I gasp in a breath. There’s water and fire and … and … and God the pain—the pain, the pain, the pain.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the memory. When I open them, it’s carefully tucked away again.

“Why does it matter?” I ask.

War’s deep eyes rise to mine. “It matters.”

I frown. “I was in an accident. I have other scars in other places.”

This, of course, is the wrong thing to say. War’s eyes grow avid; he looks like he wants to peel my clothes away and read my skin like it’s a roadmap.

His gaze moves up the column of my throat. Past my mouth and nose. I lock eyes with him, and neither of us looks away. I can see those flecks of gold in his irises. I can even see that right now, his eyes have been stripped of violence.

What’s left in them is pure desire.

My breathing speeds up and my core begins to throb, and I want him, I want him, I want him. I thought sleeping it off would change things, but it hasn’t.

His face is so close. Too close.

It’s me that closes the distance between us. Me who presses my lips to his. This is pure, unadulterated impulse.

So much for not pursuing him …

He tastes just as I remember. Like smoke and steel. And unlike the rest of his body, War’s mouth is pliant.

The kiss is supposed to be gentle, but the horseman hijacks it, crushing his lips against mine. He’s devouring me with the same intensity he has in battle.

He rolls us over so that I’m on my back and he’s above me, pinning me to the ground. He keeps his weight off me, but even still, he feels as solid and heavy as those tanks rotting in Jerusalem’s junkyards. Shamelessly, I grind against him, biting back a moan.

In the distance, I hear the slow clop of hooves, but my attention is intensely focused on War as his hand moves down to my chest and cups a breast.

I don’t mean to, but a breathy gasp slips out.

War breaks away from the kiss long enough to say, “Wife, I have not been living until this moment. You must make that sound again.”

Fuck, he noticed that?

Clop, clop, clop, clop.

The horseman’s lips return to mine, and his hand is back on my breast, and I am rubbing my pelvis against his like it’s a professional sport.

Clop, clop, clop, clop.

This is going to happen right here, right now. My dry spell will officially be over. I’ll deal with the fallout of this bad decision later.

A shadow rolls over us, and when I bother looking up, I notice War’s horse leaning over, snuffling the horseman’s hair.

Unlike Lady Godiva, War didn’t bother to tie up his steed out here. And now his horse just cock-blocked the shit out of this situation.

War breaks away from me. “Deimos,” he groans, sounding exasperated as he pushes the horse’s muzzle away.

Giving me an apologetic look, War rolls off of me to deal with his steed.

I sit up, dusting the dirt off my hair and clothes, feeling only a little chagrined at what I just did. I watch War interact with Deimos, petting the beast along his cheek and neck.

I’ve always thought the war horse, with his massive frame and blood red coat, was a frightening creature, but right now he seems more like a needy little kid, eager for his father’s attention.

Alright, horses might have a thing or two over bikes. Even if they poop everywhere.

I’m just about to wander over to where horse and rider stand when I hear some low sound. I squint at the road and see indistinct shapes right at that point where land meets sky.

Deimos wasn’t cock-blocking us after all. He was sounding the alarm.

War’s army is on the horizon.

Chapter 25

I step out of my newly erected tent that evening, armed with purpose.

Outside, the forlorn little spot War and I camped out in is now covered with tents as far as the eye can see. The private moments we had here only hours ago have been replaced with people and industry.

I feel a brief pang of loss, but it quickly fades, replaced by my growing nerves.

I bite the inside of my cheek, my eyes going to the horseman’s tent. I’ve come up with a plan of sorts. A cringe-y, half-baked plan, but a plan nonetheless. One that makes my stomach drop a little every time I think about it.

At least it will stop making you feel so torn—if it works.

War is going to invade the next big city in another day or two. I need to make this happen before then.

I take a single step towards his tent, then hesitate.

My plan could wait until tomorrow …

Then again if I put it off, it might never find the courage to do this again.

I begin to head towards War’s tent, my heart in my throat.

The night is warm and still, and the sounds of camp surround me—the dull purr of torches, the distant bellows of laughter, the soft flutter of canvas. If our circumstances were different, these noises would be comforting.

God, am I really going to do this?

The phobos riders who are normally standing guard around the area are gone. I approach the tent, and from inside I hear several voices talking.

I hesitate, twisting my clammy fingers together, my breath coming too fast.

Now might really be a bad time for this.

The low murmur of the horseman’s voice drifts out from inside, and my stomach clenches.

I can still turn around. He would never know.

Be brave.

I pull the canvas flap aside just the smallest amount.

Inside, the horseman listens to his men as they strategize how to best invade Arish, the next city on his list apparently.

“The ocean blocks the city from the north, the desert from the south,” a phobos rider says. “We’re coming from the east, leaving civilians only true escape to the west. It might be best to split the army and come at it from both ends.”

I frown at the man talking. He’s speaking of how to best annihilate an entire city.

War studies the topography, his chest bare, his tattoos glowing like rubies.

“There’s also Highway 55 to think about,” a female soldier says, moving her finger over a section of the map. “It does lead to the desert, but if people are desperate enough, they will use it to flee south—”

A hand wraps roughly around my upper arm.

“Spying on the warlord?” a man growls from behind me.

I turn and catch sight of yet another one of the horseman’s phobos riders. Uzair I think his name is. He’s got an especially mean look about him.

He shoves me inside War’s tent. The horseman and the other soldiers look up at the commotion.

“I found your woman lingering outside the tent. She was listening to your plans,” Uzair says.

War’s eyes flick over me before moving to the man. “Go.”

The rider hesitates. Clearly, he thought he was going to get a pat on the shoulder for ratting me out.

He gives War a stiff bow and leaves.

The remaining soldiers are watching the horseman, waiting on his cue before they act.

War jerks his head towards the flaps of the tent. Wordlessly, the lot of them file out. As they go, most of them give me hard looks.

I haven’t earned any allies amongst his men.

The horseman stares at the tent flaps for several seconds even after everyone has left.

“If you wish to know my plans,” he finally says, “you only have to ask.”