Maybe it’s because I’m still in shock, or maybe it’s because it’s simply too late to hide, but whatever the reason, I walk onto the highway towards the horseman.
Death’s brows furrow, and he pulls his horse to a stop. I stop then, too, the two of us still staring each other down.
After a moment, he swings off his horse and strides forward, closing the distance between us. His boots make an ominous, echoing sound on the broken asphalt, and my heart is pounding and I should run. Why am I not running?
Death comes to stop in front of me.
He takes me in—all of me, his eyes moving from my face to my vintage T-shirt and cutoff jeans to my legs and second-hand sneakers, then all the way back up to my face again. The appraisal isn’t lewd; I get the impression that he’s not taking in my body at all, his gaze is a little unfocused.
“I don’t recognize you.” His wings rustle and resettle at that. He frowns, his brows creasing. “Who are you?”
Chapter 3
Temple, Georgia
July, Year 26 of the Horsemen
Death
Everything in me demands I take her.
Everything.
Perhaps it’s because I cannot do so—not in any real sense. Her soul has cleaved itself to her flesh, and neither my hand nor my power can pry it loose.
And still, the urge to whisk her away rides me. It’s so foreign, so alarming, that my wings fan out, partially in shock, and partially in preparation to take flight.
I felt it the moment I saw her, and the sensation still hasn’t abated.
I stare at the woman as her lips part.
“I …” Her voice trails off, her chest rising and falling faster than it should be. “I don’t know how to answer that,” she says, looking lost and perhaps a little dazed.
I’m struck by the lilt of her voice. Even it is compelling.
Your brothers had their women. This one is yours. Take her.
I fight against the driving need.
Did this happen to my brothers? Were their struggles this … visceral?
It’s fucking awful.
I steel my spine.
Humans are the impulsive ones. Not horsemen.
Certainly not me, Death.
Nor will I become like them.
I whistle over my shoulder, calling for my horse, though I can’t bring myself to look away from the woman. I don’t know why I want to gaze at her. I have been awake for a year now. Never has a human caught my attention like this. That alone is unnerving.
My steed comes to my side. Reluctantly, I tear my gaze away from the mortal and force myself onto my steed, battling my own baser instincts to reach down and snag the woman’s shirt so I can draw her up here with me.
My mind needs to be set fire to.
Leave, I command myself. Put as much distance as you can between her and yourself. You have a duty you must not waver from.
Still, almost of their own accord, my eyes drop down to her, like they can’t help but take her in. At my back, my wings open and resettle with my agitation, and I ignore these strange sensations rolling through me.
“You shouldn’t be alive,” I bite out, my voice hostile.
Before the woman can say anything else, I kick my horse into action, and I flee.
Lazarus
I stare after the horseman as he rides away, unsettled by the strange, brief encounter.
Death.
I get chills just thinking about that awful horseman.
Once I lose sight of him, I blink several times. Death’s departure seems to break the spell I’ve been under.
My gaze sweeps around me once more, at all the people who were alive only minutes ago.
Then the wheels in my mind begin to turn. Death has come to Temple, Georgia. He’s already killed off the entire population gathered at the open-air market （sans me, of course）， and now he’s heading into the town proper.
My town, where my family and friends live. Where today, in particular, they’ve all gathered in honor of my niece’s birthday.
Oh, fuck.
That thought has no sooner clicked into place then I’m dashing down the highway, leaping over the dead, my heart pounding a mile a minute.
OhGodohGodohGodohGod.
Pleasenotmymom. Pleasenotmymom. At first, all I can fixate on is her. She’s been my entire world since she found me two decades ago, alone in another city full of corpses.
But then there are other people I love—my siblings Nicolette and River and Ethan, Owen and Robin and Juniper. Then there are their spouses and— I choke at the thought of all my tiny nieces and nephews, my stomach roiling at the thought. Already I’ve seen children amongst the bodies lying in the streets.
What sort of monster doesn’t spare children?