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My entire body jerks at the sound.

Dear God.

My hand moves to my chest. But the pain I expect to feel never comes. It’s only after I take in several frightened breaths that I realize I haven’t been hit.

Thwump. Thwump—thwump—thump.

Faster than I can react, Nick’s body seems to dance as it’s riddled with arrows. He grunts, dropping his gun and falling to his knees. His fingers go to his chest, where the arrows protrude.

I look over my shoulder at Pestilence, who’s striding towards us, his face filled with grim determination. “She is not yours to kill,” he says.

Turning back around, I crawl over to Nick and push the rifle out of his reach. My eyes move over his injuries, and my paramedic training kicks in. It doesn’t matter that I have a serious hate-on for Nick; I begin to assess his injuries all the same.

“Don’t … touch me … plague fucker.” Nick says between laborious breaths. “You’re nothing but … a goddamned … whore.”

I hear the strain of oiled wood, and when I look up, Pestilence has another arrow already notched, the point of it trained on Nick. “I let your poisonous words pass the first time,” the horseman says, “but I won’t a second.”

Nick heaves in a breath, the sound wet. “You and I … both know … it’s true. How many times … did she have … to suck your … cock before—”

The arrow hits him in the shoulder with a solid thump. He lets out a garbled shriek.

“Test me again, human.”

“Do it,” Nick goads. “It would be … a faster … death than … what you’ve … given my family.”

“Don’t,” I say to the horseman. He stopped Nick from shooting me. He’s no longer any sort of threat.

Pestilence walks over to the man and stares down at him, arrow still pointed. “If I know any mercy,” he says, “it’s Sara’s doing.”

If I know any mercy, it’s Sara’s doing.

Only days ago I’d told Amelia that the horseman was incapable of it.

You’re changing him just as he’s changing you.

Nick must want death because he says, “Fuck you and this cunt—”

The final arrow rips through Nick’s throat, and now he’s choking on his words, drowning in them.

“Vile human,” Pestilence says, looming over the dying man. “You could’ve spent your final breaths pleading for your family, but I see only hate in your heart.”

I can’t hear what Nick says, but I doubt whatever he mouthed at the horseman was particularly kind. It takes less than a minute for Nick to bleed out, and he leaves the world with a glare in his eyes.

My shoulders slump with exhaustion.

Pestilence slings his bow over his shoulder and kneels next to me, his hands skimming over my body. “Are you hurt?” he asks, concerned.

I shake my head, pushing myself to my feet. “I’m fine.”

The horseman takes me by the arm. “I was wrong, Sara, this cursed home is no place for even my wrath. Come.” He leads me to Trixie.

I eye the horse, then glance down at my icy feet. “Um, I need shoes … and my coat—and a bra. And everything else.”

Pestilence looks me over, from my borrowed pajamas down to my toes. I swear I can see him putting together what happened—how I was pulled from bed and led into the woods for a midnight execution.

Does he realize Nick wanted to kill me to hurt him? Does he understand human motives well enough to piece that together? And if Nick had been successful, would the horseman have even cared that I died?

Without another word Pestilence scoops me up.