ana.”

Reluctantly, my eyes return to his, and he sees it. I know he does.

His eyes widen, then after a moment, he flashes me a triumphant grin. “You have.” He stares at me a little longer, and I hear him inhale a breath. “That’swhat you’ve been keeping from me all day,” he says, like he’s finally figured it out.

But I don’t think he has. I think if Famine knew the depth of what I’m feeling right now, he wouldn’t be so pleased.

He catches my chin and pulls my face closer, leaning in until only a few short centimeters separate our lips. “Little flower, I’m happy to give you an encore of last night,” he says, his voice low. I can hear his own desire, and it is not helping anything at this point.

I stare at the horseman, unwilling to speak. I don’t trust my mouth; it might blurt out every tangled, confused emotion I’m feeling right now.

“I’m used to having casual sex,” I admit, “but this … this isn’t casual, Famine, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

The horseman’s eyes are bright and deep, and part of me really wants to know what he thinks of that.

“I’m not used to handlinganyof this,” he says.

He releases my chin and sits up. “Get comfortable.” He nods to the blanket we’re sitting on. “I’ll tell you a story—with a head scratch—and then I’ll leave.”

I frown at theleavepart, but then—head scratch?

I’m laying down in a matter of seconds, Famine sitting at my side.

His hand slips through my hair, and I have to bite back a very sexual-sounding moan because it feelsso good.

“How about I tell you about the time I met one of my brothers,” he says thoughtfully.

“Mmm,” I say noncommittally, not really paying attention to his words until—

“Wait.” I begin to sit back up. “You mean here, onearth?”

Famine pushes me back down. “Yes.”

“Which brother?” I ask, head scratch forgotten. “And what was he doing? What wereyoudoing? What did you do to each other?” Oh my God, the questions I have.

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