Oh, come on.
I swallow, my gaze fixed to the satchel.
Just leave it.
But damnit, it contains the last few items I owned from before my life was destroyed, and I really, really don’t want to part with them.
My gaze returns to the horseman. Who’s alive and who could wake at any moment.
I can do this. I’m ballsy, and I’m not going to let this asshole cost me the last of my personal possessions. He’s taken enough as it is.
With that pep talk, I unsheathe my blade and slowly move myself until I’m kneeling on either side of the horseman, his legs trapped between mine. Bringing the knife up to his neck, I reach for my bag.
It takes one forceful yank, but I finally get the thing dislodged.
Beneath me, the horseman stirs, his black brows pulling together before smoothing out.
I think I’ve truly run out of time.
I could bolt now, but then, there’s another option, one that’s far too tempting for my vengeful side.
So, after tossing my bag into the grass next to the cart, I stay there, knife pressed to his neck, and wait for him to wake.
I can’t keep myself from staring at him. His face is unmarred—as though it weren’t run through by several arrows only a day ago. Stranger still, there isn’t a speck of blood on him.
That’s different.
Every time I’ve died—no matter how briefly—it’s always left some trace behind. Ripped clothing, bloody skin—something. But staring down at the horseman, it’s as though yesterday simply didn’t happen at all.
I frown as I study him. I’ve never seen anyone so … so grotesquely handsome—handsome and lethal. There should be a name for that kind of beauty, the kind that literally kills.
As I keep vigil, he stirs again. Only this time, his eyes flutter, then snap open.
The first thing he sees is me.
“Hello again, Death,” I say. “Did you miss me?”
Chapter 12
Bardstown, Kentucky
October, Year 26 of the Horsemen
He begins to sit up.
“Ah ah,” I say, pressing the knife a little firmer against him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He glances down at the blade. When he looks back at me, his eyes are glittering with malice. “You intend to hurt me?”
I lean in close. “I already have.”
It takes him a moment to remember, but eventually Death’s eyes narrow on me. “The arrows,” he murmurs. “That was you.”
It wasn’t really me. I’m pretty sure my own shots went wide. But I’ll still take credit for the attack.
“I vowed I’d stop you.”
I don’t see the horseman’s hand move until it’s wrapped around my neck. I forgot how damn fast he is.
He doesn’t squeeze and I don’t bother trying to pry his fingers off of me. This is the cursed retribution I feared, yet I’m surprised by how unafraid I am in the face of it.
“Let me go, or I’ll slit your throat,” I say softly.
He gives a low laugh, one that’s full of menace. He does, however, remove his hand from my neck. I realize a second too late, he does that only so that he can wrap an arm around my waist and flip us, forcing me to the floor of the cart.
My knife slashes down his throat with the movement.
Death curses, snatching the blade from my hand and tossing it away. Then once more he pins me down by the neck.
Now he’s the one looming over me, the blood from his wound dripping onto my lips and chin. The moment I taste the iron tang of it, I begin struggling again.
“Foolish woman,” he hisses. “You should’ve slit my throat before I woke.”
I know.
He waits for me to stop struggling, staring down at me with eyes that seem to glitter.
“Killing me won’t stop anything. You cannot save your people,” he says, his weight bearing down on me.
“Not forever,” I agree, “but I’m going to make you work for each one of those deaths.”
He practically growls out his displeasure, his feathers ruffling at his back. “Leave it be,” he says. “I am not interested in battling you.”
I lift my chin. “Then stop the killing.”
His nostrils flare, and maybe it’s my imagination, but the horseman actually looks vexed.
“Do you think I want to be here? That I like riding through cities and doing this?”
“If you don’t like doing it, then that’s all the more reason to stop.”
He scowls, looking fierce. “People go when it’s their time, kismet, and it’s not my place to make exceptions.”