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So be it.That’s also what he said right before he pressed his will on a room full of doctors and nurses and sick people.

I shiver again, ignoring the frustrated growl that leaves his throat. He stalks back to his horse and swings himself into the saddle. Even the click of his tongue sounds irritated.

The cart bumps as it rolls over the bodies. I grimace as it jostles my injuries, the pain so intense it closes my throat up, but it’s the thought of all those bodies that causes me to dry heave.

He gave those people a quick death; Ishouldn’tbe upset. It’s just that this time, he was angry when he killed them.

And I’m to blame for that.

For the first time, a dark, insidious realization creeps up on me—

Pestilence’s love for me might not save human lives. It might end them all the faster.

Chapter 48

The more kilometerswe put between us and the hospital, the more my horror fades.

Now what I’m remembering most viscerally are Pestilence’s cries as he was tortured, and the way those people had enjoyed his pain. I can still see the charred husk of the horsemanmovingtowards me,callingto me from the wasteland of his body.

What unimaginable pain he must’ve been in, and still he clawed his way to me. But he did more than that. I can remember Pestilence’s broken body as he carried me in his arms. Arms that were undoubtedly burnt away completely in places.

He endured all of that tosaveme.

By the time Pestilence pulls Trixie to a stop—in front of a mansion no less—I’m feeling sorrowful,penitent.

When he makes his way to the back of the cart, I can tell he’s expecting another argument. His shoulders are rigid, and his mouth is pressed shut. I can almost hear all the arguments and counter arguments he’s spent the ride thinking about.

But I don’t fight him.

Instead I open my arms.

He hesitates, clearly bewildered and unsure where I’m going with this. At last, he kneels and takes me into his arms, embracing me like I’m life itself. I hold him close, even though my chest feels like it’s getting shot all over again.

“I’ve never been more scared in my life,” I whisper.

He nods against me.

“For you, I mean.”

He pulls away to meet my eyes.

“I never want to see that happen to you again,” I say hoarsely.

Pestilence touches my cheek. “Nor I you.” Softer, he says, “I thought you weredead.” His voice breaks upon the last word.

I might’ve been, I think, remembering the strange vision I had of Thanatos.

He searches my face. “Never have I felt such … fear. It’s a horrible emotion.”

It is.

“And never have I felt suchhate.”

I don’t blame him—what those people did was sickening—and yet I quake at his words.

The horseman closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine. When he opens them, they’re pained. “This saving and dying business is becoming a disturbing pattern between us.”

“It is.” But I don’t want to dwell on that. I move my hand so that I can stroke his pretty lips. “Say it again,” I whisper.