Page 74 of Famine

The Reaper stalks towards his horse, not waiting for me to follow.

I stare after him for a moment, before I pick up my discarded dress and clumsily pull it back on, gritting my teeth when I have to move my injured shoulder. My belt is equally difficult to secure, but this time the horseman doesn’t try to help.

“Ana,” he calls out again, clearly irritated that it’s taking so damn long for the injured woman to dress herself.

Famine may have his moments of kindness, but he is still such an ass.

My gaze drops to the bottle of spirits lying on the ground. Over the last five years, I’ve drank precious little liquor, and what little I did drink was done far, far away from The Painted Angel. Elvita had a strict rule against drugs and alcohol, one she forced all her girls to comply with.

But now Elvita is gone.

I pick up the liquor bottle and tip its final remnants into my mouth, enjoying the harsh burn of it.

Another thing I’m going to read into: the fact that at some point, Famine managed to find better alcohol to clean my wound with, and hepackedit. That’s a level of consideration I can’t even imagine the horseman having.

“Ana.”

I drop the bottle and head back over to Famine, letting him help me back onto his steed. When he joins me in the saddle a moment later, I jolt a little at the press of his body against mine. And when his hand drapes itself over my leg, I feel awfully happy about it.

Please, God, tell me that’s just the alcohol’s doing.

It’s quiet for one tense, long minute.

“So,” I finally say, “are we going to talk about what just—”

“No.”

“Not even—”

“No.”

“But—”

“Damn you, Ana—no.”

Someone’s uncomfortable about tending to me.

I smile a little. “Awww, I think you don’t half mind my company.”

“You’re making me reconsider.”

“Nonsense.” I lean back against the horseman, letting myself enjoy the feel of him around me. “And guess what? I don’t half mind your company either.”

This really had better be the alcohol’s doing.

Chapter 21

In Registro, the next big city we ride into, people line the roads of the old, crumbling highway, waiting for Famine. They cheer when they see him, their faces jubilant.

My stomach curdles at the sight, and for a moment my horror is so strong I feel like I’m choking on my breath.

What have they been told? That the horseman is going to spare them? Or did they just make that assumption like our town did? That maybe if they throw enough valuable items in his direction, he’ll forget his purpose and skip them over.

Either way, Famine has too much hate inside him to do anything but kill, kill, kill.

Most of our audience’s eyes are fixed on Famine, who is a head taller than me in the saddle. However, I get plenty of looks too. I can tell they’re trying to figure out how I factor in. One or two of them meet my gaze, and they tentatively smile at me.

Don’t be so reassured, I want to shout at them.I can’t stop him either. My shoulder throbs then, echoing my thoughts.

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