My pulse speeds up.

Why indeed?

Because I like making poor choices, and you look like the worst one yet.

Despite my very real, very powerful desire to do much, much more with the horseman, I begin to get off of Famine. I’m trying my hand at self-restraint.

He catches my hips. “Leaving so soon?”

Now that he has me in his grip, it’s impossible to leave.

“I was indulging in my own curiosity.”

And if I give into this, then lines will be crossed tonight that I really, truly shouldn’t cross.

“Kissing you again was …” Bewitching. Intriguing. Addicting, “a mistake,” I say, trying to convince myself of that very fact.

I can still taste Famine on my tongue, and my lips are raw from the kiss, and all of it is addling my mind.

“It was a mistake,” he agrees. “Let’s make another and another. We can regret them all tomorrow.”

My eyebrows lift.

Is he serious?

I study his wicked, beautiful face. It’s one thing for me to give in to a handsome man in a moment of weakness. It’s another for this deity to test drive his human impulses on me. And while I want him, I’m not sure I want whatever fallout might come from this.

And there will be fallout.

But shit, I am curious. Fatalistically so.

“Everything will go back to the way it was tomorrow?” I say.

Famine gives me a look like he knows he’s already won. “It must.”

I take in his face, and after only a moment’s hesitation, I lean in, and the Reaper’s mouth is back on mine as though it never left.

And I give myself over to the sensation of it.

Now that I’m not holding back and he’s not holding back, it’s like a spark striking kindling, catching and burning and growing. And the two of us are being consumed by it all. I’m moving against him, my body wanting more—used to having more. What I’m unused to is not being in control of my desire.

As if to make a point, I break off the kiss.

Famine all but groans. “You’re thinking entirely too much, little flower.”

I give him a playful shove, even as I take in his bright, heavily lidded eyes and swollen lips.

I smile a little at that. “Have I told you that I’m starting to find your abrasiveness endearing?”

Famine frowns, but his eyes soften. I take his hand, deliberately threading my fingers between his. I pause as I stare at our entwined hands. Only a day ago the hand I’m holding was gone. Now I marvel at the sight of his fingers, strong and whole. They’re even a little calloused, odd as that may sound.

“They’re really just as they were,” I say.

My fingers move up to his wrist, and Famine watches me idly, letting me continue to explore him.

A bronze vambrace covers his forearm, vines and florets hammered into the metal. I tug at it.

“Can you take this off?” I ask.

Wordlessly Famine does as I ask, unfastening the armor and tossing it aside. I push up his sleeve, my eyes catching on the glowing green glyphs that ring Famine’s wrists.

I trace the markings, my finger tingling a little, like simply the act of making the shapes holds some power.

This is a wonder. I get the oddest sensation, like the universe is coursing through him, and I just touched the very edge of it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

He mocked me for overthinking a minute ago, but now he seems starved for my thoughts.

“So many things,” I say.

“Enumerate them.”

“I think these look like shackles,” I say, turning his wrist back and forth as I stare at the markings, “but they’re beautiful and they remind me that you’re not human in the least, and I like that about you.” Quieter, I add, “To be honest, I like far too much about you.”

The alcohol has loosened my lips.

Famine stares at me with an unreadable expression. After a tension-filled second, he leans forward and grabs the back of my neck, pulling my lips back to his.

If I thought before we were a spark to kindling, it’s nothing compared to the raw intensity of us now. The Reaper’s fingers are tangling in my hair, catching on all sorts of knots as he angles me closer. I release his arm, my hands moving to either side of his face.

If he’s the universe, I feel like I’m entering it with this kiss.

He groans against me, and it’s the sexiest damn sound I’ve ever heard, mostly because I know how much it costs him, giving in to this strange human side of his.

His tongue sweeps against mine, and I can taste the alcohol on him.

This is a bad, bad idea.

I kiss him harder, uncaring. That light, airy feeling is back, like I might float away if he lets me go.

The truth is, bad idea or not, this feels right. Famine has seen my ugly, angry side, and I’ve seen his soft, vulnerable one. I’ve fought him, cursed his name, I’ve even tried to kill him. This seems like the last option left to us.

His hands move back to my waist, lingering there only for a moment before moving lower.

He grabs my hips and stands, lifting me in the process. The chair behind him knocks over, and my thigh bumps against the table, and hardly any of it registers as my arms wrap around his neck.

Famine carries me away from the table, and I think he might be taking me back to his room. At the thought, my core clenches.

But before we leave the room, the horseman pushes me up against a wall, pinning me in place. Famine catches my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

“Tonight, I want none of your pretty human tricks,” he warns.

I exhale, leaning back against the wall. The way he’s looking at me, I feel flayed wide open.

“You like my little tricks,” I say, breathless, a smile tugging at my lips.

He squeezes my jaw a little tighter. “I’m not one of your weak-willed clients. I don’t want your posturing. I want the raw, angry woman who tried to kill me. The same woman who saved me.”

My throat works. “I … don’t have a lot of experience being genuine,” I admit. I lost my virginity at The Painted Angel. I’ve only ever done this professionally.

“And I don’t have a lot of experience being human,” Famine says, “but right now both of us are going to fucking try.”

I don’t even have a moment to look shocked before the Reaper’s lips crash against mine once more, his mouth somehow both angry and hungry.

And then, like the tide, I’m dragged under.

Everywhere he touches, my skin feels alive. His leg comes between my thighs, pressing against my core as he kisses me. At the sensation, I gasp into his mouth.

I realize being genuine isn’t so hard after all. Not when you throb for the person devouring you.

My hands are in his hair, his silky, fine hair, and I’m lost in him.

At some point, he moves us away from the wall and carries me out of the dining room, past the thick knot of plants that have overtaken the estate’s main room. The Reaper kicks open the door to the courtyard, and then we’re outside.

The warm night air brushes against my skin. All around us, I can hear nocturnal creatures calling to one another, unaware that there’s an apocalypse going on in their midst.

I know I should wait to disrobe the horseman until we reach his room, but—maybe it’s the alcohol or the sexual tension, or fuck, maybe it’s simply the fact that this man actually knows how to work his lips—I don’t know, I’m simply impatient.