“Yes,” I say, before I can even consider the fact that eating first might be the better option. After the night we had, alcohol sounds like a godsend.

Famine pushes off the wall, heading to the bar nestled in the corner of his room. There’s a crystal decanter already sitting out, and with a shock I realize that while I slept, the Reaper moved about the room. I should be mortified at the thought—especially considering what happened the last time a man entered my room while I slept—but all it does is make my stomach clench strangely.

Famine grabs a glass from beneath the counter and sets it next to his. Uncorking the decanter, he pours the amber liquid into both glasses. The Reaper takes his own glass, lifts it to his lips and throws it back, swallowing it in a single gulp. He pours himself another drink, then grabs both glasses.

I slide out of the bed and meet him in the middle of the room, taking the glass from him. Now that I’ve slept and Famine’s enemies are dead, the reality of last night sinks in.

I move to the bed, sitting down heavily on the mattress. I take a long drink of the liquor. It doesn’t burn as much as it should, so I take another drink—and another—my hand beginning to shake uncontrollably.

“I killed a man,” I finally say, my eyes rising to meet Famine’s. Dread rests like a stone in my stomach.

“I take it you didn’t enjoy the experience quite as much as I do?” he says.

A small, agonized sound slips from me. I cover my eyes and bring my drink back to my lips, swallowing the rest of it in one large mouthful. It’s smooth liquor, made all the smoother by my guilty conscience. At least it’s beginning to warm me from the inside out, easing away a little of that guilt.

“If it’s any consolation,” he says, “I appreciate all that you did to help me—killing included.”

I give him a hollow laugh … and then I start crying.

It begins as a hiccup, but quickly morphs into full body sobs. Once I start, I can’t seem to stop. This sadness has me in its grips. My hands still shake, and I killed a man, and so many more men are going to die, and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing or why I feel so compelled to help this demon—

“Hey,” Famine says, his voice going gentle, so gentle. “Hey.”

He comes forward and kneels in front of me. The horseman takes my glass from me, setting it aside, along with his own.

He spreads my legs apart, just so that he can move in closer, his armor rigid against my inner thighs. Then Famine takes my face in his hands, cupping my cheeks and brushing away my tears.

“Don’t cry.”

I lift my gaze to his, feeling miserable.

His eyes lock on a tear. He gives a fierce frown, his eyes agonized. “You saved me,” he says.

“Is that really supposed to make me feel better?” I say, my voice hitching. “You’re just going to kill more people.”

His brows pull together, like maybe this is the first time he even considered that to be a bad idea.

I let out a wretched laugh. “You give God a bad name.”

Famine forces out his own laugh. “You give humans a good one.”

My chest tightens at that, and for a moment, I’m distracted from my sadness by the memory of his lips on mine and the close press of his body.

Just as his body presses in close now.

The Reaper continues to stare at me, his gaze intense. “Too good.”

I think he might kiss me.

I’m not exactly in the best headspace for a kiss, but Famine’s looking at me like he’s willing to change my mind. His hands are still on my cheeks, I can feel the tickle of his breath, and his face is so close, so close. And then there’s his wild eyes and wicked mouth and now I’ve gone still, my guilt forgotten for a moment.

Just when I think the Reaper is going to lean in, he drops his hands instead.

“You must be hungry,” he says.

I feel a swell of disappointment, my misery crowding back in.

“I’m shocked that you’d remember I need to eat,” I say.

“In case you forgot, little flower, I’m Famine. Hunger is the one thing I never forget,” he says. He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” I say, letting him lead me out of the room, “my hunger has slipped your mind in the past.”

He ignores me, tugging me onwards, out of this wing of the estate. We cross the courtyard, Famine’s bronze armor catching the last bits of the fading light.

All over again the sight of him takes my breath away. He looks like some fabled hero with his staggering height and muscled form, all of it encased in mythic-looking armor. It’s almost impossible to fathom that less than a day ago he was dead.

The Reaper glances over his shoulder at me then, catching the wondrous look on my face. The corner of his mouth curves up into a sly smile and his eyes seem to dance. I think he might tease me, but he doesn’t. He simply flashes me a secretive look and faces forward once more.

It’s only after we enter the main building that I remember the men Famine ensnared in his plants.

I come to a halt, my eyes going to the thick green wall of shrubs that have sprouted from the ground. Since I last saw the men, the plants have flowered, and their vines have begun climbing up the walls, almost completely obscuring the foyer. Other plants have also taken root, draping themselves over the furniture, so the place looks like some strange fantasy landscape. Amongst it all, I don’t see a single body.

“Where are they?” I ask, my eyes searching the growing darkness.

“The men?” the Reaper asks. “I moved them.”

I turn my attention to Famine. “How?”

He arches a brow. “Even after everything you’ve seen from me, you still question my abilities?”

When I don’t respond, he says, “I had the plants move them.”

I grimace a little at the image.

“Why would you do that?” I ask.

“As much as I enjoy the sight of dead humans, I thought it might ruin your appetite.”

It undoubtedly would’ve, but when has that ever factored into Famine’s thought process?

That was … unusually thoughtful of him.

“You’re welcome,” he adds, because he can’t just let a kindness go without somehow spoiling it.

I stare at the foliage a little more, marveling at the odd sight now that I know there aren’t any bodies lurking within those plants.

“I was never particularly sympathetic to the plights of the living,” Famine says as we gaze out at the plants. “Even before your kind got ahold of me.”

I glance over at him. There’s something about the tilt of his face and the gleam in his eyes that reminds me of wild, untamed places. He was right when he said he had more in common with the mountains and clouds than he does with humans.

That doesn’t make me like him any less. If anything, his strangeness makes him more alluring. I know men, I know them far too well. What I don’t know is this being, with his unnatural powers and otherworldly mind.

The only thing human about him is his cruelty.

Taking my hand once more, Famine leads me out of the room. We cut through the dining room, and as I pass the giant table centered in the middle of it, I realize that it was only last night that I ruined the horseman’s dinner—much to his delight. That memory feels like a lifetime ago.