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Still, it takes a surprising amount of willpower to tear myself away. I stumble back, and I pretend that it’s just the sand that has me weak in the knees.

Pestilence is breathing hard, his chest rising and falling laboriously. He takes a step forward, his eyes locked on my mouth.

Wants to pick up where we left off.

At the last second, he seems to come to himself. He scowls, his icy blue eyes meeting mine. “You will not try to kill yourself again.”

“I wasn’t trying—”

“Do not defy me, Sara!” he bellows. Then, softer, “I won’t let you die.”

Pointless to explain myself. Pestilence is willing to believe that I tried to poison him with alcohol, but he won’t connect the very obvious dots that I poisoned myself with the stuff.

“Fine,” I say, my voice twisting over the words. “It won’t happen again.”

He nods, his eyes going back to my lips. “Good—good.”

Try number twoto leave the island goes better than the first one. This, of course, is after we make our way back to the house and I warm myself up on another hot bath and another set of dry clothes—this all on Pestilence’s insistence.

It comes as a particularly unpleasant shock to me that the horseman cares about my well-being. I mean, I’ve known since he took me captive that he wants me alive, but this feels … different. And I’m not sure I like it.

I trickle my fingers over my lips. I can still feel the press of his mouth against mine, and though the two of us haven’t talked about What Went Down, it’s right there between us, lingering like an unwanted guest.

After we leave the beach house, we resume our travels along the water. Pestilence makes a big deal about keeping one arm firmly locked around my midsection. It’s as hilarious as it is ridiculous.

If I wanted to kill myself “again,” I’d hardly try the same failed tactic.

The wind tears at us, and even wearing layers of warm clothes, the chill somehow manages to wriggle its way in. It’s made all the worse by the fact that my torso is no longer cloaked in layers of bandages, my back injury healed enough for me to forgo them. I hadn’t realized until now that the gauze had somewhat insulated me.

I shiver, the action causing Pestilence to pull me closer.

“You will tell me if you get too cold,” he orders, his breath warming one of my ears.

I give him a thumbs up. “Sure thing.” Not going to fight him on that one.

We hug the coastline as we head south, staying far enough away from land to avoid direct contact with people, but close enough to make out the details of the shoreline to our left. Every so often we see a sailboat or a canoe, but even those are a ways off.

It’s late afternoon by the time the clouds part and the sun shines down on us. It heats my hair and reflects off the water, and before long my scalp and face feel tight. I wouldn’t be surprised if, by nightfall, my skin is a particularly unflattering shade of red. That’s not the only thing bothering me.

I shift uncomfortably on Trixie Skillz.

“Hey Pestilence,” I say, “I need to use the shitter.”

His hand squeezes my hip. “Human, you are speaking in tongues.”

“Thelatrine,” I clarify, my voice mocking.

“Ah.” He totally misses the fact that I’m making fun of him.

He tugs on the reins, turning his horse towards land. Twenty minutes later, the rippling water beneath Trixie’s hooves is replaced with solid ground. I breathe a little sigh of relief to be back on land.

Around us, evergreens stretch as far as the eye can see. Wherever we are, there’s not a hint of human life to be found.

I’m just accepting the fact that I’m going to have to pee in the woods when we find a paved road, and then, a short while later, an outpost.

The woman manning it takes one look at us and bolts, nearly tripping over herself trying to get on her bike.

I find a sad excuse for a bathroom behind the building and use it. When I come back out, Pestilence is strapping blankets and what looks like tent poles to the back of Trixie’s saddle.