Re-holstering War’s dagger, I follow the rider out of the women’s quarter, the two of us making our way towards the horseman’s tent.

As we move through camp, I notice that weapons have been set out, and people are picking through them, finding which ones best suit them. I even see a child checking out a dagger. I shudder at the sight.

Among the cluster of people, I see the man from the first night who grabbed his crotch and pointed his dagger at me. He chats with a few other men, but their eyes follow me as I pass by. The crotch-grabber runs his tongue across his lower lip as he takes me in.

He hasn’t forgotten about me, which isn’t good.

This is one of the reasons why Rule Three—avoid notice—has made my list of guidelines to live by. When people notice you these days, it’s often for the wrong reasons. Too pretty, too wealthy, too vulnerable, too wounded, too sick, too stupid. You can become easy pickings for the wrong person.

I frown at the man and move on.

When War’s tent comes into sight, my heart begins to pound.

This is the first time the two of us will have talked since we traveled together, and my emotions are conflicted. The War I rode alongside was a halfway normal person. The War who manages this camp is a fearsome, conscienceless being.

And the truth is, I don’t even know the full extent of his power and cruelty, only that it’s capable of wiping out entire cities.

How much of New Palestine is gone? For that matter, how much of the lands east of New Palestine is gone?

Nausea rolls through me. That’s the man I’m dealing with. A horseman who has already killed off countless. A horseman who enjoys the carnage.

As soon as we near the opening of War’s tent, the phobos rider steps aside, leaving me to enter alone.

Inside, War sits on a chair, his fingers steepled and pressed to his mouth.

When he sees me, the horseman’s eyes come alive. My heart stutters a little at the sight.

Out of fear, not flattery. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The horseman stands and comes up to me, and he’s just as intimidating as ever. He reaches out to touch me, but I flinch away before he can.

Things are different now.

War frowns. “You slept in my arms only two days ago, and now you can’t bear my touch?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that the horseman sounded a tad wounded.

“I didn’t mean to sleep next to you,” I say.

“Didn’t you though?” he throws back at me. “I lavished your bed as best as I could, and still you came for me.”

“Stop rewriting what happened,” I snap.

He steps in close. “Am I?”

“I wouldn’t knowingly sleep with you,” I say. “Not while you’re butchering my kind.”

“I am doing what I must, just as you are,” he says. “Can you fault me for it?”

“Yes.” I damn well can.

“If you knew what lay on the other side of death,” he says, “you would know it is nothing to fear.”

“And what about pain?” I add.

“What about it?”

“If you don’t care about the fact that you’re killing us, what about the pain you’re causing us?”

“Your kind only feel it for a short while.”

I stare at him. He doesn’t get it. Pain is pain, and death is the end—maybe we go on in some other form, but it is an end. Our bodies die, and all those earthly hopes and dreams die along with it. He’s overlooking the fact that there’s worth in life itself.

I step back. “Why did you call me to your tent?”

“The fight tomorrow is not for you,” he says. “You are to stay here, in my tent. I will have all the amenities you might need.

Ah, so he is happy to kill people, but when it comes to me, he doesn’t want me touched by his violence.

Surviving is no longer good enough.

“What if I want to come along?”

War’s eyes narrow. He stares at me for a beat too long, and I have to fight the urge to fidget.

“What mischief are you up to?” he says.

“Why are you worried?” I say a tad defensively. “What could I possibly do?”

“You could die.”

“If you’re so confident God sent me to you, then surely you know He will spare me—or are you unsure after all?”

The horseman’s mouth curves up. “Challenging me will get you nowhere, wife.”

“Let me come.” So that I might kill all your loyal killers.

When he doesn’t respond, my gaze moves to his lips.

There are other ways of convincing the horseman …

Adrenaline spikes my bloodstream at just the thought. I know the horseman wants to kiss me. He wants that and undoubtedly more.

“Please,” I insist, trying again to coax the horseman with my words. “It’s only fitting that”—I hesitate over my next words—“your wife should be out there fighting alongside you.”

He scrutinizes me, but I swear he looks a touch convinced. His eyes drop to my lips, gazing at my mouth the same way I was gazing at his just moments ago.

Victory is within reach; all I have to do is—

Before I can think twice about it, I wrap my hand around the back of War’s neck, my fingers brushing against that dark, wavy hair of his. I was sure it would feel coarse—like the rest of him—but it’s soft. So soft.

War’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly at my touch.

Standing up on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his. The kiss is over before it’s barely begun—I’m not even sure something this brief could be called a kiss. Nonetheless, the horseman looks thunderstruck from it. Thunderstruck and hungry.

My hand slides from his neck and my heels touch the ground. “You’ll get another one if you agree to let me fight.”

War’s eyes are alight with want as he studies me. “I knew you were going to be trouble.” He looks away and runs a hand down his jaw. “This makes me twice as reluctant to let you go tomorrow. And yet …”

He turns back to me, a fierce edge to his features.

“Paruv Eziel ratowejiwa we, pei auwep ror.”

God’s hand protects you, but mine cannot.

My entire body shivers as the words pass through me, my knees weakening from the sound of them. The affect lingers for several seconds before dissipating away.

“What was that?” I say, rubbing my arm.

“Angelic—my native tongue.” He gives me an intense look. “Tomorrow I will not be able to shield you from battle. You will have to keep yourself safe.”

Holy crap, is he really going for this? Only minutes ago he seemed convinced I should stay out of the fray. Who would’ve known some cajoling and an itsy bitsy kiss could change all that carefully calculated consideration?

“So is that a yes?”

Instead of answering me, War reels me in, tilting my face up. Before I fully know what he’s doing, his mouth is back on mine.

His kiss isn’t anything like the one I gave him. I know it the moment our lips crash together. This kiss is raw desire, and it cuts me wide open. I haven’t been truly kissed in over a year, and even that experience pales to this one. War’s lips burn against mine as he crushes me to him.