Page 34 of Famine
My mind flashes to the bloody body in the living room and the mass grave outside. I might be brash and defiant, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to attempt an escape tonight. Famine is not exactly a man to test.
The horseman eyes me up and down. “You really should’ve stayed away. You may still be that same little flower who saved me, but then, I’m not known for letting flowers grow …”
Chapter 11
“Wake up.”
I start at Famine’s voice, my eyes opening.
He’s staring down at me, a scowl on his lips, like he’s angry I’m even here.
I blink blearily, glancing around at my surroundings, before my attention returns to the horseman.
“Have you ever heard of knocking?” I say, stifling a yawn.
“You’re my captive. You don’t get the luxury of a warning.”
“Mmmm …” My eyes drift closed.
“Wake. Up.”
“Unless you plan on cutting away these restraints—no,” I say, not bothering to open my eyes.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve slept with bound hands. However, it’sdefinitelythe shittiest time I’ve had with them. At least in the past I got paid for this sort of thing.
A moment later, Famine rips the covers off the bed. But if he thought to intimidate me, this isn’t the way. I’ve come to expect all sorts of weird shit when it comes to me and beds. What can you do? Hazards of my trade.
I hear the metallic zing of a blade being unsheathed. “You seem to have a shockingly bad sense of self-preservation,” he says.
I force my eyes open again, shaking off the last of my sleep so that I can focus on the dagger he holds. “You’re just mad I’m not more scared.”
The truth is, I decided last night that Famine isn’t going to kill me. I think. At least, not for the time being. That’s definitely emboldened me. The rest of my attitude is simple bravado. Another knack I’ve picked up since I became a lady of ill repute.
Famine grabs my wrists roughly and begins sawing away at the bindings.
I stare at him as he jerks at the rope. Today, he’s wearing his full regalia, his bronze armor polished to a high sheen.
“You smell like pig shit and blood,” he comments.
I raise an eyebrow. “Because I caresomuch what you think.”
If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m halfway enjoying not having to look and smell like a man’s wet dream. It’s a nice change of pace. Also, super low-maintenance.
“Keep going, little flower, you’re reminding me of all the reasons I despise humans.”
“First off, the name is Ana,” I say, sitting up a little. “Second of all,horseman, let’s not mince our words. You hate humans because long ago we were God-awful to you,notbecause you have a problem with my mouth.”
In fact, I know I have a nice mouth—or a naughty mouth, depending on who you talk to—but it’s well-liked, all the same.
He glances up at me, and I have to force myself to not be affected by his beauty.
Famine frees my hands then leaves my side. He crosses the room and opens a closet. Several dresses hang inside, the size and style of them making me think a teenager used to live in this room. I don’t let myself think about what must’ve happened to her.
“So,” I say, shaking out my wrists to get the blood flowing through them. “Didyou decide whether I get to live or die?” Because I have to ask.
“Do you really think we’d be having a conversation if I wanted you dead?” he says, yanking one of the dresses off its hanger.
I frown at the garment, suspicious that he grabbed it for me.
