Pestilence (The Four Horsemen #1)(84)

“What are you talking about?”

“We’ve had unprotected sex—twice. I may be new to these parts, but even I know the purpose of reproduction is to reproduce.”

A sick wave of vertigo washes over me. I put a hand to my head.

I hadn’t once thought about using protection.

And now …

Oh, shit.

“Can that happen?” I ask. “Between us, I mean.”

He’s not human, I reassure myself, and a bit of my unease retreats. Biologically, we’re not programmed the same way.

Right?

“I don’t see why it can’t,” he says. “I can eat and drink and make love just like a mortal. Perhaps I can sire a child just like one too.”

Whelp, there goes my nice, calm morning.

“But you don’t know?” I ask, my voice rising.

There’s a brief silence, then, “Sara, I sense you’re afraid of the possibility.”

Ding—ding—ding! You guessed correctly.

He continues. “For a woman who so eagerly takes my flesh into hers—”

Jesus. My cheeks heat.

“—you’re awfully reluctant to deal with everything else that comes with the act.”

I am, aren’t I? But in my defense, we’re talking about a child.

He would protect it, just as he has you.

That’s beside the point, brain. Don’t be an idiot on me now.

Awesome, I’m debating with myself. Pretty sure that makes me certifiably crazy.

“Have you thought about it?” I ask Pestilence, rather than addressing his comment.

“I have.”

I wait, but he doesn’t say more.

“And?” I finally prompt.

“And I find the possibility … thrilling.”

It thrills him? My lady parts are waaaay too happy about that.

“As you might imagine,” he says, “my excitement greatly disturbs me. I am killing your kind. What happens if I am father to one?”

I really want to clear my throat because, uh, dude’s also banging one, and isn’t that reason enough?

“It could be immortal,” I say, though I’m more asking this than anything else.

“It could be,” he agrees, and my stomach bottoms out at that.

I could give birth to a deity-thingy. A godspawn.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Noooooooooope.

This conversation is quickly going from uncomfortable waters to my-vagina-is-mutinying-it-doesn’t-matter-that-you’re-sex-on-legs-well-okay-maybe-it-does-a-little-nevermind-my-vagina-is-cool-with-it.

That’s what happens when you’re upsettingly pretty. My libido gets stupid—correction, stupider (because let’s face it, on a normal day my libido is still a bimbo).

“But it could also be mortal. Human,” he says. “And I will have created it, I who have been tasked with the destruction of your kind.”

That boy out there has seen a lot of human nature, the bulk of it ugly. He’s only now seeing the beauty of it, and largely through you. … Show him humanity is worthy of redemption.

Ruth’s final words ring in my ears.

Pestilence is straddling two warring natures—his divine one, which demands we all die, and his mortal one, which doesn’t want to kill us, perhaps it even wants to save us … And each day that he’s with me, his mortal nature strengthens. I am strengthening it. The thought fills me with no little wonder.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” I ask.

His lips brush the shell of my ear. “What shall come to pass is to be seen. One thing is certain: I cannot stay away from you.”

My stomach clenches at that.

Nor I you.

I’m debating whether I should state my opinion when Pestilence’s hold tightens on me. I look up to him, but he’s staring ahead of us.

I follow his gaze, and my eyes widen. In the distance, between the boarded up buildings that speckle the sides of the highway, is a sea of people all dressed in white.

As we get closer, I stare in wonder at the hordes of them. They line the street, their bodies bowed in supplication.

Bowed for Pestilence.

They waited for him, willingly giving up their lives for this demonstration.

I glance at the horseman just in time to see his upper lip curl in disgust. “Praying to false idols,” he says. “They deserve the plague that will take them.”

Did I think even a second ago that I was making inroads on his bloodlust? Apologies, I was mistaken.

“The same one I deserve?” I say.

“You were touched by the hand of God,” he responds smoothly.

Four more white-robed people stand in the middle of the road, obstructing our way. One of them is an older man with crazy eyes and ashen hair. Next to him are three youthful, beautiful women.

When we get close enough, the man steps forward, ushering Trixie to a halt. I can feel Pestilence seething at my back, but the horseman doesn’t try to get his mount to move again.

“I, the Prophet Ezekiel, come to you in our hour of darkness,” the man says. “I give unto you, the Conqueror, these three women to have and to hold.”

To have and to hold?

Ick.

Ezekiel looks so magnanimous about his offer too, like you should give him a cookie for the effort he went through to procure these women.