Page 78 of Famine

“Well look who it is,” I say, “the asshole of the hour.”

He steps inside the room, quiet. It raises all the hairs along my arm, that silent prowl of his. The closer he gets to me, the faster my breath comes. I can make out his scythe. It’s strapped to his back, the blade arcing ominously over his shoulder.

The horseman makes his way to the bed.

The horseman drops something onto the mattress before reaching for one of my bound wrists, effortlessly pulling apart the material that held me captive for hours.

He leans over my body to reach for my other, injured arm, but he hesitates when he hears my hitched breathing.

“Are you … frightened?” His voice is so low it makes me shiver.

“You sound delighted,” I say.

Okay, maybe notdelighted, but definitely curious.

“I’ll be delighted when you actually stop fighting my every decision,” he replies, ripping apart my second makeshift shackle.

I shake my wrists out, trying to get the blood flowing back into them. “Then you’ll be delighted when I’mdead.”

“I’ll berelievedwhen you’re dead,” he says, gently moving my injured arm back to my side. The movement makes it throb something fierce. “You make even an immortal’s head pound.”

I scoff, sitting up as Famine grabs something from the bed. A moment later, some article of clothing hits me.

“What the—? Did you just throw—?”

“Put the dress on.”

“Thedress?” I pick up the wadded up garment and shake it out. “Wait, what?Why?”

The Reaper sighs dramatically. For an evil motherfucker, he is so over-the-top with the theatrics.

“Must you question everything?” he says. “Because I said so.”

I set the article of clothing aside. “Unless you force it on me yourself, I’m not wearing a damn dress.”

The truth is, I could put the dress on; it would probably look less ridiculous than the oversized, travel-stained nightgown I’m wearing, butfuckthis horseman and his demands.

Famine gives another long-suffering sigh. “Last time I’m going to ask nicely: Put. It. On.”

“No.”

In the darkness I swear I see that evil little smile of his make an appearance. “Fine.”

Fine?

I’m perplexed, even as he approaches me. But then he pulls his dagger from his belt.

“What are you—?”

He grabs my dress by the collar, and—riiiip. He drags the blade down the fabric. As he does so, the material parts, revealing my flesh beneath.

“What thehellare you doing?” I almost sound scandalized.

“That was your only dress, wasn’t it?” Famine says, like the asshole he is. “Pity it’s ruined. Now, put the fucking dress on.”

“You think I care about exposing myself?” I do. “I’ll walk around bare-breasted before I put—”

“Your shoes are going next.” He reaches for my boots, his blade still poised.

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