Luiz comes at the horseman, and Famine spins the scythe in his hand, like it’s an elaborate sort of dance. The blade arcs up, the tip of it catching the police chief low in the gut and opening him up all the way to his collarbone.

At the sight, my legs fold.

Everyone else is rushing the Reaper, weapons drawn.

“Enough.” Famine’s voice booms.

I don’t know what sort of devilish magic is at work, but for whatever reason, people listen to him. The men and women around us halt their attack, some even lowering their weapons.

“Me and my little human here—” The Reaper reaches out and jangles my manacles, “are going to be staying here. You can either help me and keep your miserable lives, or I can kill you now. Who wants to die?” His gaze sweeps over the remaining men and women who surround us.

No one makes a sound.

“As I thought.” Famine lowers his scythe to the ground, holding it like a staff.

“Clean up these bodies,” he orders no one in particular. “I need someone to make dinner, and I want some form of entertainment. Find me the best that this city has to offer and bring it here.” Or else. He doesn’t say it, but we all hear it.

Famine grabs my shackles and begins to lead me away. We’ve barely taken three steps before he pauses, causing me to nearly run into him.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” the horseman says, turning back to face the men. “In case any of you are considering rebelling, let me save you the trouble—don’t.

“Any attempts on my life will be met with painful retribution. I cannot emphasize that enough.” Famine nods to the bodies. Luiz is still alive and moaning. “This is mercy. Just ask her.” He shakes my manacles, and several sets of eyes move to me.

I don’t say anything, but I imagine they can see my fear. I can certainly feel it seeping through my body.

“Well?” Famine says, his gaze passing over them. “Why are you all still standing there? Get to it. Now.”

The horseman leads me to an empty room, following me inside. The moment he closes the door, I shudder, my muscles weakening. My legs don’t really want to hold me up, but somehow they manage to.

“What do you want?” I say. My voice wavers.

“What, no sexual innuendos?” Famine says, tossing his scythe onto the bed, the blood from the blade smearing onto the comforter.

I press my lips together. Several people just died. I can’t wrap my mind around his casualness.

All this time I was trying to get under his skin, and instead, Famine got under mine. He knows it, too. Sick shit that he is, he’s enjoying the moment.

“You’ve been telling me that I had to put something in your mouth to get you to shut up, but it appears all I needed to do is kill a few people,” he says. “How fortunate for me, since I happen to be in the business of death.”

I shudder and turn away from him, moving over to the window. I can’t see anything outside; the darkness is absolute.

I exhale, my breath shaky. “The day I saved you—do you know why I did it?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him.

“I don’t care why you did it,” Famine says, and yet I can see that beautiful face of his turned in my direction, waiting for me to finish my thought.

“I couldn’t stand the thought that someone could hurt another person the way you were hurt.”

“I’m not a person, Ana. I’m a horseman.”

“Do you think that made a difference in my mind?”

He has nothing to say to that.

I turn back to the window, not wanting to look at Famine or the blood that’s splattered across his bronze armor.

A moment later, he comes up to my side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him reach into his black trousers and pull out a key. The Reaper grabs my wrists and begins unlocking the manacles.

“You’re taking me out of the cuffs?” I ask.

“Would you prefer I didn’t?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

I don’t say anything to that.

He finishes unlocking the thick iron shackles, and I roll my wrists. In some spots, the skin has been rubbed raw.

“I thought you didn’t trust me,” I say suspiciously.

“I don’t,” Famine agrees. “But what can you really do at this point?”

“I could hurt you,” I say, my gaze flinty. I think I would really enjoy sinking another blade into the Reaper right about now.

Famine looks downright tickled at the thought. “And chance suffering my wrath? I think not,” he says. “Though I welcome your attempts—meager as they’ve so far proven to be.”

“I thought you said I was safe with you,” I remind him.

“You are. I don’t plan on hurting you if you don’t hurt me.”

Begrudgingly I admit that’s fair.

“And if I run?” I ask.

“Your attempts at escape have been even worse than your attempts at murder,” he says, stepping in close.

I can’t help it, my breath hitches at the sight of him.

“But humor me, little flower,” he continues. “Run. Go back to your poor, abandoned city, and live in your empty whorehouse. Try to earn a living again selling yourself to dead men and enjoy what scraps of moldering food escaped my reach. I’m sure you will live a long and prosperous life.”

As he speaks, my hate rises, closing up my throat. I stare up at him. He’s standing far too close to me. Only my clients ever got this close, but then it was for entirely different reasons.

Famine’s gaze searches mine. “No, you won’t run,” he says. “Because running takes a certain level of courage that you utterly lack.”

My palm comes up before I can help it, and I slap him across the cheek. I can feel the sting of contact against my skin. The Reaper’s head snaps to the side.

In the moment that follows, neither of us does anything. I’m breathing heavily, and the horseman’s face is turned away from me.

Slowly, his hand comes up, and he touches his cheek. He lets out a laugh, and the hairs along my arms stand up.

This man just killed three people, and I went and hit him.

Faster than I can follow, he grabs my jaw. “You foolish little flower. Have you learned nothing?” As he speaks, he walks forward, backing me up until I hit the wall. Once there, I’m pinned in. “Maybe you are courageous after all to tempt my anger.”

His eyes dip to my mouth, and in the midst of his hate-fueled rant, I see something flare in those unearthly green eyes.

His gaze moves up to mine, and there’s a zing of connection. “Or maybe you believe you’re above punishment.”

As he speaks the hardwood floor beneath me rises up like an anthill before splintering open. A seemingly harmless stem rises from the ground before probing around towards my leg. I try not to scream at the sight of it, even as it begins to slither up my leg.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Reminding you why you don’t try to stab me or slap me or accost me in any other manner.”

The single shoot splits off into two, then three, then four, growing up and around me. Tiny thorns appear along the stem, lengthening and sharpening the bigger the plant becomes. The shrub doesn’t quite wrap itself around me. Instead it grows like a cage around my body. Only once it’s bracketed me in does Famine release his hold.