Page 64 of Famine

“Newsflash—” I say, “I’m going to want to sleepeveryday. Just like eating, it’s not really an optional activity for me.” Even though it clearly seems to be an optional one for him.

I shit you not, the mangrowlsin response.

“Also, I’m hungry,” I add.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Listen, asshole,” I say, my irritation spiking, “if you’re so determined to keep me alive, you need to fight your stupid base nature and actually help me meet my needs.”

He snarls again at my words. Abruptly, he seems to alter course, directing his horse through a nearby field. We trample over some nameless crop.

“What are you doing?” I ask, shaking off my sleepiness.

“Fulfilling yourneeds,” he bites out. “I can only take so much of your pestering.”

Convincing him was … easy enough. I feel a spark of apprehension. Maybe it was too easy.

The crops we pass whack our arms and legs as we pass them. I can’t see anything beyond them, not until the field falls away. Ahead of us I catch sight of a small, dark structure. We ride right up to it at full speed.

At the last second, Famine pulls on the reins, and his horse comes to a sudden halt, its front hooves lifting off the ground and pawing the air.

Everything this guy does has to be so damn dramatic.

Once the horse has dropped his feet back to the ground, the Reaper reaches down, unfastening the scythe he had strapped to his horse.

Weapon in hand, Famine swings off the horse and stalks towards the house. Only then, when I see his big-ass blade glinting ominously in the moonlight, does his awful little plan come together.

Awfuck.

Thisis how he means to meet my needs. By killing off someone else so that we can freely use their home.

Goddamnit.

I hop off the horse and rush after him. “Famine, please, let’s not do anything too drastic—”

The horseman lifts a foot and unceremoniously kicks the door in, the blow so intense I hear the metal rip from its hinges.

Inside, a woman screams.

Shit. Shit, shit,shit.

The horseman strides inside, looking massive and lethal, a sinister frown on his face. On the opposite side of the room an old woman cowers behind an ancient couch. I see a book on the ground, and one small oil lamp giving off weak, watery light.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” she says, her voice wobbly.

As soon as Famine sees the woman, he stalks towards her, and it’s obvious what he intends.

The elderly woman crosses herself, despite the uselessness of the gesture. The only divine intervention she’s going to get tonight is closing in on her, and he doesn’t give a shit about her life.

“Famine!” I rush after him, feeling panicked and useless.

He ignores me completely, his gaze glued to his next victim. She’s still crouched on the ground, babbling something now—maybe a prayer—but I can’t make out the words.

I grab the wooden staff of the Reaper’s scythe, but he shakes off my hold easily enough.

“Step away, Ana,” Famine commands, not casting me a glance.

Yeah, uh,fuck that.

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