God no. Not like that.
“Um, a human name.”
I instantly regret mentioning the word human—it’s one of his triggers. But Pestilence doesn’t look repulsed by the idea.
In fact, he seems … intrigued.
He mulls it over for only a second or two before he says, “Alright.”
“Alright?” I echo.
Seriously, it was that easy?
He laughs a little at my surprised expression. “I confess, I have thought on this since we parted ways.”
Last we spoke, he hadn’t believed in personal names. He was Pestilence and Pestilence was who he was. He was his purpose, and that was all anyone needed to know. Sometime during all of those days and weeks we were separated, he changed his mind.
“What would you like to be called?” I ask.
His thumb twists the gold band round and round my finger.
“Victor,” he says, a shadow of a smile creeping along his face.
I raise my eyebrows. I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s not like Victor is any less appropriate that Bill or Joe. It’s just that Victor is really … normal. I wasn’t expecting normal.
Just be happy he didn’t decide on Elmer or Wolfgang.
“Victor,” I repeat, beginning to grin as I stare at him. I like it. A lot. “It’s perfect.”
His smile reaches his eyes.
“What made you choose it?” I ask.
He climbs into bed and takes me into his arms once more. I melt into the delicious heat of him.
This still feels like a dream. Will it ever not? Will I ever wake up one day and not be amazed at the force of nature I fell in love with?
“Victor is not so very different from conqueror, is it?” he says, ponderously.
I tense at that.
Laughter rumbles deep in his chest.
“Worry naught, dear Sara,” he says. “I am not clinging to my former ways.” He takes my hand and presses it to his heart. The steady beat of it thumps against my palm.
“Rather, I am your victor. You see, I came to conquer this land and its people,” he explained, “but instead, one of its people conquered me.”
I know my eyes have gone soft. It’s a good reason—no, a great reason—one that makes my toes curl.
Pulling his head down to me, I kiss him, my lips making long, languorous work of the task.
Once the kiss ends, I ask, “What happens now?”
“We go away—or we stay and hope the world learns as I have learned. Either way, we do it together—for all the minutes we have left.”
Epilogue
Year 10 of the Horseman
The sun is setting when it happens.
Victor drops his book, the spine hitting my legs, which are draped over his lap.
I glance up from my own novel, my gaze going from the book to his ashen face.
“What is it?”
Gently, Victor moves my legs aside and stands. He walks a few feet before he leans heavily against the nearby wall.
I set my own book aside, alarmed. I pretty much have to kick a path through the scattered children’s toys to get to him.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
Is he having a heart attack?
Is that even possible?
When he meets my eyes, there’s an old and familiar torment in them. “You may have stopped me all those years ago, Sara, but I am afraid …” He trails off, his eyes going to our home’s large balcony, which overlooks the Pacific. “I cannot stop my brothers.”
A chill slides through me. We haven’t even talked about this subject in months. For it to come up now, and so ominously …
Victor heads outside, driven by some force I can’t sense, and I’m helpless but to follow him.
He stands at the ledge, his hands gripping the railing so tightly I can hear the wood beginning to splinter. Amazing to think that those hands that can hold me so gently can also do this.
“The wheel of fate has been set in motion,” he says. “It still turns without my help.”
Despite my unease, I smooth my fingers over his hand. Beneath my touch, his hold on the railing loosens.
“I can feel it,” he says, not bothering to meet my gaze. His eyes move restlessly over the land. “My brother is waking.”
I go cold all over. “What?”
He won’t look at me, his body forced into a rigid stance.
“Pray for the world, dear Sara. War is coming.”