Page 147 of Terror at the Gates

I nodded. The words were a reminder we were on the same side and not to do anything alone, unlike before when I’d gone rogue hunting demons, but in my defense, I needed something to focus on after losing Esther. Killing jelly monsters had worked. Even the burn it had left behind was a distraction.

I just didn’t know what I was going to do now that my parents were dead too.

I occupied myself with a hot-as-fuck shower.

If Zahariev had caught me, he would have accused me of trying to burn my skin off, but he was just sensitive to the heat.

When I was finished, I searched through all the cabinets and drawers for something I could use to redress my wound, freshly opened thanks to my mother’s nails. I found a roll of gauze and wound it around my wrist then crossed into the bedroom, discovering Fawna had left me extra towels, a robe, and an oversize shirt to use as a nightgown.

I slipped it on and climbed into the bed. It felt like a vast sea compared to my narrow twin. I thought it would be easier to fall asleep without a spring sticking in my back, but I remained awake, staring at this strange room with its straight edges and perfect lines. It was like every other part of Zahariev’s house: methodical and precise. I wondered if it reflected what went on in his head and if it ever got messy.

At some point, the darkness hovering over me started to feel overbearing and I rolled onto my side, curling into a fetal position. I was cold and alone, and all I wanted to do was rewind this horrible night and never replay it again, but I couldn’t stop the spiral.

It was a cruel irony that on the very evening I’d felt most like myself and dropped all pretense of conforming, everything went to shit.

My mother would have called it divine justice. I couldhearher saying it in that cool, condescending tone. Even dead, her doctrine haunted me, and my anger roared to life. I wished it was powerful enough to overwhelm the bone-deep sadness around me, but it clung to me, and I didn’t understand how I could mourn someone I’d spent the majority of my life resenting.

I recognized that most of this was probably for my father, yet when I thought of him, a different sort of ache took over. Maybe it was the way we had left things. It wasn’t that I regretted what I said. He deserved to know that the words and guidance he called gospel had come from the mouth of an abuser, a liar, a fake.

It was just that he was dead now, and I had no way of knowing if he would have finally chosen me.

It was the last thing Lisk would ever take from me. I’d make sure of that.

I heard the door open and shut quietly. I let Zahariev think I was asleep, just to see what he would do, but he didn’t come to me. Instead, he took a seat near the window.

My eyes began to water. I’d overwhelmed myself by thinking of my parents. I took a breath and spoke, hoping I didn’t sound like I was crying.

“Have you talked to Coco?” I asked.

“Cassius has,” he said. “She is safe. She’ll arrive in the morning.”

“And Cherub?”

“Cherub too,” he said.

I was quiet, struggling with my tears.

“Gabriel’s here with Liam,” Zahariev said after a moment. “He asked to see you, but I told him to wait until tomorrow.”

I smiled softly, but my face ached.

“Thank you, Zahariev,” I whispered.

There was a beat of silence, and then the bed shifted with his weight as he settled behind me and pulled me close. I guided his hand to my chest, holding him around me. If I could sink into his skin, I would.

I took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Do you think they suffered?” I asked.

“Would it help to know?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I just knew one answer would feed my grief and the other would feed my revenge.

“You should know before you ask,” he said. “Sometimes knowledge like that isn’t worth the burden.”

It sounded like something he knew from experience.

“Hold me tighter, Zahariev,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

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