Page 46 of Famine

“You’re taking me out of the cuffs?” I ask.

“Would you prefer I didn’t?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

I don’t say anything to that.

He finishes unlocking the thick iron shackles, and I roll my wrists. In some spots, the skin has been rubbed raw.

“I thought you didn’t trust me,” I say suspiciously.

“I don’t,” Famine agrees. “But what can you really do at this point?”

“I could hurt you,” I say, my gaze flinty. I think I would really enjoy sinking another blade into the Reaper right about now.

Famine looks downright tickled at the thought. “And chance suffering my wrath? I think not,” he says. “Though I welcome your attempts—meager as they’ve so far proven to be.”

“I thought you said I was safe with you,” I remind him.

“You are. I don’t plan on hurting you if you don’t hurt me.”

Begrudgingly I admit that’s fair.

“And if I run?” I ask.

“Your attempts at escape have been even worse than your attempts at murder,” he says, stepping in close.

I can’t help it, my breath hitches at the sight of him.

“But humor me, little flower,” he continues. “Run. Go back to your poor, abandoned city, and live in your empty whorehouse. Try to earn a living again selling yourself to dead men and enjoy what scraps of moldering food escaped my reach. I’m sure you will live a long and prosperous life.”

As he speaks, my hate rises, closing up my throat. I stare up at him. He’s standing far too close to me. Only my clients ever got this close, but then it was for entirely different reasons.

Famine’s gaze searches mine. “No, you won’t run,” he says. “Because running takes a certain level of courage that you utterly lack.”

My palm comes up before I can help it, and I slap him across the cheek. I can feel the sting of contact against my skin. The Reaper’s head snaps to the side.

In the moment that follows, neither of us does anything. I’m breathing heavily, and the horseman’s face is turned away from me.

Slowly, his hand comes up, and he touches his cheek. He lets out a laugh, and the hairs along my arms stand up.

This man just killed three people, and I went and hit him.

Faster than I can follow, he grabs my jaw. “Youfoolishlittle flower. Have you learned nothing?” As he speaks, he walks forward, backing me up until I hit the wall. Once there, I’m pinned in. “Maybe you are courageous after all to tempt my anger.”

His eyes dip to my mouth, and in the midst of his hate-fueled rant, I see something flare in those unearthly green eyes.

His gaze moves up to mine, and there’s a zing of connection. “Or maybe you believe you’re above punishment.”

As he speaks the hardwood floor beneath me rises up like an anthill before splintering open. A seemingly harmless stem rises from the ground before probing around towards my leg. I try not to scream at the sight of it, even as it begins to slither up my leg.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Reminding you why you don’t try to stab me or slap me or accost me in any other manner.”

The single shoot splits off into two, then three, then four, growing up and around me. Tiny thorns appear along the stem, lengthening and sharpening the bigger the plant becomes. The shrub doesn’t quite wrap itself around me. Instead it grows like a cage around my body. Only once it’s bracketed me in does Famine release his hold.

He backs away. “You saved me once, so I’ll spare you for that reason alone,” he says, “but do notevertest me again.”

With that, he exits the room, slamming the door behind him.

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