Pestilence (The Four Horsemen #1)(90)

I’m not sleeping. The thought cuts through my groggy mind. I’m losing consciousness.

At some point, the smell of smoke is replaced by that of strong antiseptic. I rouse at the odor, too weak to lift my head or open my eyes.

“ … heal her …”

“ … could, there’s still infection to worry …”

“… care … or die …”

“No.”

“No?” This, from Pestilence.

I moan a little. In response, Pestilence’s lips press to my forehead. “Stay with me, Sara,” he whispers against my skin.

Weakly I press a hand to his chest, my fingers touching the warm skin at the base of his throat.

I want to tell him I’m alright. To not worry about me, but there’s a wall of pain I need to break through first, and I just can’t seem to.

“Do you care about her?” the stranger’s voice says.

“I love her.”

My fingers flex against his skin.

I need to open my eyes. I need to see the look on his face as he says those words. I need to hear them again while he gazes down at me.

Despite my best efforts, my eyes stay firmly shut.

“You love her?”

“That’s what I just said, human.”

Through my dim awareness I can already tell Pestilence is losing his temper.

“Then I hope it hurts to watch her die.”

A horrible, yawning silence follows.

“So be it,” the horseman says solemnly.

Even through my haze of pain I get chills from his tone.

The stranger—a woman I think—begins to scream. The sound echoes down the corridor, gaining strength. Strength, or … Are those other voices?

Stop. I try to say it, but all that comes out is a moan.

And then the voices are in my head, giving sound to my pain. It builds and builds in my ears and beneath my skin, burning me from the inside out.

I fall into the darkness again, and this time, it’s not so easy to claw my way awake.

I blink my eyes, taking in the muted light. It’s everywhere—above me, below me, to either side of me.

I touch my stomach, but it no longer hurts. I’m no longer hurt; there’s no blood, no broken skin, nothing.

“So this is the mortal my brother has fallen in love with.”

I squint in front of me, at the muted glow of light. From it, a shadow begins to appear, its outline blurry.

“Pestilence?” I call.

“Not quite.”

With each passing second, the shadow deepens, its form sharpening until I can make out the dark shape of a disfigured man.

Wait, not disfigured, I think as I take in the lumps at his back. Winged.

Thanatos.

The Fourth Horseman.

He stares down at me, and that’s the first I realize that I’m lying on the ground—if you can call this insubstantial thing beneath my body ground.

After a moment, the horseman reaches out a hand for me.

“Am I dead?” I ask, ignoring his hand.

“Momentarily.”

I’m … dead.

That should bother me—as should the frightening, winged horseman in front of me—but for whatever odd reason, I don’t mind the situation so much. Maybe it’s this place.

Thanatos’s hand is still extended, and reluctantly, I take it.

“I need to get back,” I say as he pulls me to my feet. “Pestilence needs me.”

“Does he now?” Death cocks his head, his black hair shifting, the waves framing his face like a funeral shroud.

He’s quite handsome, I realize. Just like his brother. Only Pestilence’s beauty is overwhelming; Death has a tragic, cutting face.

He still hasn’t released my hand.

“The last time I saw him, he needed no one.” Thanatos continues to study me. “Seems he’s … succumbed.”

No idea what that means.

“And what about you?” Death asks. “Do you need him?”

Like air to breathe.

“Yes.”

Death’s wings open wide, flapping a little, almost in agitation. “Your body doesn’t want you back, Sara Burns.”

How does he know my name?

Death’s grip tightens, and his wings begin to beat in earnest. Does he mean to carry me off?

“There are other things that await you,” he says.

“I want to go back.” I can’t leave Pestilence. I won’t.

Thanatos’ onyx eyes search mine. “I could stop this now, and yet, I’m so very … piqued.” His wings close. “Alright. So be it—”

He releases my hand, and I fall away from him.

I stare up at mighty Death the whole way down, even as his form shrinks and the muted light darkens.

I fall farther and farther down …





Chapter 47


My chest bows and I take in a sharp, shuddering breath.

Jesus, the pain! Like someone’s holding a flaming torch against my chest.

I force my eyes open, taking in the sparse hospital room around me.

Not dead.

The thought seems preposterous after the gunshot wound I sustained.

My hand moves to my hospital gown. I shift it aside enough to take a look at my bandaged chest. There’s not much to see besides the linen wrappings, but hot damn does the pain make up for it.