Page 149 of War

The water rushes in—

I glance down at my fingers. “I don’t know how I survived. I really don’t. I thought I drowned in those waters.”

“But you didn’t,” War says, his voice soft.

I nod. “When I came to, I was onboard a fishing boat. The fishermen said they saw me floating in the water alone, far from any wreckage.”

“I don’t know what happened to either my mother or sister. I don’t evenknowif they’re alive.” My voice breaks.

War leans forward, cupping the side of my face. “I vow to you, wife, we will find what’s become of your family.”

I nearly stop breathing.

It’s what I’ve always wanted. What I could never quite attain when I was just a weapons dealer in Jerusalem.

War couldn’t give me a more precious gift.

Does he realize it?

My gaze slips down to his lips. I lean forward and kiss him. “Thank you.”

And then I show him I mean it.

Chapter 41

It’s been awhile since I stopped in to see Zara. A big part of my hesitancy has been trying to explain to her that I’m now banging the horseman that wiped out her hometown and most of her family. I can’t imagine that conversation going over too well. But I’ve put this visit off for too long.

As soon as I leave War’s tent, the dead congregate around me, smelling like a demon’s asshole and looking even worse. Death does no one favors.

I frown at them.

I begin to walk, and the zombies fall into formation around me like some sort of undead security force.

I pause. “War!” I call out behind me.

Several seconds pass, then the horseman steps out of his tent, his trousers slung low, his dark hair sex-tousled, his rippling torso highlighted by the morning sun. A cup of coffee is in his hand, and he wears a loose smile on his face, his white teeth stark against his olive skin. It’s gross just how gorgeous he is.

“Reconsidering seconds?” he asks, his eyes laughing at me as he takes a small sip. He’s not talking about breakfast.

I give him a reproachful look. “I have to be friends with the dead now?” I gesture to the zombies.

His smile widens a little at that, his eyes bright. “Consider it a working relationship.”

I huff, walking back to him, the revenants at my heels. “No one’s going to kill me.”

“I know,” he agrees. “Because no one’s going to want to come within five meters of those men.” He nods to the zombies.

Ugh. “I just want to visit my friend.”

War’s expression darkens. “The one who tried to kill me? The same one whose boy you forced me to save?”

I look heavenward for patience. “It doesn’t matter who I’m visiting. I need your word that the dead won’t come into any tents I enter—or hover too close by.”

The horseman scrutinizes me. “What is the point of having guards if they cannot be around to protect you?”

I want to tell him that the bodyguards were his idea, not mine, and that I don’t give a flying fuck whether I evenhaveguards. But knowing War, that kind of logic would land me with twice as many zombie nannies, all of whom would insist on entering Zara’s miniscule tent.

I rub my face. “Please War.” I drop my hand. “I’ll go along with your bodyguards. Just give me a little freedom. I need friends.”