And then I let Famine kiss me.

Chapter 46

Several hours later, the two of us are back on Famine’s steed.

I’m still reeling from the Reaper’s admission that he loves me. I feel lighter than air. Has anything ever made me this happy before?

Not to mention that he healed me.

Famine holds me close in the saddle, and his lips keep brushing my temple, as though he were trying to press his adoration into my very skin. Honestly, I can’t get enough of it.

Not a half hour ago I thanked and said goodbye to our hosts—who, mercy of all mercies, Famine left alive. And now, by the looks of it, he’s left the rest of the city alive as well.

The two of us move through the streets of what I learn is Taubaté. Like most other Brazilian cities, this one has adapted to life after the apocalypse. Many of the old skyscrapers and highrises are abandoned, or have fallen into disrepair—if they haven’t been cleared away altogether—and the majority of the population seems to have shifted the city center to what must’ve once been the outskirts of town.

Here the streets are lined with stalls selling everything from street food to baskets, blankets, jewelry, shoes, dinnerware, and on and on. There are restaurants that spill out of the buildings and musicians playing along the street corners.

Whatever sort of city Taubaté once was, it looks like it’s remade itself into something new.

Around us, people meander about, but as we pass by them, they pause, their eyes wide. There’s no mistaking Famine for anything other than what he is—a horseman.

Once we reach what seems to be the densest section of Taubaté, the Reaper stops his horse, grabbing his scythe from where it’s strapped to his back.

I glance over my shoulder at him. “Why are we stopping?”

Famine smirks at me. “You’ll see.”

“I really don’t want to,” I say, because I have a feeling I know what’s coming. The same thing that always comes at the end of our stays. And the last thing I want is to see these people die. Not after all they’ve done for me.

“Don’t give me that look,” Famine says. “This will be fun.”

Fun?

“Your idea of fun is gutting someone alive,” I remind him.

He smirks again, his eyes twinkling, and that look does nothing to calm my nerves.

The Reaper swings himself off his horse and pounds his scythe against the ground, startling the already startled onlookers. Despite the fact that it’s common knowledge that the horseman is bad news, a crowd has begun to gather.

The horseman’s gaze sweeps over the growing crowd. “If you wish for your town to be spared—”

“Wait, we’re staying?” I interrupt.

He gives me a look that states plainly, please shut up.

Famine continues, “—then these are my terms: my wife—”

“Whoa, what wife?” I interrupt again. “Wait, me?”

The horseman doesn’t even bother pausing this time, “—and I need an unoccupied place to stay, and I require offerings. Lots of offerings. Do this, and I will not destroy your lives and livelihoods.”

I swear there’s a collective pause, then people scatter.

Well, that went well.

“Wife?” I repeat to Famine, raising my eyebrows. “What lies have you been telling people while I’ve been sick?”

The look he gives me is downright nefarious. “It’s only a lie if you don’t intend to follow through with it.”

One, that’s not how lies work. And two—

“Is that … a proposal?” I say. My heart beats faster than it should. “Because if it is,” I continue, “that’s going to be a no from me.”

I think about Martim, how he promised me marriage, then broke his promise and my heart in the process.

That’s not happening again.

At my words, Famine rears back. “No?”

“I want an actual proposal,” I continue, staring down at him from the saddle. “With sex. The ring is optional. Groveling is a must.”

“Groveling?” He lets out an incredulous laugh. “I’m not a dog begging for scraps.”

“Nope, right now you’re a dog with zero scraps. I want sex, a pledge of your undying love—”

“Now it’s a pledge of my undying love?”

“That goes without saying,” I reply as townspeople begin to approach us.

The Reaper looks irked.

“You’ve gone down on me,” I say, “so you’re already an old hand at this groveling business.”

An older man who’s approaching us overhears my comment, and much to my delight, he looks properly scandalized.

“That was not groveling.” Famine’s jaw clenches.

“I don’t know why you’re so horrified,” I say, ignoring his comment. “You’ve literally held me as I peed,” I say. That’s about as horrifying as a situation can get. “I might’ve even gotten some on your shoe.”

Judging by the tick in Famine’s cheek, I definitely got some pee on his shoe.

Before he can respond, the older man and several other townspeople close in on us. They carry blankets and tallow candles and jugs of oil and liquor and milk and pottery and jewelry and baskets of eggs.

“Marry me,” Famine says, ignoring them as he stares up at me.

My breath catches for an instant. “No.”

He looks greatly annoyed. I’m beyond gleeful.

“This isn’t over,” he vows.

I sincerely hope not.

By sunset, Famine has not only amassed a small kingdom’s worth of goods, he’s also managed to secure us a house. He didn’t even have to kill anyone to get it.

“The woman who lived here died, and her children weren’t able to sell the place,” one of the townspeople told me earlier, when she was giving me a walk-through of the previously boarded-up home.

I understand why no one wanted the place. Not only was it built before the apocalypse—and thus full of relics that are useless at best, and dangerous at worst—but as far as practicality goes, it seems like it’s more work than it’s worth.

It still has a garage full of rusted out cars, and kitchen appliances that are filled with cobwebs and rat droppings, and sinks with faucets that haven’t moved water in more than a decade.

At least the toilets have been updated.

Around me, half a dozen people bustle by, sweeping floors, removing moldy linens and shaggy curtains.

Beyond them, Famine stands with his arms folded, listening to some woman, a bored expression on his face.

The horseman must feel me watching, because he glances in my direction.

His eyes brighten when he sees me. “My little flower. Do you like it?” he calls, gesturing to the room around us. It’s a genuine question, and God, but he actually looks hopeful, like his happiness rests upon my answer.

I cut across the room towards him. “You’ve really manipulated your way into getting us the best house,” I say, even though this is not the best house by a long shot.

The horseman flashes me a sly grin as I approach him. “Would you rather we stay in a different house? I’m sure any of the families here would be happy to be kicked out of their homes so that we could move in. That’s always an option.”