War (The Four Horsemen, #2)(64)

He runs his fingers down my spine. “Your skin is softer than I imagined,” he says, his eyes following his hand. “So soft, my mortal bride.”

I prop my chin on his chest. This close to him, I’m struck again by how … off he is. He’s just a little too large, a little too ferocious, a little too captivating.

He doesn’t shine like I always imagined an angel might, and he’s obviously not pure and clean in the way that angels are depicted, but there’s something about him, something alien and other. Something decidedly not demonic, though I want to demonize him—or I used to want that anyway.

War sees me staring, and he smiles at me, his eyes amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed gazing at me just as much as I enjoy gazing at you.”

I take one of his hands and thread our fingers together.

“I do like gazing at you,” I admit. I bring his hand to my mouth, kissing his tattoos one by one. “And I like touching you.”

I shouldn’t tell him things like this, especially when they ring true to my own ears.

War’s face changes, subtly. Or maybe it’s simply his eyes. He wraps an arm around me and flips the two of us so that I’m beneath him. “Touch me all you like, wife.”

I trace his markings, suddenly feeling proprietary and unsure all at once.

“How many times have you done this?” I ask, deliberately keeping my tone light.

It doesn’t fool the horseman.

He searches my face, settling against me, his forearms on either side of my head. “What does it matter?”

It shouldn’t matter.

I swallow, and he notices, his eyes honing in on the small action. It causes his brows to furrow. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. You look frightened, wife.”

Frightened?

“I’m not frightened,” I say, offended.

You’d have to be emotionally invested to be frightened.

Again, his brows draw together. “This is a human thing I don’t understand, but if you really want to know, then I have done this countless times before today.”

I groan and cover my eyes with my hand. Countless? I’ve been with four men, and only one of them was memorable in any way, shape, or form. And he’s now laying on top of me.

The horseman pulls my hand away from my face. “Miriam, you’re being strange. Does it matter?”

I guffaw. “You have to know it matters,” I say. Shame makes my face heat. I mean, come on, I know this guy isn’t human, but he’s been on earth long enough to bed countless women—and maybe some men too. Surely he should know that people care about these things.

“You want to know about the other women I’ve been with?” he asks.

Of course I do. I’m luridly curious about shit like that. I’m also ashamed of that fact.

I don’t even need to respond; whatever he sees on my face must be clue enough.

“Ah,” he says, “you do but you don’t. How perplexing, wife.”

War gazes down at me, and it’s alarming how handsome he is with his dark hair and princely features.

He lets out a breath. “I have been with dozens upon dozens of people, Miriam. Their faces bleed together—I cannot recall any of their names.”

“Are there still some in your army?” This is such a barbed question.

“Some.”

Ick. I make a face. For some reason, that makes him feel a little less like mine.

He isn’t yours, Miriam.

“How do they feel about that?” I force out the question.

“How do they feel about what?” War asks, baffled.

“Having sex with you only to see you with another woman?”

War gives me a look like he’s trying to make sense of the nonsensical. “Why should that concern me?”

It’s my turn to give him the strange look. But of course, why should that concern him? The horseman didn’t grow up acutely aware of social etiquette and taboos amongst humans.

He doesn’t say anything more. I guess that’s all the answer I’m going to get.

“Now, how about you?” he says.

“What about me?” I ask suspiciously.

“I want to know about the other men you’ve been with.”

“No.” The answer comes to my lips so fast.

War smiles, running a finger over my mouth. “That few.”

“Why does it matter?” I ask him essentially the same question he asked me only minutes ago.

The horseman’s gaze shifts to my eyes, and that one look cuts through all my bullshit. “I have feasted on you. I am going to be inside you. I want to know who else has.”

Strange, strange man. He didn’t seem to understand my motives for bringing this subject up when it was me grilling him, but now that he wants to know my sexual history … suddenly, he’s acting very human. Human and possessive.

I shake my head. “I’ve fooled around with three men. I’ve only …” I take a deep breath and force the words out. “I’ve only had sex with one of them.” And even that was only a two-time thing. Getting off is tricky business in an age of limited contraceptives. It’s not usually worth it.

“Who was he?” War’s expression has gotten decidedly more bloodthirsty.