Page 62

Grabbing the bottle next to me, I hold it out like a peace-offering.

After a pause where he’s surely considering the wickedness of alcohol and how stained his soul’s quickly becoming, he takes the bottle from me, pouring himself another drink. He’s heavy-handed, probably because he doesn’t realize just how potent the stuff is.

He looks at the label afterwards. “Johnnie Walker Red Label,” he reads. His eyes flick to me. “I saw you give this to that dying man.”

That first nameless man who I watched die of plague, he means. Pestilence noticed me giving him liquor?

“Drinking it helps with the pain,” I say.

“People don’t drink it to take away their pain,” he replies. It’s a statement, and yet I get the distinct impression that he’s probing.

“Sometimes they do.” But then, it’s not always physical pain they’re numbing themselves to. “But no, not always.” I bring the hand holding the glass to my temple and tap on the side of my head with my index finger. “Sometimes they do it simply to alter their state of mind.”

Pestilence is quiet after that. I let my eyes drift closed and pretend like I’m still blissfully enjoying a good soak and not acutely aware of his presence.

“You took care of me the same way you did your humans,” he eventually says. There’s something in his voice …

I open my eyes.

I catch Pestilence studying my face, his eyes bright with what looks like desire. At the sight, my chest begins to rise and fall faster and faster.

Whatisthis reaction? I don’t like him—Idon’t. It’s just that he’s handsome, and it’s been awhile since anyone has looked at me like that.

That’s all.

Well, that and the fact that his shirt is still hanging open from collar to navel, exposing his glowing tattoos and muscular torso. You’d have to be dead not to react to that sight.

He tears his gaze away to peer down at his drink. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”

He’s got really nice eyelashes. They’re thick and dark and long. I’m not sure I’ve ever noticedanyone’slashes.

Whyam I noticing Pestilence’s eyelashes?

I force my thoughts away from eyelashes and pretty godspawn.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that either,” I echo. What are we even talking about right now?

He nods companionably and brings his drink to his lips, taking two long swallows before grimacing. “This really does taste awful.”

I give a soft laugh. “Then why are you drinking it?”

He meets my eyes. There’s a lot of weight in them. “You have already altered my mind. I wish to alter itback.”

That’s not how it works, I want to say.

Instead, I take another drink. “I know what you mean.”

He squints at me, swirling the amber liquid around and around in his glass. “You were supposed to kill me, not help me.”

The lingering taste of whiskey sours in my mouth. I wash it down with the last bit of my drink.

“It won’t change anything, you know,” he adds.

“I know,” I say so quietly that I can barely hear the words themselves.

He’s still going to drive us onwards, infecting city after city.

The bath is getting cold, and I haven’t begun to wash off. Polishing off my drink, I set it aside and begin to scrub the blood and grime from my body, feeling Pestilence’s eyes on me the entire time. This time he doesn’t offer help to wash my back, and I don’t bother asking him for it.