Page 30 of Famine

“I won’t leave you,” the horseman says fiercely. For a moment, he sounds like the Famine I got to know last night. Someone who seemed to have a heart. “Get on my horse. Come with me. Please.”

I don’t take the rose. “I healed you, and you killed everyone I loved. Fuck you and your rose. Just … go.” I begin to weep.

It’s all finally starting to process.

Oh God, is it processing.

After a long minute, the horseman sets the rose on the broken ground in front of me.

“I won’t force you to stay with me. Not after …” He glances off in the distance, his eyes unfocused. He blinks away his thoughts, his attention returning to me. “Your choice is your own, but if you care for your life at all, then you should come with me.”

And witness more death?

I’d rather take my chances in this rotten world.

My gaze meets his.I should’ve never helped you.

The horseman must see it in my expression because, for an instant, something flickers across his features. I’d say it was regret or surprise, but who knows?

It’s enough to drive him towards his horse. He mounts the steed, sliding the scythe into a holster at his back. Clad in his armor and astride his horse, he doesn’t look like a villain. Not at all. It’s enraging.

“Goodbye, little flower,” Famine says, his gaze heavy on mine. “I will not soon forget your kindness.” He flashes me one last long look, then rides off.

Chapter 10

Present

Even now I taste bile as I recall the memory.

“You,” the horseman says. His gaze searches mine. “I had wondered …”

“What happened to me?” I say, finishing his sentence for him. “I survived.”

“I’m glad.” Famine takes a deep breath, the action jostling my blade. He settles himself into his chair, like he’s getting himself comfortable; it’s clear that whatever memory he has of me, he thinks it’s going to spare him.

My anger rises like the tide. “How I hate you,” I whisper.

“And yet you haven’t dragged the knife across my throat,” he says.

“Is that a dare?” I whisper against his ear.

My hand itches to do that very thing. To see his immortal blood spray from his neck. To see his pain. That’s why I’m here.Revenge. There’s nothing else left for me.

“Do it, flower,” he taunts, echoing my thoughts.

“Don’t call me that.”

I dig the blade in, the endearment only making me angrier.

Finish this, I urge myself. Still, I hesitate.

It’s just that I’ve never killed anyone before.

Would it technicallybekilling if the horseman didn’t die?

I should definitely find out. I owe it to Elvita, to my aunt and my cousinstofind out.

I press the knife in deeper, watching as more blood slips over the blade.