Pestilence’s hand moves back to its usual spot—pressed against my stomach—and I can just make out a ring he wears on his index finger, a round, dark stone at its center.

Not for the first time I realize there is so much to this man that I’m completely unaware of, despite kissing him, sleeping with him, living and riding with him.

Ever so gently, I run my hand over his ring. His fingers flex at the touch.

“Tell me about your life,” I say distractedly, still focused on the ring and the hand that wears it.

“What is there to tell?” Pestilence’s voice rumbles behind me.

“I don’t know, tell me a memory.” Anything to know him by so he’s not just some otherworldly horseman.

“My memories would disturb you,” he says curtly.

As opposed to my reality where people die painful, tormented deaths?

“I still want to hear about them.”

He takes a deep breath. I don’t know how he does it, but he manages to make something as simple as drawing in air ripe with reluctance.

“What do you want to know? Shall I tell you about man’s first cities? I remember stirring awake, my attention caught on their attempts to elevate themselves from other creatures. I saw them divert water from rivers and plant the first crops. I watched them build crude houses and tame wild beasts. I admit, I was awestruck at the sight of man molding nature into something pleasing, something he could use.

“Then came towns and cities, kings and law. The world moved faster as man built and created and innovated and conquered. I was there for it all, and I’ve been here ever since.

“I’ve stood in ancient bazaars, I’ve walked through city centers, I’ve lingered in castles and alleyways and everything in between. I’ve stayed in a thousand different houses, and I’ve kissed the brow of countless humans, and I’ve lain with each one.

“I came to earth and I touched and the world knew terror.”

Jesus.

“I am Pestilence, and my memory is longer than recorded history—it is even longer than man. I came before him, and dear Sara, I will outlive his end.”

Chapter 29

It’s still dark out when Pestilence stops Trixie in front of another house. Just the sight of it has my heart galloping. I don’t want to face another family so soon.

The horseman swings off his steed. “Wait here,” he commands.

He heads over to the darkened house, opening the gate to the side yard before disappearing from view.

I rub Trixie’s neck as I wait for horseman. What could he possibly be up to now?

A minute later the front door opens and Pestilence strides back to me.

“We will stay here tonight,” he says.

I hop off Trixie and warily follow him inside the house. It’s only as I catch a whiff of garbage that’s been sitting out too long that I realize the place is empty. My muscles relax.

I head over to a light switch and flick it on. Above me, the entryway light sputters to life.

Electricity. Score.

Tentatively, I begin to explore the house, flipping on lights here and there as I do so. The place is a shrine to junk; heaps of it are piled everywhere. Old prescription bottles and magazines, weather-damaged paperbacks and moth eaten clothes—all of it is stacked into precarious mounds.

I bet whoever lived here had to practically be pried out of their home when the evacuation orders went out. No one just spends this much time hoarding junk to leave it all behind.

I wrinkle my nose at the ripe smell in the air. It isn’t just old garbage, it’s also the smell of animals. I move into the kitchen, where I spot several aluminum bowls, one filled with water and the rest empty.

Mystery solved.

Owner has a dog or three.

Pestilence rises from where he knelt in front of the hearth, dusting off his hands, a fire taking shape behind him. Backlit by flames, he looks formidable and perhaps a little sinister. He grabs his bow and quiver from where he must’ve set them aside and heads past me.

“Sleep, Sara,” he says over his shoulder. His tone is so brusque that, had he not kissed the life out of me a short while ago, I would’ve said that I’d angered him.

“Where are you going?” I ask, restless at the idea of his leaving.

He pauses, rotating around to face me. “To patrol the area,” he says. “There are always humans who hunt me. They wait in the quiet hours to spring their traps.”

“Is that where you were before, when Nick …”

Pestilence’s face darkens at the reminder. “Unfortunately, this night I missed the danger right in front of me.”

I think that’s his weird way of apologizing.

I bite my inner cheek and nod. “Well, … be careful.” The words sound horribly awkward. Why do I even want my inhuman and undying captor to be careful? What could possibly happen to him?

Pestilence hesitates, his features softening at my words. “I cannot die, Sara,” he says gently.

“You can still get hurt.”

Really, where is all this sentimentality coming from?

The corner of his mouth curves up. “I swear I will do my utmost to not get hurt. Now rest. I know you need it.”

I do. My body feels leaden now that the last of the adrenaline is finally exiting my system.

Once Pestilence leaves, I peer into each of the bedrooms. There are two beds, both which I can use, but there’s just something about them that’s intensely unappealing. Maybe it’s the strong smell of dog coming from them, or the moldering piles of old clothes, broken plates and scraggly dolls that are heaped around them. I don’t particularly want to sleep in either of these rooms.

I grab a few blankets I find folded on the couch and lay down in front of the wood burning stove.

You’d think after the night I had, I’d be lying awake for hours, replaying those fateful minutes in the woods behind Nick’s house. But no sooner have I laid down than I drift off.

I don’t know how long I sleep for, only that I’m awoken by the sound of footsteps.

Going to kill you. He’s going to kill you.

A burst of fear floods my system, and I scramble to sit up, forcing my eyes to focus on the noise.

Pestilence comes over to me, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Be calm,” he says, kneeling at my side. He tucks a strand of my chestnut hair behind my ear. “It’s only me.”

It’s only Pestilence, the one being the rest of the world fears. And the sight of him brings me an embarrassing amount of relief.

I take a deep, stuttering breath. “It’s been a long day.”

The horseman’s wet hair drips between us, and rivulets of water cut down his chest. I feel a rush of heat at the sight of his bare skin. The firelight caresses every dip and curve, and not for the first time, I notice the exquisiteness of his form. His high cheekbones and full lips look all the more extreme as the shadows dance along them. And then there’s the rest of him, which is all so distinctly male, from his sculpted, powerful shoulders to his thick, cut biceps.

My eyes drop to his chest, where his rounded pecs flow into rippling abs. But it’s impossible to look at his torso without noticing the strange, glowing marks that shimmer in the darkness, illuminating the surrounding skin.

I reach out and run my fingers over the letters that curve beneath his collarbones like a necklace. They glow with a golden fire, their form strange and beautiful.