Page 31

“Where you look is your concern.” He steps up to the fire and seriously, I can’t even stress how hard it is to not lookthere.

Really, reallyhard. (Bet the horseman wouldn’t getthatjoke.)

My brain is slow to process the fact that Pestilence is using the heat of the fire to dry himself off. Which means that he’s going to be standing here for a while.

Time for me to skedaddle.

Just as I’m about to leave, the horseman beats me to it. He turns and begins walking out of the room, his tightly coiled muscles rippling with the movement.

“Lay down on the couch and take off your shirt,” he orders over his shoulder as he retreats.

I freeze at the command.

He’s naked, and now he wants me to undress …

What in the world?

To be honest, I’m more baffled than anything else. I didn’t get sexy-time vibes from Pestilence—despite the fact that he was happy to prance around in his birthday suit. Not that it stops me from grabbing the fireplace poker. I will beat the crap out of this guy if he does try anything.

I’m just … stupefied at the idea.

I tense when I hear the horseman’s footfalls coming closer. A moment later he enters the living room. My muscles relax an iota when I see he’s donned his black clothing. He’s even put his boots back on. The only thing missing is his gold regalia.

For all his threats about remaining naked, the horseman has poor follow through.

In one of his hands he clutches a small item.

Pestilence pauses when he sees me, my shirt very much on, iron poker in my hand.

He sighs. “So be it.” Taking several long strides, he crosses the room.

I swipe at him, and just like all those idiot horror-movie victims, it does nothing. Pestilence plucks the poker from my hand and grabs the back of my neck, hauling me over to the couch. He throws me face down onto the sofa, and then his knee is pressed against my back.

“Humans,” he mutters.

My breathing is coming in heavy pants. I buck, but it gets me nowhere.

A moment later I hear material rip as Pestilence tears the back of my shirt open.

The horseman’s fingers hook beneath my linen bandages, the pressure causing me to jerk from a sudden burst of pain as my wounds wake up, and then he begins ripping through those too. He tears the linen apart like it’s nothing more than tissue paper.

The processhurts. I don’t think Pestilence is deliberately trying to harm me, but every brush of his knuckles or tug against my skin flares up my wounds.

At some point, it ends. Goosebumps break out across my skin as the cold air of the living room kisses my flesh.

There’s a pause, and then the horseman’s warm palm brushes against my skin. His touch is only there for a moment.

“Sit up,” he orders.

What?

Clutching the remaining tatters of my borrowed shirt to my chest, I do as he says.

“Shirt off,” he says, sounding vaguely annoyed.

I let out a shuddering breath.

I don’t want to do as he asks if only because, despite how open he is with nudity, I’m not. But now … I’m remembering the way my body dragged across that asphalt, and the remorseless look in Pestilence’s eyes the last time I disobeyed him.