Page 3 of Terror at the Gates

“My usual,” I said.

My usual was a strawberry daiquiri. I don’t know why it was my usual; I just liked that it was sweet and Eli always added a whole strawberry to the rim.

“You got it,” he said.

“Thank you, Eli,” I sang.

He tried not to smile, head down, focused on his task.

I took a moment to glance at my target’s two colleagues.

“Here, beautiful.” The one nearest me said, giving up his chair. “Take my seat.”

I didn’t protest and instead smiled. “What a sweetheart,” I said. “Thank you.”

There were no other empty seats at the bar, leaving the man standing. His colleague winked at me before slipping from his chair. Together, they wandered into the crowd, leaving me alone with their friend.

I turned to face him. His eyes matched those of the man from earlier, so blown out I couldn’t tell their color. I didn’t need the physical cues to know he was aroused though. I could feel it flare in the air between us.

He smiled, showing his teeth, a row of straight pearl-white veneers.

“Hello,” he said. I thought he sounded like someone who had to put in effort to deepen their voice.

“Hello,” I said in the most sultry tone I could muster, rising onto the tips of my heeled feet so I could slide onto the barstool.

His eyes dipped down again, bouncing over the contours of my body, launching his lust into overdrive.

My claws were in him deep.

Eli slid my drink toward me. The sound of glass grating against granite set my teeth on edge.

“Put it on my tab,” said the man.

“Oh, you don’t—”

“I insist,” he said.

I smiled again and offered my hand. “Lilith.”

“Ephraim,” he said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ephraim,” I said, holding his gaze as I sipped from the straw in my drink.

“What brings you out tonight?” he asked.

“Oh, I just wanted to have a little fun,” I said. “You?”

“I can be fun,” he said.

His desire rose, each wave stronger than the last. I could feel the ebb and flow, my magic anchored to his energy. It made me dizzy, but not sick like the last man.

When my powers first developed at eighteen, the whole experience made me violently ill. It still did if they had an appetite for violence.

My magic was the downfall of my obedience. It wasn’t until then I realized everything the church had tried to say about women was a lie. We were not responsible for lust in men. We existed, and they desired.

Sometimes that desire was mutual. Sometimes it wasn’t, but men had a hard time wrapping their dicks around the wordno, and since our world valued them more, we were the ones who suffered.

“That is a beautiful necklace,” said Ephraim.

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