Page 110 of Terror at the Gates

“You are a serpent,” I said aloud.

My lips were aflame as they parted from his. I shifted onto my knees and pushed him to the ground. I mounted him, sliding down his thick cock. He filled me up, made me whole, and as I moved, I whispered words, maybe a spell, maybe a prayer, which I did not know, but they fell from my mouth and into the space between us.

Give me your venom, your holy blood.

I will take your poison, your silver tongue.

Drink deep from my body, taste darkness on my lips.

Worship me within my temple, on the steps of my altar.

Bring forth my rapture,my violent end.

I felt his power beneath my hands, and then it was inside me, rising until I could not see or breathe.

You are brilliant, I heard him say.Open your eyes, little love.

I did and found Zahariev beneath me. We were not in acave or even my bed, but whatever was under us was soft, cushioning my knees as I straddled him. I rocked back, feeling his balls press against my ass. His hands slid from my thighs behind my knees, and he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You will regret this, I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. I wanted this too much. I shook my head and let my hands slide up his tattooed chest.

“Nothing,” I said, and as I kissed him, he began to thrust into me with a practiced rhythm that made my eyes roll. “Don’t stop,” I begged.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he said and took me over the edge.

***

I woke up on my stomach with an ache between my thighs. I was hot and rolled onto my back, pushing the covers off me. They felt too heavy, and I needed to breathe. I lay there letting the chill air blanket me, hoping it would ease this unearthly heat.

Fuck. I hadn’t felt like this in a long time. I was empty, desperate to impale myself on anything that would make me feel stretched and full. I blamed Zahariev—or rather myself—for thinking about him before falling asleep.

I pressed my thighs together, deepening the tension. I was trying to decide if the short-term release was going to be worth the effort of masturbating when I heard Cherub meow and abandoned the thought entirely.

She was basically my child, so that was a hard no.

I sighed and sat up. She was sitting on the floor amid piles of dirty and clean clothes, staring up at me.

“I guess you heard,” I said. “It’s just you and me, kid.”

She meowed, and I checked my phone. I had a few messages, and each one gave me a different kind of anxiety, save Coco’s, which was just a reminder that there was soup in the fridge.

One was from my father, reminding me of the gala tomorrow night.

One was from Zahariev, asking if I was all right.

And then there was one from Gabriel. Several from Gabriel, actually. I’d just ignored them.

The morning following Esther’s death, he’d texted:

Hey baby girl. Just want to check on you. Come by the hospital anytime. Liam and I will be here for another day. He’s excited to meet his aunt.

Then yesterday:

Tried calling. Left a voicemail. Just wanted to let you know Liam and I are heading home tomorrow. You are welcome anytime.

Later that day: