I kneel in front of his sword. Grabbing the hilt, I pull the weapon out a little from its scabbard. Emblazoned onto the steel is more of that strange writing that decorates War’s knuckles and chest. These characters don’t glow, but I can tell the language is the same. The language of God.

“Miriam.” It’s a warning.

I glance over at War, and there’s an edge to his violent, violent eyes.

“I’m not going to kill myself,” I say.

He doesn’t relax, and I kind of enjoy his unease.

Turning back to the blade, I run my fingers over the alien markings. Then, seemingly of their own accord, my fingers slide to the edge of the blade.

“Miriam.” My last warning.

I run my thumb over the sword’s edge, then curse when I feel the steel nick my skin. The fucker’s sharp.

I stick my finger in my mouth just as the horseman snatches the weapon from my grip.

“It likes the taste of blood,” War says, like his weapon might suddenly grow teeth and eat me whole.

He finishes putting on his armor, keeping himself between me and his sword. Lastly, he secures his blade to his back.

Outside, the noise is getting louder.

“I need to go.” War steps in close. I can tell he wants to kiss me—or at least touch me—but he doesn’t. The horseman may not be human, but he understands enough about human drives to know to stay away from me. Still, his eyes look regretful.

He waits a moment or two for me to say something, and I consider it—

I hope you don’t come back.

May your enemies cut you down.

Rot in misery, asshole.

But my white hot anger is long gone, and it’s hard to muster up the energy to stay mad.

War lingers long enough to realize that I’m not going to give him any sort of happy goodbye. With a final, heavy look at me, he leaves the tent, the canvas rustling behind him.

I never truly got an answer to my burning question: how will War handle today?

I did, however, get an answer to a question I hadn’t intended to ask.

I glance at the cut on my thumb. A drop of blood still beads there. I smile a little at the sight, then rub the blood away.

Chapter 44

I don’t see War again until that evening. By then the raiding celebration is in full swing, the war drums pounding out a hypnotic sound.

It doesn’t matter that today’s raid was pointless. Every person out here tonight looks jubilant.

I move along the edges of the crowd, people shifting out of the way as my undead bodyguards push their way through the throng.

My eyes flick up to War, who sits on his throne, a frown on his face. War spots me from his throne, his eyes narrowing. He stands, and the whole crowd seems to react to that single action.

I stare at him. I can’t not. And my heart, my stubborn, awful heart seems to stutter. It’s always love and war with us.

He won’t stop. He won’t ever stop.

I cut through the crowd, watching as it parts for me and my grotesque entourage.

War leaves his dais, the two of us meeting halfway.

Before I can say or do anything, he kisses me. It’s so, so brazen of him, considering where we left off. And now everything the camp assumed about us has been confirmed. In case it wasn’t already super apparent.

“Where have you been?” War asks, breaking off the kiss. But it’s not really a question. His dead have been guarding me all day; War must’ve had some idea where they were—and thus where I was. Which was in the women’s quarters.

“Do you love me?” I ask him.

War’s brow furrows, his dark eyes moving between mine. He’s so severely handsome.

His hand goes to the juncture where my shoulder meets my neck, and gently, he squeezes.

“Do you?” I echo.

“Can you really not tell?” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear him.

I take in a shuddering breath. “Then stop the killing,” I say. “Please. That’s all I ask of you.”

“You are asking me to give up everything.” War actually looks pained at the thought of ending the killing.

He is battle incarnate. I might be asking him to do more than stop a simple habit. I might be asking him to deny the core part of himself.

“Please—”

His expression hardens. “No.” His tone is absolute, unbending.

I knew he wouldn’t capitulate. I knew it and yet it breaks my heart all over again.

Without another word I leave him, his large hand slipping from my shoulder. I cut through the swarming bodies, my nostrils stinging with the smell of sweat and rot that seem to stifle the area. My guards swarm around me.

I’ve made a lot of consolations with War. So many.

Too many.

Be brave.

There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape these horrors. I don’t even have my own tent. I want to scream.

I consider leaving the camp entirely—not that it would work, but I still consider it. I glance at my thumb, where the morning’s cut has healed over. Leaving would be foolish anyway; I already made plans for tonight.

I head back to War’s tent, the only place my zombie guards won’t follow me. When I enter, my eyes sweep over the space. There’s still no weapons inside, including my arrows.

Behind me I hear the tent flaps thrown open.

“What was that?” War’s voice is low and menacing.

My eyes widen. I didn’t actually think he’d leave the revelry early. He never does.

I turn around as he stalks towards me.

“You want to be with me, but you are unwilling to actually make any sacrifices,” I say. I’m ready to pick back up right where we left off.

War steps in close. “I am not here to make sacrifices, Miriam. I am here to take. Whatever human notions you have regarding relationships, cast them aside; they will not apply to us.”

My anger from last night is back, and it burns so hot that I’m all but shaking with it. The horseman is still challenging me with his eyes.

Then I leave. I leave and I spend the rest of what will undoubtedly be a short life working to forget you.

I bite back the words.

Instead, I push his chest. His body barely sways.

The horseman smiles darkly at me. “Even defeated, you have such fire in you. I have seen villages that burn less brightly.”

I push him again … and again and again. I don’t stop until he catches my wrists.

He reels me in, and then he kisses me, his lips fierce and unforgiving. This is the War I remember. He’s all power and possession.

I fall into the kiss, trying not to think about anything beyond moving my lips. It’s hard to kiss him, hard to dance this line between desire and anger.

He’s an inferno—his mouth hot on mine, his deft fingers pulling at my clothing.

War tosses me onto the pallet, then kneels between my legs. “There are a few sacrifices I can make.”

He unbuttons my pants and pulls them and my panties off, taking my shoes and socks along with them. And then his mouth descends on my core.

I thread my fingers into his hair, gripping his dark locks tight enough to hurt. I tilt his head up to face me. “I don’t want to see what you can give me,” I say, still angry—so very, very angry. “Show me the benefits of taking.”