Once I’m done, I reach out and touch the Reaper’s face again with a bloody, trembling hand. This terrible, complex monster. Most of the time he’s the evilest thing in any given place, but right now … right now Heitor and his men hold that title.

My fingers trail along Famine’s cheek. I’m so close to losing it, but I force myself to stay strong, just for a while longer. So instead, I stretch myself out next to the Reaper, laying a hand on his chest, just so that when he wakes, he won’t be alone.

And then I wait.

The cool evening air stirs my hair and sways the dead stalks of sugarcane around me. It’s an oddly peaceful night given how horrific it’s been. I draw in several deep breaths.

I killed a man—maybe two, if Heitor didn’t survive my attack.

I can still remember how easy it was to bring that knife down on the man’s throat—how easily it cut through skin and sinew. I can remember how remorseless I felt in that moment, and I know deep down that I would do it again if someone found me and Famine hiding out here.

I glance over at the horseman, frowning. I’d do all of it again for this man, because wicked or not, violent or not, Famine might be the only being who has ever truly seen me and cared for me. And … I might be the only person who has ever really seen and cared for him.

It’s made us both begrudgingly loyal to each other.

That thought lingers with me as the night toils on. Every so often I hear men shouting and horses galloping up and down the nearest road, but only once does anyone stop by this field. Even then it’s only for a few agonizing minutes. Then I hear their horse retreat and I breathe easy again.

I don’t know how long I lay motionless next to the Reaper—out here with the endless sky above us and the vast fields around us. It feels like time drifts, but at some point, I sense Famine … surfacing.

He moans, the sound tightening my chest. The tears that I’ve kept back are now starting to mutiny.

“Hey there,” I tell him, my voice wavering. I reach out and stroke his face softly. “It’s me—Ana.”

He makes an undiscernible noise and tries to move his head, and the whole thing is so goddamn heartbreaking that I have to take a few breaths before I continue.

“You’re safe,” I say, the lie coming easily to my lips. “You were ambushed by Heitor and his men,” I whisper into his ear. “They’re looking for us at the moment, so we have to stay quiet.”

Beneath my touch, the horseman is still.

Did he pass out again?

But then he reaches for my arm, letting out a pained sound when he realizes his own is gone. In the dim moonlight his eyes slid to mine. There’s no faking the broken hopelessness in his gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my tears starting to leak out. “So, so sorry.” I move then and, careful to not jostle him too much, I pull the horseman into my arms and stroke his hair.

Famine is shaking, and I can only imagine his pain.

I whisper my apologies over and over. And then, holding him to me, I let myself fall apart. I cry for every awful thing that’s happened to him at the hands of evil men. And then I cry for all the awful things that have happened to me at the hands of evil men, things I normally don’t let myself dwell on. I give in to all the pain and suffering that feels like it’s been needlessly inflicted on us.

This world is a cruel place.

“I don’t blame you for hating us,” I whisper. “I don’t. I wish I could—it would make things so much easier—but I don’t.” I hold him to me again in the darkness, rocking us together.

I feel the horseman’s arms come around me the best they can, and in the darkness, I think I hear him begin to cry. The sound breaks me. I press a kiss to his blood-matted hair.

The two of us stay like that for a long time, holding each other and being totally and completely vulnerable. And for once I think the cold, heartless Reaper might not actually be so cold and heartless after all.

At some point, the tears dry up, and all that’s left is the comfort of each other’s presence.

“This … is … upsettingly familiar,” Famine says, pain lacing his words. His head and upper body are in my lap. My legs have long since fallen asleep, but I don’t dare move him.

So I guess I finally understand the Reaper’s motives when it was me asleep in his lap.

“You … were … right,” he whispers.

About Heitor, he means.

“Screw being right,” I whisper back. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he says. “What … happened? How did you … ?”

“Escape?” I ask, finishing his sentence for him. “Heitor came looking for me.” Even now, a hot blend of fear and anger rise within me.

Famine goes rigid in my lap. “Did he … ?”

“Hurt me?” I finish for him. “He tried, but can I tell you a little secret?” I don’t wait for the Reaper to answer before I lean in close and whisper, “You don’t fuck with a prostitute. We can be the things of nightmares.”

“I am … almost frightened,” he says.

I crack a small smile, relieved that the horseman is well enough to attempt humor.

“How did you … stop him?” he asks.

“I whacked him with one of his stupid candelabras.”

Famine huffs out a laugh, though it ends with a wince.

It’s reflexive—I reach out and stroke his hair back, trying to comfort him. And it must be my imagination, but I swear the Reaper leans into the touch.

“I don’t know if he’s alive or not,” I admit.

“I hope he is,” Famine says, and his words hold so much menace. “He and I have unfinished business.”

A chill slides down my spine. How I ever thought Heitor was as scary as Famine is a mystery. He doesn’t hold a candle to the Reaper.

“What else … happened while I was gone?”

I’m quiet for a long moment, remembering all of the evening’s atrocities.

“I killed a man,” I admit.

I think I see Famine’s eyebrows lift. He tries to sit up a little. “How did that happen?” He sounds far too curious.

I can’t meet his gaze when I say, “He caught me right after I found you—”

“After you found me?” Famine repeats. There’s a strange note to his voice, and I think he might be realizing the same thing I had earlier—that I won’t just save him, I’ll fight and kill for him too.

“Tell me the rest of what happened,” he demands softly. “Leave nothing out.”

I do just that, continuing to stroke his hair as I recount the last several hours.

He’s quiet through most of it, though I swear in that silence something subtle shifts between us. I don’t know what.

After I finish telling him what happened, he lays there, brooding.

“Twice now you’ve saved me,” he eventually says. “Why? Why do such a thing when I have brought you so much pain?” He sounds desperate to know the answer.

Gently, I place my hand against his face. “I don’t know, Famine. Because I am foolish, I suppose. And because I’m too curious for my own good. But most of all, because I like you every bit as much as you like me.”