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“And why is Trixie Skillz your favorite thing?” I prod.

He sets his beer down. “Because he is a faithful, steady, and constant companion.”

“Those are good reasons,” I say.

“You’re talking down to me,” he says, his gaze thinning.

“I’m not.” I’m really not.

He must see the truth because his attention turns to the view and he continues. “I love the dawn—the birth of day. Snow makes everything easier on the eyes. Human food is either surprisingly terrible or surprisingly good—” he lifts his beer, “though sometimes, I will admit, it can be both at the same time.

“I find human clothes to be coarse, I like making fires, falling asleep is a troubling experience—but it is oddly enjoyable when you have someone to hold onto—”

Color rises in my cheeks.

“—and my favorite person is you.”

Now my face is flaming in the darkness.

“I’m theonlyperson you know,” I respond. I could be the shittiest person out there, and I might still be his favorite.

“I have metmanypeople. I assure you, you haven’t won the title by default.”

I don’t know what to say in the face of that kind of flattery. Not to mention that every time Pestilence admits something like this, my body goes haywire.

Hate having a crush.

But this is more than just some crush, and there’s no pretending otherwise. I like the way Pestilence talks, the way he thinks. I like his compliments, I like his consideration. I like his gallantry, his gentleness. I like him despite the fact that he’s bringing about the end of the world—and that is immensely troubling.

He looks down at his drink. “I don’t want to talk about myself anymore,” he says. His focus swivels to me.

“What?” I say.

“It’s your turn to tell me about yourself.”

Shit, he’s putting me on the spot.

I rub my thumb over the neck of my beer bottle. “You already know so much about me.” I talk about myself all the time when we’re in the saddle together, often simply to fill the silence. “What else could you possibly want to know?”

“Quote me more of your favorite poems. Tell me more of your life. It is all so very fascinating.”

See, that right there is proof that this dude needs to get out more.

“It’s not that fascinating.Iam not that fascinating.”

Even in the darkness, I see Pestilence’s eyes squint as he scrutinizes me. “Do you honestly believe that?”

Do I?

Sure, I had a cool job as a firefighter, but what really was there to my life other than work and my humble collection of books?

I let out a gruff laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then you are wrong.” Pestilence states this with such certainty. “You are compassionate to even the worst of your lot. You give aid to the dying. You care fiercely, so fiercely. These are no ordinary feats. And this is not touching on what you mean to me.”

My breath hitches.

“You have managed what no one else has: you have awoken my heart. So, no, Sara, of all the words I’d use to describe you,fascinatingwould definitely be one of them.”