I’ve never seen anyone—anything—like him.
He is dressed to do battle—though who could possibly stand against him is a mystery. That armor gleams as though it’s freshly polished, and those massive black wings lay folded at his back, so large that the tips of them nearly touch the ground. As the horseman rides, his eyes are pinned to something in the distance.
His face is solemn and captivating. I swear that I’ve seen the arch of that brow and the slope of that nose before in my dreams. And I’ve imagined the curve of those lips, the press of those cheekbones, and the cut of that jaw in every tragic poem read by candlelight.
He is more beautiful than I can make sense of and more terrifying than I could’ve imagined.
I must make some noise from where I stand because the horseman’s gaze lowers from the skyline, his black hair shifting a little where it skims his shoulders. For one perfect second, our eyes meet.
He has ancient eyes. Even as far away as he is, I can still see his age in them. This being has seen more of humanity than I could ever hope to. I feel the weight of all that history the longer he looks at me. His jaw clenches as he takes me in, and my skin tingles from his appraisal.
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?
I try to push away the thoughts of my family, but then I’m thinking of Hailey and Gianna, my closest friends and then there’s Jaxson, who I’d only started seeing.
All of them live in this town.
My fear and horror are choking me up.
Please God, don’t be that cruel.
The trip back to my house is quick, but my panicked thoughts make it feel like an eternity. The scattered remains of so many dead don’t help. Dread is already mixing with my fear.
My lungs burn and my legs are threatening to give out when I catch sight of the pea green house that I’ve always called home. It’s always been a bit snug for the seven of us siblings that grew up in it. Add to that all of the friends and neighbors we had coming and going through that front door over the years, and it was always a noisy, boisterous place where you could kick your feet up and hang—if you didn’t mind the fact that we all basically lived on top of each other.
I dash up the front walkway and barrel through the door. The first thing I notice is the smell of something burning, but the thought is quickly eclipsed by the sight in front of me.
A scream slips out. My brother River sits on the couch, his body slumped over his guitar, his pick on the ground next to him.
“No,” I moan, running over to him. There are more bodies—Nicolette and her husband Stephen are in the kitchen, their younger daughter in the highchair my mom keeps around for her grandkids.
At the sight of my tiny niece, I have to press a hand to my mouth to keep my rising sickness at bay. A horrified tear slips out.
I can’t bring myself to touch the bodies. I know they’re gone, but feeling their cool flesh will make it real, and I … I can’t do that just yet.
My brother Ethan lies on the ground in front of the stove, and there is the source of the smoke—the breakfast he was cooking sits charred in the pan.
I don’t know why I go to the trouble of removing that pan from the stovetop. Everyone here is already dead.
I stagger down the hallway, into my bedroom. Robin is inside, splayed out on the bed she used to sleep in before she moved out. Briana, my niece, is slumped against her, the picture book they must’ve been reading pinned beneath her small body. Their eyes stare sightlessly out and I choke on my horror.