Page 15 of War

He no longer wears his giant sword. In fact, the only weapon heiswearing is a needle-like dagger that’s strapped to his upper arm.

The executioner moves in front of me, forcing me to tear my gaze away from War. The man’s blade is so close that I could reach out and touch it, the steel thickly coated in blood.

Behind me, a soldier shoves me to my knees. Blood splashes as my knees hit the soaked earth. I cringe at the warm feel of the liquid.

I close my eyes and swallow.

“Death or allegiance?” the executioner demands.

It should be an easy answer, but I can’t force myself to say the words.

Despite everything, I don’t want to die. I really, really don’t want to die, and I don’t want to feel the bite of that blade.

Right now anything, even the thought of turning on my own brethren, is more tempting.

I open my eyes and look to the executioner. The man has dead eyes. Too much killing and not enough living. That’s what’ll happen to me if I choose to live.

Inadvertently my gaze moves to the horseman sitting on his throne.

The horseman, who caught me and spared me. Who called me his wife. He watches me now with captivated eyes. I know which answer he wants from me, and he seems almost certain I’ll give it.

The longer I look at him, the more unnerved I become. A shiver runs over my skin. There’s a whole unexplored world in his eyes, one that promises me dark and forbidden things.

I tear my gaze away from him and my wandering thoughts, my attention returning to that bloody sword in front of me.

Death or allegiance?

Be brave, be brave, be brave.

I glance up at the executioner and force out the one word I couldn’t only moments before.

“Death.”

Chapter 4

The executioner forcesmy head down, so that the back of my neck is bared for him. I don’t see him lift his sword, but I feel the warm drip of blood from it.

I bite my lip at the sensation.

This is not how I imagined my life ending …

“No.” War’s voice fills the camp. The sound of it is like a lover’s breath against my skin. It’s sinister, deep—so very, very deep—and the weight of it seems to echo across the clearing. Or maybe it’s simply the silence that falls in its wake.

Every rowdy, beady-eyed soldier goes quiet.

I glance up. The crowd seems to shrink back into itself, and their fear is a physical thing.

My eyes move to War, where he reclines on his throne. His gaze locks with mine, and suddenly, it’s as though we’re back on holy ground and he’s declaring me his wife all over again.

War’s eyes aren’t anything like the executioner’s. They are so very, veryalive. They burn bright. And yet, for all the life that fills them, I cannot say what the man behind them is thinking. If he were a human and I defied him, I’d expect anger, but I’m not sure that’s what he feels at all.

War lifts a hand and beckons me forward.

A soldier grabs me by the arm and leads me towards the horseman, only halting me a couple meters from his dais.

With a nod to War, the soldier backs away.

The horseman’s gaze rakes over me, and not for the first time, I register just how unnaturally handsome he is. It’s a vicious sort of beauty, one that only dangerous men have.