Page 128 of War

Chapter 36

This time,whencamp is established and the tents go up, mine is missing, along with the rest of my things.

I know who’s behind this.

I storm into War’s tent. “Where is it?” I demand.

The room is full of phobos riders, all of them pouring over yet another map of yet another town they’re going to ravage. They glance over at me.

Uzair, the one who caught me killing his comrade in Arish, frowns at me while Hussain, the only phobos rider who has been kind to me, gives me an unreadable look.

But it’s War’s ominous form that manages to eclipse everyone else. Today he looks particularly savage, with his arm guards on and his chest bare, his crimson tattoos glowing from where they wrap around his pecs.

“Wife.” The kohl lining his eyes is especially thick, and it makes him look veryother.

“Where is my tent?” I demand.

“You’re standing in it.”

I narrow my gaze. “That isnotwhat we agreed to.”

“I do not negotiate with humans,” War says.

My gaze sweeps across the room again, and I take in all the faces of War’s riders. Suddenly I understand.

In Arish, I made the horsemen look weak among his men. Now he’s reclaiming his authority—at my expense.

Right now nothing I say will derail him. That’s obvious from his expression alone. Anything else I say now will only serve to make me look weak and whiny, and already these riders seem to have a pretty low opinion of me.

Giving War a final, lingering look, I turn to leave.

The horseman can make me live with him, but he can’t force me to stick around during the day.

“Oh, Miriam,” the horseman calls out to me just as I reach the tent flaps. “One last thing: tomorrow, when we head into battle, you will be riding with me.”

The next morningI wake to the feel of War’s mouth trailing kisses over my shoulder. The room is dimly lit by oil lamps. The two of us are naked, and I feel him hard against me.

His kisses move down my arm.

Thisis what I’ve feared about living with the horseman. How is a lonely girl like me supposed to fight this? It’s everything I’ve craved, and the devil next to me knows it.

“Surrender,” he whispers against my skin.

I stretch back against him. “You surrender.”

He groans, a hand gripping my hip. For a moment, he grinds into me. I feel him lean his forehead against my back, his breathing heavy. “I’m going to be damn near distracted today, imagining you right here, against me.”

Reluctantly, he gets up, and while I might hate who he is and the fact that he’s forced me to live with him, right now, I’m most upset that he’s left my side. How’s that for having your heart and your head at war with one another?

I really need my own fucking tent back.

“Come, wife,” War says. “It’s time to prepare for battle.”

The reminder sobers me up. More people are going to die today. First it was Jerusalem, then Ashdod, then Arish. Now, from the whispers in the air, it sounds like we’re attacking Port Said. I scrub my face, not ready to face another day of carnage.

Across the tent, War pulls on his black pants, and then his black shirt. This outfit of War’s is always the same, and it’s always in pristine condition in the morning, regardless of how mangled and bloody it might be the day before.

I grab my own shirt and pants, which aren’t nearly so clean, and I pull them on. I sit back down to lace up my boots, then I start donning my weaponry, starting with my bow and quiver.