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I can feel his sweet agony in the kiss. He leans his forehead against mine. “This is misery, Sara,” he repeats. “But it is the sweetest misery I have ever felt. I don’t want it to stop.”

I hate myself a little when I say, “It won’t.”

It’s the middleof the night before we come across a house. We’ve already passed through a city, so it’s not like there weren’t other options, but driven by whatever supernatural force controls him, Pestilence pressed on without stopping.

As I dismount, I squint into the distance. Perhaps it’s just my imagination, but I swear I see faint specks of light. Another city? At the thought, some residual fear from Vancouver rises up. I can still hear the gunshots, see the panic, and feel Pestilence’s warm blood against my skin.

The horseman passes me, his armor and weaponry clinking dully as he makes his way to the front of the house.

He grabs the doorknob and twists, cleanly breaking the lock. The door swings open, creaking as it does so.

“You know, you could always try knocking,” I say.

“And allow your fellow humans to grab their guns? I think not, dear Sara.”

Pestilence steps inside, not bothering to mask his entrance.

Farther in, I can hear furious whispering, and then stumbling footfalls.

“Whoever you are,” a man hollers, “you have one minute to get the hell out of my house. Otherwise, I’ll blow a fucking hole in your head.”

I glance at Pestilence’s form. “Seems like the guy’s going to grab his gun anyway.”

It’s too dark to see the horseman’s reaction, but I already know he wears a grim look. I hear rather than see Pestilence grab his bow and notch an arrow into it.

The man’s footfalls get louder as he gets closer. He must be carrying an oil lamp because our surroundings subtly brighten. I can make out a cluttered living room with odds and ends stuffed into every nook and cranny.

Just as the man steps onto the entryway, his oil lamp coming into full view, Pestilence’s bow makes a small twang. A second later, the man across from us lets out a shout, dropping something heavy—something that suspiciously sounds like a gun.

“What the fuck!” he yells.

With another slick sound, a second arrow is notched into Pestilence’s bow. “Move for the weapon, and my aim will be a little better.”

The man lifts his lamp a little higher, getting a good look at the horseman. He curses as he recognizes him.

“Get the hell out of my house!” he roars.

I take a step back, the force of his words enough to drive me out into the night. Pestilence grips my upper arm, keeping me in place.

“We mean to stay,” the horseman says.

“Like hell you do!”

From the hallway I hear more voices. I close my eyes when I realize this is another family. More children I’ll have to watch die. Another set of footsteps heads our way.

“The devil will dance on my grave before I hostyou,” the man says to Pestilence. His eyes slide to me. He gives me a cruel, mean look, like I’m less than the dirt on his boot. “You and your whore.”

In the next instant, Pestilence takes two strides to the man. Grabbing him by the neck, he slams him against the wall, causing the drywall to buckle.

A woman—clearly this man’s wife—steps into the foyer, a scream catching in her throat as she takes in Pestilence and then her husband, who’s currently in his clutches. She covers her mouth, her eyes darting back down the hallway where her children are.

“It is one thing for you to insult me,” Pestilence growls, ignoring the woman altogether, “another for you to insulther.” He jerks his head my way. “One will earn you my ire, the other, a painful death.” He squeezes the man’s neck tight enough to hear him choke. “Do you understand?”

“Get—out,” the man says.

Pestilence shakes him a little. “Do you understand?” he repeats, a dangerous edge entering his voice.

The man glares at Pestilence, his expression full of malice, but he holds his tongue and nods.