Page 143 of Famine

A bronze vambrace covers his forearm, vines and florets hammered into the metal. I tug at it.

“Can you take this off?” I ask.

Wordlessly Famine does as I ask, unfastening the armor and tossing it aside. I push up his sleeve, my eyes catching on the glowing green glyphs that ring Famine’s wrists.

I trace the markings, my finger tingling a little, like simply the act of making the shapes holds some power.

This is a wonder. I get the oddest sensation, like the universe is coursing through him, and I just touched the very edge of it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

He mocked me for overthinking a minute ago, but now he seems starved for my thoughts.

“So many things,” I say.

“Enumerate them.”

“I think these look like shackles,” I say, turning his wrist back and forth as I stare at the markings, “but they’re beautiful and they remind me that you’re not human in the least, and I like that about you.” Quieter, I add, “To be honest, I like far too much about you.”

The alcohol has loosened my lips.

Famine stares at me with an unreadable expression. After a tension-filled second, he leans forward and grabs the back of my neck, pulling my lips back to his.

If I thought before we were a spark to kindling, it’s nothing compared to the raw intensity of us now. The Reaper’s fingers are tangling in my hair, catching on all sorts of knots as he angles me closer. I release his arm, my hands moving to either side of his face.

If he’s the universe, I feel like I’m entering it with this kiss.

He groans against me, and it’s the sexiest damn sound I’ve ever heard, mostly because I know how much it costs him, giving in to this strange human side of his.

His tongue sweeps against mine, and I can taste the alcohol on him.

This is a bad, bad idea.

I kiss him harder, uncaring. That light, airy feeling is back, like I might float away if he lets me go.

The truth is, bad idea or not, thisfeelsright. Famine has seen my ugly, angry side, and I’ve seen his soft, vulnerable one. I’ve fought him, cursed his name, I’ve even tried to kill him. This seems like the last option left to us.

His hands move back to my waist, lingering there only for a moment before moving lower.

He grabs my hips and stands, lifting me in the process. The chair behind him knocks over, and my thigh bumps against the table, and hardly any of it registers as my arms wrap around his neck.

Famine carries me away from the table, and I think he might be taking me back to his room. At the thought, my core clenches.

But before we leave the room, the horseman pushes me up against a wall, pinning me in place. Famine catches my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

“Tonight, I want none of your pretty human tricks,” he warns.

I exhale, leaning back against the wall. The way he’s looking at me, I feel flayed wide open.

“You like my little tricks,” I say, breathless, a smile tugging at my lips.

He squeezes my jaw a little tighter. “I’m not one of your weak-willed clients. I don’t want your posturing. I want the raw, angry woman who tried to kill me. The same woman who saved me.”

My throat works. “I … don’t have a lot of experience being genuine,” I admit. I lost my virginity at The Painted Angel. I’ve only ever done this professionally.

“And I don’t have a lot of experience being human,” Famine says, “but right nowboth of us are going to fucking try.”

I don’t even have a moment to look shocked before the Reaper’s lips crash against mine once more, his mouth somehow both angry and hungry.