Page 15 of Terror at the Gates

“He deserved it,” I said. “I warned him not to touch me.”

“I’m not blaming you,” said Gabriel. “What I want to know is what Z did to him when you left.”

I looked at Zahariev as he was lighting his own cigarette. He took a long drag from it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger before expelling a plume of smoke into the night. He gave no answer.

Sometimes he looked so menacing, I hardly recognized him. A shiver ran down my spine.

“You cold, baby girl?” Gabriel asked, already slipping out of his jacket before I could answer. I let him drape it around my shoulders.

“You always take care of me,” I said, smiling up at him.

“You know it,” he said, then he looked at Zahariev. “You taking her home?”

He nodded once.

“I love you, baby girl,” Gabriel said, patting my shoulders.

“Tell Esther I said hi,” I said.

Esther was his girlfriend, and I loved her. Ironically, I thought my mother would have loved her too. She was everything I wasn’t—nurturing, compassionate, domestic.

If only she hadn’t been born in Nineveh.

“Tell her yourself,” he said. “You know you’re always welcome.”

“I know,” I said. “Thank you.”

He nodded and then vanished into the dark of the antique shop.

My gaze shifted to Zahariev. He dropped the cigarette to the wet ground and crushed it beneath his boot.

“You ready?” he asked, approaching. He put out his arm to herd me toward the SUV at the front of the line but didn’t touch me. His energy was all around me, heavier than Gabriel’s jacket.

Zahariev opened the door, and I slid into the back seat.

“Miss Leviathan,” the driver said with a glance in the rearview mirror.

“Felix,” I said. “It’s been a while.”

“You think two weeks is a while, Miss Leviathan?”

It was, considering Felix had been tasked with taking me home every other day, mostly because Zahariev got sick of my antics.

“Aww,” I said. “You counted.”

He snorted.

I thought for a moment that Zahariev wasn’t going to join me for the ride home. I didn’t like the small twinge of disappointment blossoming in my chest. I told myself it was because he still had my knife, but honestly, I wasn’t exactly sure where the feeling came from.

It vanished the moment he opened the other door and slid into the back. His energy was suffocating. Why was everything about him so electric? It was like he had magic.

If I hadn’t been looking out the windows, I wouldn’t have known Felix had put the car in drive. His acceleration was smooth. I glanced at Zahariev, his profile illuminated periodically by the glow of the streetlights and neon signs.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked.

He was quiet for a moment before speaking, which was usual. I never asked him why it took him so long to answer, because I knew he was thinking through his response.

“Would it do any good?”

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