Pestilence (The Four Horsemen #1)(18)

We ride in silence a few more minutes, our bodies swaying with the rhythm of the horse’s gait, before I start in again.

“Where did you learn to clean and dress wounds?” I ask.

“What does it matter?” he says.

I glance back at him, meeting his icy blue stare as the wind blows a few strands of hair across his face.

What a waste of beauty.

Pestilence’s jaw locks when I catch his eye, and he tears his gaze back to the road.

“It doesn’t, I guess. I’m just grateful.” I really am. I find that I’m not ready to die, even though it might be the easier option at this point.

“I don’t care,” he says stonily.

Caught him in a good mood, I did.

Not.

“So …” I can practically feel his temper blackening, but I continue on, “I haven’t gotten sick.”

“Astute observation, mortal.”

“Is that just luck, or do you control who gets the plague?” I ask.

“Were you born with all your organs intact?” he responds.

I can’t see his face, so I have no way of knowing where he’s going with this question.

“Yes …” I say cautiously.

“Good,” he responds, “then I expect you to use the one beneath your skull.”

Damn. That insult burned a little.

“So you do control the disease.”

He says nothing to that.

“And you spared me from it,” I add.

“Again you insist that my motives were altruistic. Do not for a moment assume I value your life. You are only alive to assuage my vengeance.”

Yeah, whatever.

I stare down at the horseman’s tan hand, which is still splayed over my abdomen. “Where are we going?”

Pestilence’s exhalation manages to convey his world-weariness.

“I mean,” I continue undaunted, “where’s your ultimate destination?”

That one question has haunted people the world over. Where Pestilence was riding to.

“I don’t have one, human,” he says. “I ride simply until my task is complete.”

Until we’re all dead. That’s what he means.

He’s going to ride his horse across the world until he’s infected us all.

The truth sits like rocks at the pit of my stomach.

Pestilence’s arm tightens around my waist. “Enough idle chatter. Your questions tire me.”

I don’t have it in me to give him lip over that. After that last response, I find I really don’t want to talk to him either.

And so the two of us ride on in awful, unsettling silence, and all the while, the horseman spreads his plague.

Day is giving way to night by the time Pestilence stops us at a house. I eye the single-story home with wariness as the horseman hops off his steed.

Really, really hope whoever lives here evacuated.

Pestilence reaches for me. After sitting in front of him for an entire day, I manage to not flinch at his touch.

I stare at him as he helps me off his horse. It’s a strange feeling, being vulnerable around someone who’s both hurt you and tended to you. Bound as my hands are, I have to rely on this devilish man for even something as easy as dismounting a horse, and I find I’m looking for his kindness, his compassion, in every small detail. It’s completely ludicrous of me to do so, considering that he’s the very evil that landed me in this situation, but it doesn’t stop me from searching for those things nonetheless.

Briefly Pestilence’s eyes meet mine, and for once they’re free of the ire and bitterness that’s usually in them. Of course, the moment I think that, they become guarded once more.

My legs nearly fold when he sets me down.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” I swear under my breath. The inside of my thighs feel rubbed raw, and my thigh muscles ache.

I glance to the heavens. I get it Big Guy, I’m not your favorite person right now.

The horseman doesn’t spare me another glance as he begins walking. A couple seconds later, I feel a tug on my wrists as the rope binding me pulls taut.

“Keep up, human,” he calls over his shoulder.

How very much I despise this man.

I hobble after him, watching with disapproval as he kicks in the front door. He hauls me inside.

It takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust to our dark surroundings. The room smells musty, like it’s been sitting in its own juices for a while. Between that and the way my breath mists in front of me, it’s obvious that whoever normally lives here is currently gone.

Pestilence steps up to me and takes my hands gruffly.

“You know the rules,” he says as he undoes the knots. “You run, and my kindness ends.”

My eyes flick to Pestilence’s quiver, where the feathered ends of a dozen golden arrows peek out from over his shoulder. I can still feel the points of those arrows in my flesh. My back begins to throb in response.

“You’ve really latched onto that word.”

Kindness.

Kindness is chopping firewood for the elderly couple who has neither the money nor the means to acquire it. Kindness is a warm hug or a soft smile.

Kindness is not this fuckery right here.

The rope falls away, and I eye Pestilence while I rub at the gauze bandages.