War (The Four Horsemen, #2)(31)

Please don’t miss.

I take a steadying breath then release the arrow.

It goes wide by a meter.

Nocking another arrow into the bow, I aim again, this time correcting for the distance. Pulling the bowstring back, I release the arrow.

I don’t hear the sickening thump of it hitting the woman’s stomach, but I see the arrow skewer her. It’s a wound she might survive, but I don’t bother following up with her because ten meters down the street, a man is trying to pull down a woman’s pants.

I might hit her …

The thought doesn’t stop me from aiming and firing. The man’s body recoils as the arrow strikes him just beneath the heart. He staggers forward, onto the screaming woman. She pushes his body away from her and runs, not looking back to see where deliverance came from.

On and on I shoot from the perch until I run out of arrows.

I leave my vantage point, heading back down the building. I’ve just walked out the front entrance when War rides down the street, his sword bloody. People are screaming and scattering.

Another gun goes off. I don’t have time to see the shooter or wonder at the fact that the firearm actually works. I’m too busy watching War as the shot blasts into him. His body jerks back, the force of the hit throwing that mountain of a man off his steed. His mount continues to charge forward, leaving him behind.

The horseman lies unmoving on the ground, those golden hair pieces dull in the hazy light.

Is he dead? He said he could die.

My skin tingles strangely at the thought. Whatever it is I feel, the emotion is more conflicted than it should be.

War begins to move, and my thoughts banish themselves. He pushes himself off the ground, rising to his feet once more. A malicious smile spreads across his face.

Now I turn to look at the woman holding the gun. Her hand is steady, though her eyes are wide. She’s a little older than me, and the hijab she wears billows in the breeze as she trains her weapon on War. And then she resumes pulling the trigger.

The bullets light up his body, jerking his frame left and right as he strides forward. He spreads his arms and laughs like a crazy fucking bastard as the shots pierce his armor and sink into skin. His blood drips in thick rivulets from the wounds, sliding down his body.

I stare at him in horror.

Dear God, he really can’t die.

The woman shoots until her gun clicks. War gives a low laugh, and his eyes are so, so violent.

Without thinking, I cut across the street, dashing in front of the woman, blocking her from the horseman.

War’s eyes settle on me. There’s a moment of surprise; this is the first time since battle began that we’ve run into each other. But his surprise quickly withers away, and his eyes narrow.

“Don’t come between us, wife,” he says, not bothering to speak in tongues. His guttural voice cuts through me like a cold wind.

“I’m not going to let you kill her.” I don’t know what the woman was thinking, but she better make herself scarce fast.

“Miriam.” War’s voice is as serious as I’ve ever heard it. “Move.”

Be brave.

“No.”

The horseman scrutinizes me, his wounds still weeping blood. “There are thousands of innocents in this town. She is not one of them. Don’t waste your mercy.”

I square my shoulders. “I’m not moving.”

War steps up to me, and I’m reminded of why he’s so goddamn frightening. He’s over two meters tall, and nearly every square centimeter of him is coated in blood.

“You are playing a dangerous game, wife,” he says, his voice pitched low.

I think it’s supposed to be a threat, but I feel that voice low in my belly, and I’m reminded all over again of the horseman’s kiss.

“I don’t consider life and death to be a game. Spare her.”

“And have her attempt to kill me again?” he says. “That’s madness, woman.”

As he says this, I hear a dull clink. I glance down just in time to see a bloody, spent bullet roll along the road.

That … came out of him.

Holy balls.

“What harm would it do? Spare her,” I urge again.

“You like her simply because she tried to kill me,” he says, giving me a look.

Maybe.

“She’s brave.”

He stares over my shoulder at the woman, a grimace on his face. “She’ll cause trouble.”

But he’s actually considering this.

I press my advantage. “Give her a useful task—make her cook things or manage stuff.”

The battle is still brewing around us, and every second that passes the odds of this woman surviving grow smaller and smaller.

War stares at her for an impossibly long time. His upper lip curls.

“This is a waste of my time,” he says. “For the sake of your soft heart, I will let her live—for now.”

He whistles to a nearby soldier and beckons him over. The man jogs to War’s side. Leaning in close, the horseman whispers something to the soldier. The man nods in response, then breaks away.

I glance behind me. The woman is still standing in the middle of the road, though at some point she procured a knife.

Why didn’t you run when you had the chance? I want to ask her.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, her eyes going to me, then to War and the soldier. She has an angry, desperate look about her.