Page 113 of Terror at the Gates

“Oh, I have plans,” I said, smoothing my hand down the guard’s arm. He wasn’t muscular, really, but I also found myself comparing the feel of him to Zahariev, which was unfair and also frustrating. I didn’t want to get into the habit of comparing men to the one I literally couldn’t have.

That wasn’t the point of the touch anyway. The connection allowed my magic to sink into him and take hold.

“Which zone belongs to Zahariev Zareth?” I asked.

The man blinked, confusion clouding his gaze as my power pulled the answer from his mouth.

“M-40 to 45,” he said.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Bay M, numbers forty through forty-five,” he answered.

“And where is that?” I asked.

“About a mile south,” he said. “The letters are spray-painted on the ground.”

A mile?

“Can I get there from here?”

“Yeah, you can get there from here,” he said. “But why would you want to?”

“He’s got something that belongs to me,” I said.

“Baby, don’t fuck with the family—ouch! She bit me!” he shouted suddenly, dropping Cherub. She landed on her feet and bolted right under the gate.

Fuck.

“Cherub!” I shouted, running after her. “That was rude!”

And not part of my plan, I thought as I chased after her, ducking beneath the red-and-white bar blocking the entrance, but whatever. I was going to take it.

“Hey! Come back!” the guard called. “Stop!”

“Sorry!” I said. “I have to get my cat!”

I kept running. Ahead, I could see her just sitting in the middle of the road, all stoic with her tail curled over her feet.

“You little fucker,” I said. I barely stopped as I scooped her into my arms, holding her close as I ran. I felt like I was jostling her so hard, her brain was probably bouncing around in her skull.

I didn’t stop until I was hidden among the maze of shipping containers all stacked at different heights. The guardhadn’t followed me, but I wasn’t stupid enough to believe he’d let me continue to trespass. I was certain he’d radio the other guards. I just hoped when they came in search of me, they wouldn’t use dogs, for Cherub’s sake.

M-45, I thought as I jogged down the long corridor created by the shipping containers, searching for anything that might give me an indication of where I was in relation to Zahariev’s zone when I spotted a number on one of the container doors.

A-36.

Are you fucking kidding?

I was going to have to jog toM?

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if you had just let him hold you,” I said, shoving Cherub back in her sling. She gave a drawn-out meow. “Don’t argue with me. You’re not the one who has to walk there. If you’d given me more time, I probably could have convinced him to drive us.”

I’d be lucky to make it halfway before security descended.

On the flip side, this place was huge. I could probably hide just about anywhere and long enough to make them think I’d given up my task, though the thought of being shut inside one of these containers for an hour didn’t appeal to me in the least.

If all else failed, I’d call Zahariev, but he was my last resort.

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