I’ve only taken a few steps forward when, ahead of me, part of the ceiling caves in, barricading me in and turning my only exit into a thick wall of fire.

My stomach bottoms out.

Should’ve let Uzair kill me. It would be a better death than the one I’m going to get. I walked myself into my own grave, coming into this building.

The flames stream up the walls like some savage orange river. I cover my mouth with my shirt and squint against the smoky darkness.

Can’t see, can’t breathe.

I stumble towards the obstruction, even as more of the ceiling crashes down around me. I’m starting to feel faint from all the smoke inhalation.

This is the end.

BOOM!

A shadow bursts through the debris, the flames licking its sides. From the darkness, I see a blood red shape take form—War’s horse, I realize. Deimos gallops towards me.

My eyes move up, and I meet the violent, turbulent gaze of the horseman himself.

His eyes burn brighter than the fire—and his expression! Like heaven itself couldn’t stop him.

War swings himself off his horse and runs towards me. When he gets to my side, the horseman cups my face, his hands cool against my burning skin.

“What were you thinking?” His shout resonates above the roar of the fire.

I touch his face, my breath labored. My lungs are on fire, and I can’t seem to stay grounded. The only thing that’s keeping me present is War’s panicked expression and his grip on me.

“You could’ve died!” he says.

And then he kisses me.

He ravages my mouth like it’s a city he’s set to destroy. His lips part mine, and then the taste of him fills my mouth.

It’s like savoring heaven and hell and earth and death and all the things there aren’t names for.

This doesn’t feel like all our other touches, the ones where we owed each other something. War’s massive body trembles with anger and need and want. Want and want and want and want—

I think I’m faint with relief and lust—that and the darkening air must be to blame for the black dots that cloud my vision. But then I feel my legs buckle, and then I feel nothing at all.

Chapter 38

I don’t remember War catching me, and I don’t remember us mounting his steed. But I do wake in time to see us charge through the burning building.

The horseman’s hand is under my shirt, his palm nestled between my breasts. Even now, when we’re still in danger, he’s dead set on healing me.

The ceiling and walls are falling around us like tears, and yet Deimos remains steady through it all, even as embers drop onto his dark mane. I swipe them away, though even that small action causes my vision to darken.

We clamor down the stairwell, the jostling ride causing me to cough until I’m breathless.

There’s no gradual shift from darkness to light. One moment we’re inside the smoky building, and the next, we’re outside, daylight blazing about us. I can barely see the sun through the burning haze of the city, but still the sight of it—bright and bloody—causes a sob to slip out of me.

The horseman pulls me tighter against him.

“I thought I was going to die,” I tell him, my voice hoarse. I was certain of it.

War glances down at me with his terrible eyes. “Not today, wife,” he vows. “Not ever.”

Though the battle rages on, War flees the city, clutching me to his chest.

I’m not sure what to make of the situation, only that something has shifted between us.

My body is still shaking from battle, and I’m so tired.

I sway a little in the saddle, just remembering that final fight. The bite of steel, the breath of fire, the smoke filling my lungs—I cough at the memory, and once I start, I can’t seem to stop. I cough and cough. My entire body shakes with the effort and my vision clouds.

“Stay with me, wife,” War commands. There’s such authority in his voice that I force my eyes to flutter open. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them …

Another bout of coughing racks my chest. The air is dry and my throat is dry and I’m not taking in enough oxygen.

I feel more than see War’s eyes on me this time. He curses beneath his breath, then moves his hand out from under my shirt—only to wrap it around my throat.

For a moment, I panic. I’ve just been in battle after all. Having a hand at your throat should mean you’re going to get choked out. But this is War, War who insisted only moments ago that I wasn’t going to die.

And his touch is so gentle—almost comforting. My eyes close and I release a shaky breath, leaning back into him. He brushes a kiss along my temple, and the two of us ride like that.

Whatever power the horseman wields, it’s so subtle that I don’t feel it at first. But the longer we ride and the longer his calloused hand presses against my throat, the less I need to cough.

When we arrive at camp, people watch us with startled expressions. War and I aren’t supposed to be back. The horseman cuts through our settlement, charging forward until we arrive at his tent.

War hops off his steed, then grabs me by the waist. He pulls me down and into his arms.

And then his sinful lips are back on mine, heated and demanding. I lose myself in the taste of him as he scoops me up and begins carrying me. I hear the rustle of canvas, and then War is setting me on my feet inside his tent.

He looks at me and things are different.

He’s different. The violence he carries around like a cloak is gone. My horseman seems … human.

Not looking away from me, War removes all of his armor, then all of his clothes, his expression serious.

He comes over to me and now it’s my turn. His hands are deft as he pulls off my shirt, then my pants. I just sort of stand there. We’ve undressed dozens of times, but not like this. Not with the horseman looking at me with so much life in his eyes.

Once I’m naked, he lowers us both to his bed. I’m dirty and bloody and weak with fatigue. This doesn’t ring of romance.

But when he presses my body to his, there’s nothing about it that feels sexual. Intimate—yes—but not sexual.

I take a ragged breath, my eyes going to War’s. “What are we doing?”

“You almost died,” he responds. There’s a wild edge to the horseman’s features. He lifts a shaky hand and tucks a strand of my brown hair behind my ear. “If I hadn’t rode in when I had …” Rather than finishing the sentence, he pulls me towards him, pressing a kiss to my lips, as if to make sure that I am still indeed, alive.

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I say softly, when the kiss ends. “We’re all supposed to die.” My throat burns as I speak.

“Not everyone—not you.”

My eyelids are heavy.

I’m so tired. So, so tired. Whether it’s exhaustion from battle, smoke inhalation, blood loss, or War’s healing magic, my body is demanding sleep.

“I’m still human,” I murmur. I’m always going to be part of the problem in the horseman’s eyes.

“Yes,” War says. “You are painfully human. Your bones want to break, your skin wants to bleed, your heart wants to stop. And for the first time ever, I am desperate for none of those things to happen. I have never known true fear until now.”