Page 62 of Famine

“Did you put me here?” I say by way of greeting.

He gives me a look. “No, my horse did.”

God, he’s so testy.Thisis why it’s important to get a good night’s sleep. Or laid. Preferably both.

“So you carried me inside this house, to this bedroom, just so I could sleep?”

Famine frowns. “Better the bed than me. You drooled on my armor.”

I vaguely remember how I used him as my own personal pillow.

“Trust me,” I say, “I wasn’t too thrilled about the situation either.”

I glance down at the blankets pooled around my waist, and I raise my eyebrows as a whole new thought hits me. “You tucked me in,” I say, shocked.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Again with that gruff, angry voice.

My eyes rise to his, and I see it in his own gaze.

Reaper-boy fucked up. He was kind to me, and heknowsit.

I break out into a sly smile. “Aww, you don’t really hate me, do you?”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and a muscle in his jaw jumps.

“You nursed me to health once,” he says, “yet still you hate me. Don’t think too much on my small kindnesses.”

Kindnesses. Even he’s aware of what they are.

“Get up,” he says gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

“Wait,” I say. “So we’re not even here?” Whereverhereactually is.

He doesn’t answer me.

Famine stopped at some random house and tucked me into bed. All, presumably, so that I could sleep.

I follow Famine out of the room and through the house, the tile floor chilly against my bare feet. I should’ve realized sooner that this wasn’t our final destination. The floorplan is far too small.

I’m so focused on the cozy layout that I don’t notice the blood until I slip in it. I lose my bearings completely and go down. My elbow bangs hard against the floor, and the liquid soaks into my dress.

Just as I’m pushing myself up, my gaze connects with a set of glassy eyes. I barely have time to register that I’m staring at a dead man before I start screaming.

Famine’s arms go around my waist, and he sets me back on my feet. I begin to move, then slip again, and only the Reaper’s hold on me keeps me from going down once more.

Near the dead man is a second corpse—another man, I think, though I can’t be sure. The sight is too gruesome for my mind to process.

Famine steers me outside, where his dark horse is waiting, and I’m trying not to focus on the fact that blood is dripping from my dress and snaking down my skin.

We stop in front of his steed, and he nods to the beast. “Get on.”

Already the horseman’s scythe—the same one that must’ve cut those people apart inside—is strapped to the creature.

Slowly my eyes move to Famine’s.

I can’t do this.

“Ana—” he cautions.

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