I stop and take a deep breath. I know Famine conceding anything is a big deal, and maybe on another day I’d be satisfied with his response, but after Heitor’s ass-grab, I’m fucking over being forced to fit into roles men have cut out for me.

“For this to work—truly work—you’re going to have to respect me,” I say, my back still to the horseman.

“A tall order from a human,” he responds.

I’m not angry, but I’ve had enough. I begin moving towards the exit again.

“But I suppose I can make an exception for you,” he adds.

I glance back at Famine, annoyance simmering just beneath my skin. But the Reaper’s eyes are full of mirth. He’s being playful, and for once playful doesn’t involve someone dying.

It’s that look, more than anything, that convinces me to stay. Not that I’m great company at the moment.

I all but stomp back to my seat.

“You’re in a fine mood tonight,” he remarks.

“You’re one to talk,” I snap back at him.

“My mood is great—or it will be, once I eviscerate our host.”

There’s a stretch of silence, then Famine adds, “You’re still upset that I let Heitor live, aren’t you?”

What’s the use lying? I am upset, and I am beyond caring if that makes me a shitty person.

“Among other things,” I say.

Famine raises his eyebrows, looking absurdly delighted. “Oh, there are other things you’re also upset about? How very fascinating. What a magic trick it is to earn a woman’s ire without trying at all.”

I glare at my plate. “God, you would make a fantastic human. You’d fit right in with the rest of my clients.”

“Watch your words.”

“Why?” I challenge, now turning my blazing gaze back on the horseman. “What could you possibly do to me that hasn’t already been done before? I’m tired of watching my words and watching my actions. I’m fucking done being careful so that other people don’t have to be.”

Abruptly I stand and pick up my delicate wine glass. I don’t know what I’m doing until I cock back my arm and throw it at the far wall. Glass shatters on impact and wine splatters across the embellished wallpaper, dripping down its length.

It feels good to destroy Rocha’s things, things that probably cost a fortune and that Famine is enjoying at the moment. It feels so good in fact that, caught up in the moment, I grab the tablecloth and yank it hard, sending food and dinnerware careening everywhere. Porcelain plates fall to the floor, shattering as they dump their contents. The sound of all that finery breaking is music to my ears. I can’t find it in myself to feel bad for my actions. Not today and not among the wolves I’m surrounded by.

Only once it’s all over do I face the horseman again, my breathing a little heavy.

“Finally,” Famine says, a smile curving the corners of his lips, “a hint of your fire.”

Chapter 28

The horseman stands, his chair scraping out behind him. A few pieces of food fall out of his lap as he does so, but he doesn’t seem to notice them.

He closes the distance between us, looking just as scary and intimidating as ever. The Reaper steps in so close our chests nearly touch, keeping eye contact the entire time.

I’m still angry, but now there’s this confusion to add to it. I assumed acting out would piss Famine off. Instead, he’s looking at me like I’m wine he wants to taste.

The horseman takes my hand, his own dwarfing mine, and then he leads me from the room. And damn him and damn me, but I go along with it as though I didn’t learn my lesson the first time with Heitor.

“What are you doing?” I say as he pulls me along, moving through the expansive house. “Aren’t you mad?” I ask.

“That you lost control? Little flower, I’m enchanted. Your antics have been the best entertainment I’ve seen in a while.”

Really now? Killing people suddenly got boring?

The Reaper and I leave the main building and cut through the courtyard.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To my room, of course,” he responds.

I stumble over my feet.

Famine glances at me and smiles secretively, like he knows exactly where my mind is.

My gaze goes to his lips, and a sudden, shocking realization hits me: I want to kiss him again. Not to tease him or to distract him, but to taste those lips again in earnest and to feel the press of his body against mine.

I’ve absolutely lost it.

“W-why?” I ask.

He gives me another loaded glance, and I feel that look right to my core.

“Would you rather I leave you at the door to your room?” he asks.

“No,” I say too quickly, and ugh, I want to cringe. I sound like a horny teenager.

The Reaper’s mouth curves up on one side and the world feels like it’s turned on its axis.

Famine stops at a door just down the hall from mine. He opens it, then holds the door open for me.

I step inside the room. The place is already lit by candlelight, the flames dancing in wrought iron sconces.

I move towards a side table that has a globe made entirely from inlaid stone. I spin it a little before my attention moves to the stack of books sitting next to it, their names painted along their spines.

“Why yes, please explore my room,” Famine says, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“Was I not supposed to?” I say, raising an eyebrow as I turn to him. “You invited me here, after all.”

Famine doesn’t say anything to that, which I take for capitulation, so I continue to peruse his quarters. I toe the rugs, eye the bar in the corner of the room, stare at the mounted paintings, touch a sculpture of a nude male with a huge phallus—clearly wistful thinking on the artist’s part—and eye the bed. The entire time I feel Famine’s gaze on me.

I keep waiting for him to make some sort of move; he’s the one who led me here after all. He was the one with desire in his eyes and suggestion on his lips. But he doesn’t even try to approach me.

So weird.

As he watches me, Famine begins to unfasten his bronze armor. And now my blood heats. This is what I’ve been waiting for.

It doesn’t take him long to remove it all. The sight of the horseman in his black shirt and breeches has me swallowing. The candlelight does nothing but heighten his beauty, dancing over his sharp jaw, high cheekbones and bemused lips. He watches me like a panther, arms folded over his chest.

The sight causes my heart to leap and my abdomen to tighten in the strangest way …

Still, I am reluctant to move to the horseman, now that I’m acknowledging my own desire. I don’t want whatever this is between us to echo every other experience I’ve had, but I don’t know how to make it different. That’s why, when my gaze snags on the Reaper’s bronze scales, I move over to them instead of the horseman.

I’ve only caught glimpses of this device since I started traveling with the horseman.

I step up to the scales, drawn in by their odd existence. The delicate circular pans are polished to a shine. There are a series of symbols etched onto each, and I think it might be the same markings that cover Famine’s body.

“Are you ever going to tell me what these scales are for?” I ask.