Page 204 of Famine

I pull her in close and kiss her, my mouth rough on hers.

“I’m not going to die,” I tell her. “He’s my brother, and I know how to handle him. I cannot, however, face him while worrying about you.”

“I am not a liability, Famine, and I’m not going to let him …”

She keeps talking, but I don’t hear her words.

She’s not going to back down. Damn her and her stubbornness.

Before Ana can finish making her point, I scoop her up and carry her outside.

“Famine, put me down.” She tries to wriggle out of my arms.

Only once we’re outside do I set her back down.

Ana huffs, pushing a stray curl out of the way. “Donotmanhandle—”

Before she can finish, I flick my wrist. In seconds, a soft, waxy-leafed bush bursts from the earth, twining itself around her as it grows.

Ana’s been a victim of this trick often enough to know she’s not going to like it.

“Famine,” she hisses. “What are you doing?”

“Hiding you,” I tell her, “because you won’t do it yourself.” As I speak, a line of plants burst from the ground, creating a road of sorts from Ana all the way to the nearby forest’s tree line.

Ana’s eyes flash, and the look of betrayal she gives me nearly makes me waver. If I wasn’t such a cold-hearted bastard, I might’ve actually lost my nerve.

Instead, I flick my wrist again, and the plants begin to move, each one systematically grabbing her before handing her off to the next bit of foliage in line. It’s a strange and unnatural sight, watching the flora spirit away a grown woman into the forest beyond. It’s the thing of human myths.

What’s not so mythical are the curses pouring from her mouth.

“You goddamn bastard!” she shouts. “Let me fucking go! Famine, I swear upon your God, I will kick you in the dick so hard you’ll feel your balls in your throat.”

Normally, the sadist in me gets quite a bit of pleasure from her protests. But right now there’s no joy in it. I stare after her until even her voice fades away.

I go back inside the house long enough to grab my scythe before returning to my front yard. My gaze goes to the heavens, where thick storm clouds have amassed.

He’s still out there. Still circling. And damn me, but I cannot pinpoint him with my senses and I cannot clear this sky enough to spot him with my naked eye.

If I had been level-headed, I would easily blow away the incoming storm. But my feelings are inextricably bound up in Death’s arrival, and my anxiety cannot do more than intensify the already thick cloud cover.

So I stare at the heavens and focus as best I can on where he might be.

Minutes pass.

“Come on, brother,” I murmur. “Let’s end this.”

As though he heard my words, I sense him lowering himself from the sky. I still can’t spot him.

In the distance, I hear my steed snort, then the dull pound of his hooves galloping towards me.

Off in the opposite direction are another set of pounding hoof beats. I drag my gaze away from the sky.

There, charging up the road is a dappled grey steed. His empty saddle is made of black leather and limned in silver, chthonic images styled across the seat.

Death’s fabled horse.

At last, Thanatos has found me.

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