Page 185 of Famine

Well, that went well.

“Wife?” I repeat to Famine, raising my eyebrows. “What lies have you been telling people while I’ve been sick?”

The look he gives me is downright nefarious. “It’s only a lie if you don’t intend to follow through with it.”

One, that’s not how lies work. And two—

“Is that … a proposal?” I say. My heart beats faster than it should. “Because if it is,” I continue, “that’s going to be anofrom me.”

I think about Martim, how he promised me marriage, then broke his promise and my heart in the process.

That’s not happening again.

At my words, Famine rears back. “No?”

“I want an actual proposal,” I continue, staring down at him from the saddle. “With sex. The ring is optional. Groveling is a must.”

“Groveling?” He lets out an incredulous laugh. “I’m not a dog begging for scraps.”

“Nope, right now you’re a dog withzeroscraps. I want sex, a pledge of your undying love—”

“Now it’s a pledge of my undying love?”

“That goes without saying,” I reply as townspeople begin to approach us.

The Reaper looks irked.

“You’ve gone down on me,” I say, “so you’re already an old hand at this groveling business.”

An older man who’s approaching us overhears my comment, and much to my delight, he looks properly scandalized.

“That wasnotgroveling.” Famine’s jaw clenches.

“I don’t know why you’re so horrified,” I say, ignoring his comment. “You’ve literally held me as I peed,” I say. That’s about as horrifying as a situation can get. “I might’ve even gotten some on your shoe.”

Judging by the tick in Famine’s cheek, Idefinitelygot some pee on his shoe.

Before he can respond, the older man and several other townspeople close in on us. They carry blankets and tallow candles and jugs of oil and liquor and milk and pottery and jewelry and baskets of eggs.

“Marry me,” Famine says, ignoring them as he stares up at me.

My breath catches for an instant. “No.”

He looks greatly annoyed. I’m beyond gleeful.

“This isn’t over,” he vows.

I sincerely hope not.

By sunset, Famine has not only amassed a small kingdom’s worth of goods, he’s also managed to secure us a house. He didn’t even have to kill anyone to get it.

“The woman who lived here died, and her children weren’t able to sell the place,” one of the townspeople told me earlier, when she was giving me a walk-through of the previously boarded-up home.

I understand why no one wanted the place. Not only was it built before the apocalypse—and thus full of relics that are useless at best, and dangerous at worst—but as far as practicality goes, it seems like it’s more work than it’s worth.

It still has a garage full of rusted out cars, and kitchen appliances that are filled with cobwebs and rat droppings, and sinks with faucets that haven’t moved water in more than a decade.

At least the toilets have been updated.

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