Page 103 of War

“Tomorrow?” he repeats. “You mean for the battle?” The horseman narrows his eyes. “And here you had me convinced that you were trying to push for peace.”

I don’t respond to that. I’m afraid anything else I say might make War decide that keeping me out of the fight is the smarter option. It’s definitely the safer one.

But I doubt War’s mind even goes there. Not since I convinced him last time that his god would protect me.

He leans in close, resting his knuckles on the table, pinning me in. “Who, sweet wife of mine, do you plan on shooting with my bow and arrows?”

My jaw tenses. “Whoever crosses me.”

The corner of his lips curves up. “I knew you were going to be trouble.” His gaze drops to my lips. “But never mind that. That’s not why I called you here.”

My abs tighten. “I know why you called me here.”

“Good. Then no more talking.”

War doesn’t wait for me to respond. In an instant, his hand is cradling the back of my head and his mouth is on mine.

Embarrassingly, my knees weaken, and I grab onto the horseman’s forearm to keep myself upright.

War is a demanding kisser, his hands in my hair, his tongue insistent against my lips until I part my mouth and let him in.

He lifts me up and onto the table, setting me on its edge. “This morning, you left before we’d begun.”

Roughly, the horseman removes one of my boots, then the other.

“There’s no rush,” I say a bit breathlessly.

War’s hands go to my pants, unbuttoning them, and then pulling them over my hips and down my legs.

He gives a low laugh. “Oh, I don’t plan on rushing this.”

My panties come off next. The horseman kneels, pulling my hips towards him.

God, we’re doing this again.

“War—”

But then my words give way to gasps.

It’s a longtime before the two of us do much more talking. Hours and hours later. By then, we’re back in War’s bed, my body draped along his.

He runs his fingers down my spine. “Your skin is softer than I imagined,” he says, his eyes following his hand. “So soft, my mortal bride.”

I prop my chin on his chest. This close to him, I’m struck again by how …offhe is. He’s just a little too large, a little too ferocious, a little too captivating.

He doesn’t shine like I always imagined an angel might, and he’s obviously not pure and clean in the way that angels are depicted, but there’s something about him, something alien andother. Something decidedly not demonic, though I want to demonize him—or I used to want that anyway.

War sees me staring, and he smiles at me, his eyes amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed gazing at me just as much as I enjoy gazing at you.”

I take one of his hands and thread our fingers together.

“I do like gazing at you,” I admit. I bring his hand to my mouth, kissing his tattoos one by one. “And I like touching you.”

I shouldn’t tell him things like this, especially when they ring true to my own ears.

War’s face changes, subtly. Or maybe it’s simply his eyes. He wraps an arm around me and flips the two of us so that I’m beneath him. “Touch me all you like, wife.”

I trace his markings, suddenly feeling proprietary and unsure all at once.