Page 194 of House of Lilith

But once they all do, including the newly released Archon, instead of using it himself, he turns on his heel and starts marching back.

I frown, bitterly wondering how much longer I’ll have to wait for this to be fucking over.

My frown only growing deeper, I watch him walk all the way to Lilith Tower, stop once he’s right in front, and then start climbing.

What the…

“I guess that’s my cue,” I hear Hilde say.

And for a second, I can’t tear my eyes away from the figure deftly making its way up the tower and straight for my window.

But then I turn to Hilde and tell her, in this small voice, “You don’t have to go.”

“Oh I think I do,” she says with a smile.

I just blink at her.

She lets out a little laugh. “If I don’t see you before I leave…”

“No, you will,” I rush to say, but she’s already walking out of my room and I’m moving away from the window so as not to be seen from the outside.

But the next thing I know, there are three sharp knocks sending my heart racing.

*

“Romanov,” I hear his voice boom when I don’t answer, serious and commanding.

There’s a moment of silence before he gives the window three more quick knocks, more impatient this time. “Hey, open up.”

I take a deep breath and I come to stand in front of the window, seeing him gripping the gargoyle on the window frame with one hand and pushing into the tower wall with his feet to keep himself hanging there, staring at me with this intense look on his face.

“We’ve already said our goodbyes, Howe,” I say flatly. “Let’s not ruin it.”

“It’s no joke, you know,” he says with a frown, “how long I can stay like this.”

“You can die like that for all I care,” I snap and I walk away from the window.

“Don’t mind if I do then,” I hear him snap back as I start pacing my room, making sure I’m out of his line of sight.

And I try to ignore it, that he’s there, but then he starts whistling, the sound somehow pissed, and he keeps doing it, louder and louder, until I march up to the window, open it and take an angry step back as I watch him jump through.

“Five minutes, you said?” I ask as soon as his boots land on my carpeted floor.

He stands straight, throwing me a squint. “So youdidget my messages?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say flatly. “I seem to have lost your number.”

For a second, there’s silence. Then he just says, “Fair enough.”

And proceeds scanning my body, as if checking the state of me, saying in a softer voice, “You look… all healed up.”

It instantly makes me pissed, that he’d go ahead and make it seem like he gives a shit.

So I march up to my commode, grab an hourglass I’ve never used as, well, an hourglass, and I flip it over, slamming it back onto the polished wooden surface.

And I turn back to him, folding my arms and motioning at the sand starting to run out as I watch his eyebrows shoot up.

“Right,” he says as he shifts on his feet a little, folding his arms as well. “Well, here goes.”

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