Humankind is desperate enough, stupid enough, courageous, self-sacrificing enough—

Vindictive enough.

Because at the end of the day, even if humans can’t stop him, they can at the very least make him regret landing on God’s green earth.

They. The pronoun stops me cold. That last thought, I had said they, not we. I cut myself out of the group.

It’s another one of those moments, where the axis of my world tilts.

This whole time I’ve been so focused on how I’ve changed the horseman that I haven’t been paying attention to how he’s changed me.

“I’m not your prisoner,” I whisper.

Pestilence’s touch stills. He doesn’t respond.

“I’m not,” I insist. “Not anymore.” I’m drawing a line in the sand.

The edge of his mouth curves up. “Accept my proposal then.”

His mood is light—sex has a way of doing that—but I’m in a somber mood.

“I’m serious, Pestilence. Earlier today I stole a man’s gun and threatened him with it. I would’ve killed for you if I needed to.” That admission hurts coming out. “So no, I am not your prisoner,” I reiterate, “not any longer.”

For a long moment, he says nothing.

“Alright,” Pestilence finally agrees. “You’re no longer my prisoner.”

The truth is, I don’t think either of us knows what I am. I may no longer be his prisoner, but I doubt I could freely walk away from him either. At this point, I’m conceding to the realization that I don’t want to walk away, that I care for this terrible, wonderful being.

“What’ve you done to me?” I whisper, searching his face.

I set out to destroy this man, not to protect him.

“The same thing you have done to me, I imagine,” Pestilence says, brushing a lock of my hair aside. “You want your people to live, but you’re unwilling for me to be harmed. I want your people to die, but I cannot harm you. Each of us is trapped between our minds and our hearts.”

“It’s not the same,” I say, hoarsely. “You’re only saving me because God sent you a sign.”

Pestilence brushes a kiss against my temple. He’s shockingly good at cuddling.

“God might’ve interceded on your behalf once,” he says, “but He hasn’t needed to since. You are mine, and nothing—nothing—will change that.”

Chapter 42

We’re out by dawn, and it isn’t long after that Pestilence starts prodding me to recite another poem.

What are the chances that I’d find a man who likes poetry?

Since he liked “The Raven,” I dredge up “Lenore.”

“‘… Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung! An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young …’”

I don’t even get all the way through the end of the second stanza of Poe’s “Lenore” before I realize that Pestilence isn’t paying attention. And after he made such a fuss about hearing a poem, too.

“And so,” I continue, “the banging chick Lenore died and people apparently weren’t super sad because she was the shit and they hated her for that and now you want to kill everyone because we’re all A-holes of epic proportions.”

I pause, waiting for Pestilence to say something, anything, but he doesn’t.

I sigh.

The horseman strokes my belly absently with his thumb, lost in thought.

“Have you thought about children?” he says, rousing from his reverie.

The question takes me by surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“Children,” he repeats.

“What are you talking about?”

“We’ve had unprotected sex—twice. I may be new to these parts, but even I know the purpose of reproduction is to reproduce.”

A sick wave of vertigo washes over me. I put a hand to my head.

I hadn’t once thought about using protection.

And now …

Oh, shit.

“Can that happen?” I ask. “Between us, I mean.”

He’s not human, I reassure myself, and a bit of my unease retreats. Biologically, we’re not programmed the same way.

Right?

“I don’t see why it can’t,” he says. “I can eat and drink and make love just like a mortal. Perhaps I can sire a child just like one too.”

Whelp, there goes my nice, calm morning.

“But you don’t know?” I ask, my voice rising.

There’s a brief silence, then, “Sara, I sense you’re afraid of the possibility.”

Ding—ding—ding! You guessed correctly.

He continues. “For a woman who so eagerly takes my flesh into hers—”

Jesus. My cheeks heat.

“—you’re awfully reluctant to deal with everything else that comes with the act.”

I am, aren’t I? But in my defense, we’re talking about a child.

He would protect it, just as he has you.

That’s beside the point, brain. Don’t be an idiot on me now.

Awesome, I’m debating with myself. Pretty sure that makes me certifiably crazy.

“Have you thought about it?” I ask Pestilence, rather than addressing his comment.

“I have.”

I wait, but he doesn’t say more.

“And?” I finally prompt.

“And I find the possibility … thrilling.”

It thrills him? My lady parts are waaaay too happy about that.

“As you might imagine,” he says, “my excitement greatly disturbs me. I am killing your kind. What happens if I am father to one?”

I really want to clear my throat because, uh, dude’s also banging one, and isn’t that reason enough?

“It could be immortal,” I say, though I’m more asking this than anything else.

“It could be,” he agrees, and my stomach bottoms out at that.

I could give birth to a deity-thingy. A godspawn.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Noooooooooope.

This conversation is quickly going from uncomfortable waters to my-vagina-is-mutinying-it-doesn’t-matter-that-you’re-sex-on-legs-well-okay-maybe-it-does-a-little-nevermind-my-vagina-is-cool-with-it.

That’s what happens when you’re upsettingly pretty. My libido gets stupid—correction, stupider (because let’s face it, on a normal day my libido is still a bimbo).

“But it could also be mortal. Human,” he says. “And I will have created it, I who have been tasked with the destruction of your kind.”

That boy out there has seen a lot of human nature, the bulk of it ugly. He’s only now seeing the beauty of it, and largely through you. … Show him humanity is worthy of redemption.

Ruth’s final words ring in my ears.

Pestilence is straddling two warring natures—his divine one, which demands we all die, and his mortal one, which doesn’t want to kill us, perhaps it even wants to save us … And each day that he’s with me, his mortal nature strengthens. I am strengthening it. The thought fills me with no little wonder.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” I ask.

His lips brush the shell of my ear. “What shall come to pass is to be seen. One thing is certain: I cannot stay away from you.”