Pestilence (The Four Horsemen #1)(65)

He rises to his feet then and walks to the door. He pauses there. “For good or for ill,” he says over his shoulder, “I have been indelibly changed by you.”

It’s only once Pestilence’s footfalls have faded away that I release that choked sob.

It’s bad enough that I want his body. If only the attraction ended there. But my heart is giving way to the horseman’s words, and I’m afraid that in the end, it might be just one more of the horseman’s conquests.





Chapter 31


The next morning, I shuffle into the kitchen, noting the cold plate of scrambled eggs and ham left on the table alongside an empty mug, a tea bag, and a thermos full of hot water.

My finger idly touches the rim of the mug as I glance out a nearby window. The sun is already high in the sky. I rub my head, mussing my brown hair.

Slept too long—long enough for our dying hosts to make me breakfast.

The sound of Pestilence’s heavy steps has my entire body going haywire. It can’t decide whether I should squeal or bolt from the room.

“Good morning, Sara.”

I force myself to turn and look normal and not like I eavesdropped on things last night that I shouldn’t have. “Um, morning.”

The horseman’s gaze is deep, his eyes full of all those things he was waxing poetic on last night.

Don’t act like you didn’t tuck away each one of those compliments to savor later.

“Where are Rob and Ruth?” I ask, grabbing the thermos and busying myself making a cup of tea.

Pestilence’s face turns somber. “The plague has begun to exact its toll.”

My skin burns hot with guilt, and for an instant, I feel just as sick as they must. I’m eating their breakfast and sleeping in their bed like Goldilocks while they die from the plague I literally brought to their doorstep.

The horseman steps in closer, staring down at the tea I’m steeping.

When you laugh, I think I might truly die.

“I understand alcohol, but I do not understand coffee, and I most definitely do not understand tea,” he says, completely unaware of my thoughts.

I shrug.

“It tastes and smells acrid.”

“You actually tasted it?” I ask, raising my eyebrows as I bring the cup to my lips.

He grimaces. “Last night, after you went to sleep, Ruth and Rob insisted I try it.”

I snicker. “You let them pressure you into trying tea when I couldn’t even get you to drink hot chocolate?”

What a sucker.

Pestilence glowers at me.

I take another swallow of tea to hide my smile. Despite our casual conversation, the hand that holds the mug trembles.

I find you beautiful, dear Sara, so beautiful.

His words from last night surround me; I can’t just be normal around him. Ugh. I’m all wound up.

My eyes drift to the breakfast laid out for me. Between Ruth and Rob’s sickness and Pestilence’s attention, the thought of eating is twisting my stomach into knots.

I feel like I am lit on fire, like you have been called by God to raze my world.

On an impulse, I swivel to him and brush a kiss against his lips.

Pestilence’s hands move to my waist, and he reels me in, and what was meant to be a brief peck turns into a long, languid kiss.

For several seconds I give in and let myself be consumed by it. But then, somewhere along the way, I remember myself.

I break the kiss off as shame smolders low in my belly. Will it ever go away, or will I have to deal with it day after day, city after city, until all the world has burned down and only I remain?

Still staring at my lips, the horseman takes a step forward, ready to resume the kiss.

I place a hand on his chest.

He glances down at it. “Am I to believe that you no longer want my affection when not a minute ago you sought it out?”

Do I tell him the truth?

“Pestilence, I …” I can’t do this here. Not when a couple is dying in the next room over and you’re responsible. I clear my throat. “I need to go tend to Rob and Ruth.”

The horseman’s eyes drift in the direction of their room, his face pinching with strain. Without another word, he leaves the house, the sound of the closing door echoing behind long after he’s gone.





Chapter 32


This time, when I care for the elderly couple, Pestilence decides to assist me. He’s endearingly bad at it and more hindrance than help, but he actually cares enough to try and that’s good enough for me.

Of course, it’s not just the tasks that he’s bad at. He’s sullen and moody as he helps the couple sit up in bed so they can eat and drink what little they can. His temper further blackens anytime Rob thanks him or Ruth lovingly pats his hand.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say the horseman doesn’t like watching his plague take this couple.

At the end of day two, hours after Pestilence left the house and never returned, I wander into Ruth and Rob’s room. The two of them are in bed, their bodies turned to face each other. Their hands are locked together and their eyes are pressed closed. From what little I can see of their skin—and what I can smell—the sores are already opening on their body.

“Lord, we ask that you might bring your horseman some level of peace, for he is struggling with his mortal coil,” Rob says, his voice strained and weak. “And we ask that you give strength to Sara, the girl you have placed at his side. She is upholding the role you have tasked her with, and she is doing so with grace, but nonetheless she is profoundly affected by her circumstances …”