War (The Four Horsemen, #2)(86)

“You almost died,” he responds. There’s a wild edge to the horseman’s features. He lifts a shaky hand and tucks a strand of my brown hair behind my ear. “If I hadn’t rode in when I had …” Rather than finishing the sentence, he pulls me towards him, pressing a kiss to my lips, as if to make sure that I am still indeed, alive.

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I say softly, when the kiss ends. “We’re all supposed to die.” My throat burns as I speak.

“Not everyone—not you.”

My eyelids are heavy.

I’m so tired. So, so tired. Whether it’s exhaustion from battle, smoke inhalation, blood loss, or War’s healing magic, my body is demanding sleep.

“I’m still human,” I murmur. I’m always going to be part of the problem in the horseman’s eyes.

“Yes,” War says. “You are painfully human. Your bones want to break, your skin wants to bleed, your heart wants to stop. And for the first time ever, I am desperate for none of those things to happen. I have never known true fear until now.”

The admission is so raw, so cutting, that I pull back from him a little, just to drink his expression in.

The horseman healed me once before, right after I was attacked. I was just as close to death then. But for all of War’s concern then, he hadn’t acted like this. Whatever icy heart he was given when he came to earth, it’s beginning to thaw bit by bit. And now I’m catching a glimpse of the true man beneath it.

I reach out and trace his lips. “You’re not as you seem,” I breathe, already drifting off.

War kisses the tip of my finger. “You never were.”

With those final words ringing in my ears, I slip off to sleep.

I wake to the press of fingertips. They trail down my back, each one feeling sure and steady. The touch is so pleasant, so unexpected, that I arch into it.

There’s a language to gestures. This one conveys a single emotion—

Beloved.

I squeeze my eyes tightly together, something thick lodging in my throat.

It’s been … a long time since I felt that way. And with a man, never like this.

I drag in a ragged breath when I remember the man behind the touch.

War.

But even with him, this is new. When I was attacked in my tent, he touched me with care, and since the deal we made, he’s touched me with desire and affection. This, however, this feels a lot like—

I can’t even think the word. The entire idea of it is too scary—and too impossible.

The horseman’s fingertips leave my flesh. A moment later, I feel the warm press of his lips against my back.

Too much. My heart feels like it’s going to burst.

I flip over, and my gaze meets War’s. His eyes have gone soft and deep.

He strokes my hair. “For millennia I’ve craved this.” Human connection, he means. “For millennia it’s been just out of my reach.”

Until now.

My pulse is picking up. I’m still naked underneath War’s sheets, and with the horseman this close, I’m so aware of that fact. Excitement and fear are mixing together.

I place a hand against his chiseled cheek. War turns his head, his lips brushing a kiss against my palm.

Now it’s my turn to go soft on him. I’ve seen the horseman lustful, angry, determined, vicious. Seeing this doting side of him completely changes each one of my responses.

“You undo me,” War says hoarsely.

My stomach flutters at his words.

A putrid smell outside briefly cuts through my soft thoughts.

God, what is that stench? It’s not me is it?

“What happened, Miriam?” War asks, drawing my attention back to him.

His features have sharpened, and he’s back to looking like a creature who hunts humans.

He wants to know about today. About why I was in a burning building, a dead phobos rider at my feet.

I swallow a little. My throat still hurts and talking only makes it worse. “Uzair tried to kill me.”

The horseman swears under his breath. “My riders are the worst of your kind. Effective, but utterly devoid of compassion.”

Who is this man who speaks of compassion, and what has he done with War?

“And you bested one of them in close combat,” the horseman continues. He sounds almost … impressed. War bows his head to kiss my neck again. “I hope you made Uzair’s death slow and painful.”

I thread my fingers through his black hair. “That’s an awfully petty thing for a messenger of God to say.”

He presses his lips against my skin, and my hand tightens on his thick locks, holding him close to me.

“Even we horsemen have our moments.”

I actually laugh at that. In response, he smiles against my neck. I feel that smile everywhere. I arch into him, my core aching.

Need him. Need him so badly it hurts.

War kisses my throat again, and this still isn’t normal between us. It’s too raw, too outside of simple want.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

“I am touching you,” he says, and damn him, that smile is pressed against my flesh again, and it’s making my body come alive.

Do I have to spell it out?

I take his hand and move it down my stomach, towards my—

“You’re still healing,” he says, drawing his hand away.