The admission is so raw, so cutting, that I pull back from him a little, just to drink his expression in.

The horseman healed me once before, right after I was attacked. I was just as close to death then. But for all of War’s concern then, he hadn’t acted like this. Whatever icy heart he was given when he came to earth, it’s beginning to thaw bit by bit. And now I’m catching a glimpse of the true man beneath it.

I reach out and trace his lips. “You’re not as you seem,” I breathe, already drifting off.

War kisses the tip of my finger. “You never were.”

With those final words ringing in my ears, I slip off to sleep.

I wake to the press of fingertips. They trail down my back, each one feeling sure and steady. The touch is so pleasant, so unexpected, that I arch into it.

There’s a language to gestures. This one conveys a single emotion—

Beloved.

I squeeze my eyes tightly together, something thick lodging in my throat.

It’s been … a long time since I felt that way. And with a man, never like this.

I drag in a ragged breath when I remember the man behind the touch.

War.

But even with him, this is new. When I was attacked in my tent, he touched me with care, and since the deal we made, he’s touched me with desire and affection. This, however, this feels a lot like—

I can’t even think the word. The entire idea of it is too scary—and too impossible.

The horseman’s fingertips leave my flesh. A moment later, I feel the warm press of his lips against my back.

Too much. My heart feels like it’s going to burst.

I flip over, and my gaze meets War’s. His eyes have gone soft and deep.

He strokes my hair. “For millennia I’ve craved this.” Human connection, he means. “For millennia it’s been just out of my reach.”

Until now.

My pulse is picking up. I’m still naked underneath War’s sheets, and with the horseman this close, I’m so aware of that fact. Excitement and fear are mixing together.

I place a hand against his chiseled cheek. War turns his head, his lips brushing a kiss against my palm.

Now it’s my turn to go soft on him. I’ve seen the horseman lustful, angry, determined, vicious. Seeing this doting side of him completely changes each one of my responses.

“You undo me,” War says hoarsely.

My stomach flutters at his words.

A putrid smell outside briefly cuts through my soft thoughts.

God, what is that stench? It’s not me is it?

“What happened, Miriam?” War asks, drawing my attention back to him.

His features have sharpened, and he’s back to looking like a creature who hunts humans.

He wants to know about today. About why I was in a burning building, a dead phobos rider at my feet.

I swallow a little. My throat still hurts and talking only makes it worse. “Uzair tried to kill me.”

The horseman swears under his breath. “My riders are the worst of your kind. Effective, but utterly devoid of compassion.”

Who is this man who speaks of compassion, and what has he done with War?

“And you bested one of them in close combat,” the horseman continues. He sounds almost … impressed. War bows his head to kiss my neck again. “I hope you made Uzair’s death slow and painful.”

I thread my fingers through his black hair. “That’s an awfully petty thing for a messenger of God to say.”

He presses his lips against my skin, and my hand tightens on his thick locks, holding him close to me.

“Even we horsemen have our moments.”

I actually laugh at that. In response, he smiles against my neck. I feel that smile everywhere. I arch into him, my core aching.

Need him. Need him so badly it hurts.

War kisses my throat again, and this still isn’t normal between us. It’s too raw, too outside of simple want.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

“I am touching you,” he says, and damn him, that smile is pressed against my flesh again, and it’s making my body come alive.

Do I have to spell it out?

I take his hand and move it down my stomach, towards my—

“You’re still healing,” he says, drawing his hand away.

And now he cares more about tending to me than he does enjoying me? Who is this man?

“I feel fine.” Or at least fine enough for what I have in mind.

“You think I don’t want to?” War takes my hand and places it over his crotch. Since I fell asleep, he’s donned a pair of pants; that’s the only reason I’m not holding his cock in my hand at this very moment. As it is, it strains against the material.

War leans in close. “It is taking everything in me not to peel off my pants and fuck that sweet pussy of yours, wife. Everything.”

Dear God, if that little speech was supposed to dissuade me, it way missed its mark.

“I have been crazed with emotions I have never felt today,” War continues. He has a wild edge to his eyes. “I am a man of action. I want nothing more than to feel you alive and wrapped around me. And I’m trying to resist, so I’d kindly ask for you to not try to break my limited willpower.”

I release a shaky breath. A part of me wants to push the horseman to the edge, just to see what breaking him would be like, but a bigger part of me is hypnotized by this new side of War.

He can change. He’s working on changing. For me and because of me. I hadn’t been sure before, but I am now. This is a seed I want to cultivate.

So I back off, despite my raging hormones. (I mean, hey, I almost died. I think my survival should be rewarded with an orgasm or three, but that’s just my opinion.)

I settle deeper into his bed. I’m still bloody, and I smell like smoke, and I’m sure I’m ruining the horseman’s sheets.

“How did you know that I was trapped in the burning building?” I ask War. My voice comes out with a croak.

Maybe I’m not as fine as I thought I was …

It’s the thought that’s lurked in the back of my mind since he saved me.

“I saw you running in the distance,” he says.

I remember seeing War’s striking figure so far away. Too far away to believe he could see me, but apparently he had.

“And I saw a man chase you inside,” he adds.

Oh. Well then.

A few women enter the tent just then, interrupting our conversation. With their entrance comes another gust of that putrid smell. I crinkle my nose, even as I clutch War’s blankets tightly to me. God, how I miss doors. And knocking. And privacy in general. It’s a distant dream now that I live in a city of tents.

Between the women, they carry a basin filled with steaming water. They set the tub down, along with several towels, and step away. Their eyes look spooked, and they keep glancing behind them at something outside the tent.

“Do you need anything else?” one of them asks, turning her attention from the tent flaps to me and War. Her eyes move curiously over me, taking in my bare shoulders and my dirty appearance and the fact that I’m in the horseman’s bed. A blush creeps across her cheeks.

“That’s all.” War waves them away.

Once we’re alone again, he nods at the tub. “Would you like a bath?”

I would give my left tit for a bath.