When Famine doesn’t make a move to undo his pants, I reach for them.

He glances down at me. “What are you doing?”

I can feel all that disapproving energy focused on me.

“Getting things started. If you’re a little shy, we can take this slower—”

“Shy?” he echoes.

Understanding flashes in his eyes a second later, followed by—wait for it—annoyance.

He swats my hands away. “Stop,” he says, vaguely irritated.

I give him a confused look, but he’s not even paying attention to me. His focus is on a grassy patch of earth a few meters away.

I back away from him as he reaches out a hand towards the ground.

Seconds go by. Then, from the earth, a tiny sapling sprouts before my eyes, rising up gracefully, its branches and stems unfurling.

Only hours ago I saw a different batch of plants rise from the ground, and yet, this process looks wholly different from what I saw this morning. Those earlier plants grew aggressively; it was a violent, monstrous birth. This, on the other hand, looks like a slow dance.

It takes much longer for this plant to grow, partially because the tree is so damn large. As it grows and fills out, its leaves sway up and down, almost as though it’s breathing. Its trunk thickens and then—wonder of wonders—beads of fruit swell along that trunk and some of the larger branches. They turn color, going from green to wine red to, finally, a violet-black.

And then, the tree settles, its rapid growth complete. I stare up at it. It’s a jabuticaba tree, much like the one I picked fruit from the day I found the horseman.

Famine lowers his hand, turning to me.

“Well?” he says.

My brows draw together, confused. “Do you want me to suck your dick under there?”

He exhales, his eyes rising heavenward in exasperation.

“I’m kidding.” Sort of. I’m still thinking about the blowjob to save all humanity.

The Reaper glowers at me. “It’s food for you to eat,” he explains anyway. “To get you to stop talking about sex for five seconds.”

I guess his dilemma about feeding me is not much of a dilemma when sex is the other looming option.

Shame. I was half excited about his supernatural dick too.

Chapter 14

The few travelers we pass all die. The horseman makes sure of that.

The first time I see another living soul, I immediately tense. The man plods down the road, driving a small herd of goats. He doesn’t notice us until we’re nearly upon him, and when he does, he only has time for his eyes to widen before a twisting bush rises from the ground, ensnaring him in its grasp.

I bite back a scream as the plant kills him. Perhaps the most macabre part of it all is that even as the man thrashes in its clutches, the plant sprouts delicate, pink-petaled roses.

It’s not just travelers the Reaper kills. We pass through several small towns, and in each one, the horseman’s petrifying plants sprout up, trapping and killing the people in their clutches.

It’s not until we enter the city of Colombo that Famine whispers in my ear. “We’re staying here.”

I suppress a shiver at his words. I’d like to say it’s from sheer terror, but there’s a sick part of me that still inappropriately reacts to the low, sultry timbre of his voice, just as I did when I was seventeen.

Our entrance is nothing like the one I witnessed back in Laguna. Crowds don’t line the streets, no one waits for us. The first time anyone recognizes Famine, they scream, dropping the basket they were carrying and fleeing to their house. It happens a second time, and then a third, until it seems the whole city is in an uproar.

I guess Famine hadn’t sent anyone ahead to alert the town of his arrival.

We charge forward, Famine’s horse speeding up until he’s galloping through the city streets. All around us—madness. People are fleeing in every direction, their goods scattering. Livestock is running loose, a few pigs squealing in panic.

Right in the middle of it all, Famine stops his horse, the steed rearing back. I have to grab onto the horse’s neck to keep myself seated.

“Stop.” The Reaper’s voice rings out, echoing with supernatural force.

To my shock … people do slow down, their frightened gazes moving to the horseman.

“I need a place to stay,” he says. “The best house in the city. And I need good men who are willing to help me. Do this, and I will withhold the worst of my wrath.”

At that, I glance back at Famine. His expression seems genuine enough, but then, is he even capable of being merciful?

A handful of people begin to come forward, ready to assist the horseman.

I guess we’re all about to find out …

By the time Famine and I eventually enter the house we’ll be staying in, night has already fallen. My shackles clang as I walk next to the horseman and some of the townspeople who’ve been helping us over the last several hours.

The Reaper holds his scythe in one hand, and in the other he grips my upper arm. Not so discreetly I try to shrug his hold off. Rather than releasing me, his grip tightens.

“Let me go,” I hiss under my breath.

The horseman gives me the side eye, but otherwise ignores my request.

“… This is the master bedroom,” says Luiz, a senior official with the Colombo police department. He’s the one who’s orchestrated most of our accommodations. “The owners of the house have graciously given it up for you and your, uh—” Luiz’s eyes size me up, lingering on my manacles, which still haven’t come off. Famine doesn’t offer up any sort of explanation, and neither do I, “—companion.”

The Reaper openly glares at the man, hostility rolling off him. This has been Famine’s reaction ever since the two of us learned that Luiz was a part of the police force. Whoever once hurt the horseman, I have a sneaking suspicion that they were uniformed men.

Luiz leads us back to the front of the house, where an aging couple stand rigid, looking upset and uncomfortable.

The official’s face relaxes. “Mr. and Mrs. Barbosa. There you are.” He walks ahead of us to greet them.

Even as they take his hand, their eyes are glued to the Reaper.

Luiz turns to face us. “Famine,” he says, “these are your hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Barbosa,” he repeats unnecessarily, “the owners of the house.”

They look both angry and alarmed.

The wife is the first to notice me. She sees Famine’s grip on my arm, then my handcuffs. She eyes me from the top of my wild, curly hair, down my ill-fitting dress, and finally to my grimy bare feet. Her nostrils flare, and she grimaces, like she can sense my ill-repute wafting off of me. I wonder what she would do if she realized that I actually was a prostitute.

Famine squeezes my arm, then releases it, stepping forward.

“Ah, the owners,” he says. “Just the people I wanted to see.”

Faster than I can follow, he lifts his scythe from his back and slashes it across the couple’s necks. For an instant, it looks as though the couple is wearing crimson collars. Then their heads topple off their shoulders.

I’m the first to scream, my shackled hands coming up to my mouth. A moment later, the rest of the room begins to shout as men and women grab their weapons.