This is all a joke to him. My pain, everyone else’s.

“You took everyone I loved from me the first time we met,” I whisper. “And then you did it all over again.”

He scowls. “That’s what I do, mortal. It’s what I will continue to do until I am called home.”

Famine takes me in for another second. Then, removing his boot from my chest, he reaches down and hauls me up. “I thought, however, that you were different from the rest of these parasites.”

Grasping me by the upper arm, he begins to haul me down the hall, pausing only to grab a length of coiled rope hanging from a mounted coatrack.

I struggle against him, letting out a frustrated noise when it gets me nowhere. For the life of me, I have no idea what’s going on. Famine has had several opportunities to kill me. He’s taken none of them.

Then again, maybe he’s simply drawing this out.

Famine jerks me into an empty room. Tossing me inside, he kicks the door shut behind us.

I hit the ground hard, my teeth clicking together. The Reaper stalks after me.

I scramble backwards, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m trapped in this room with an unearthly monster.

For a split second, the two of us stare at each other—hunter and hunted.

He’s going to kill me. I can see in his eyes just how much he hates us, how much he enjoys snuffing us out one by one. He’s still holding the scythe, along with the rope he grabbed.

Famine kneels down at my side, that painfully beautiful face of his illuminated by nearby oil lamps. As he does so, blood drips from his chest, where I so recently stabbed him. My gaze moves to his neck, which is also smeared in blood. Despite his earlier words, I did manage to hurt him.

The horseman grabs one of my wrists, and maybe it’s his touch or the look in his eyes, but the hairs along my arm stand on end.

“Let me go.” I jerk my arm against him, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

He grabs my other wrist, pressing my two arms together before he begins winding the rope around my wrists.

“What are you doing?” I struggle against him. Once again, it’s absolutely useless. He seems to have unnatural strength.

“I’m subduing you,” he says. “I thought that was obvious.”

Famine finishes winding the rope around my wrists, his expression placid. He leans back on his haunches and appraises me. “Will you try to kill me again?”

I pause in my struggle.

That’s what this is about? He doesn’t want me to get violent with him again?

I wait too long to answer.

A corner of his mouth curves up. “As I thought,” he says, taking my silence as a yes.

In all fairness, if given the chance, I will definitely try to incapacitate him again.

The horseman spends the next moment taking me in.

“For a man who’s scared of pussies,” I say, “you’re spending an awfully long time looking at me.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait.

“Tell me,” the Reaper says, leaning back on his haunches, “if you were in my shoes—if a girl who once saved you then tried to kill you were suddenly your prisoner—what would you do?”

This is the part where I die. Painfully. I did in fact squander my second chance at life.

I glare up at the horseman, defeated. “I can’t say,” I respond bitterly. “I’m not a monster.”

Those unnerving eyes continue to assess me.

“I have never made an exception for a human before,” he admits, “and I’m loathe to make one now.”

I can hear the but coming.

“But I’m afraid there has only ever been a single instance where a human saved my life. It, unfortunately, has made an impression on me.” He leans in close. “That should worry a feeble little flower like you.”

Don’t worry, buddy, it does.

He gets up, his green eyes still on me. “We’ll talk again in the morning.” Famine heads out of the room, but pauses when he gets to the doorway. “Oh, and if you try leaving this place, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

My mind flashes to the bloody body in the living room and the mass grave outside. I might be brash and defiant, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to attempt an escape tonight. Famine is not exactly a man to test.

The horseman eyes me up and down. “You really should’ve stayed away. You may still be that same little flower who saved me, but then, I’m not known for letting flowers grow …”

Chapter 11

“Wake up.”

I start at Famine’s voice, my eyes opening.

He’s staring down at me, a scowl on his lips, like he’s angry I’m even here.

I blink blearily, glancing around at my surroundings, before my attention returns to the horseman.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” I say, stifling a yawn.

“You’re my captive. You don’t get the luxury of a warning.”

“Mmmm …” My eyes drift closed.

“Wake. Up.”

“Unless you plan on cutting away these restraints—no,” I say, not bothering to open my eyes.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve slept with bound hands. However, it’s definitely the shittiest time I’ve had with them. At least in the past I got paid for this sort of thing.

A moment later, Famine rips the covers off the bed. But if he thought to intimidate me, this isn’t the way. I’ve come to expect all sorts of weird shit when it comes to me and beds. What can you do? Hazards of my trade.

I hear the metallic zing of a blade being unsheathed. “You seem to have a shockingly bad sense of self-preservation,” he says.

I force my eyes open again, shaking off the last of my sleep so that I can focus on the dagger he holds. “You’re just mad I’m not more scared.”

The truth is, I decided last night that Famine isn’t going to kill me. I think. At least, not for the time being. That’s definitely emboldened me. The rest of my attitude is simple bravado. Another knack I’ve picked up since I became a lady of ill repute.

Famine grabs my wrists roughly and begins sawing away at the bindings.

I stare at him as he jerks at the rope. Today, he’s wearing his full regalia, his bronze armor polished to a high sheen.

“You smell like pig shit and blood,” he comments.

I raise an eyebrow. “Because I care so much what you think.”

If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m halfway enjoying not having to look and smell like a man’s wet dream. It’s a nice change of pace. Also, super low-maintenance.

“Keep going, little flower, you’re reminding me of all the reasons I despise humans.”

“First off, the name is Ana,” I say, sitting up a little. “Second of all, horseman, let’s not mince our words. You hate humans because long ago we were God-awful to you, not because you have a problem with my mouth.”

In fact, I know I have a nice mouth—or a naughty mouth, depending on who you talk to—but it’s well-liked, all the same.

He glances up at me, and I have to force myself to not be affected by his beauty.

Famine frees my hands then leaves my side. He crosses the room and opens a closet. Several dresses hang inside, the size and style of them making me think a teenager used to live in this room. I don’t let myself think about what must’ve happened to her.