Page 6 of Terror at the Gates

The man tilted his head to the side, studying me. “Does that mean you are going to be difficult?”

“Define difficult,” I said.

“Are you going to hand over what you have stolen? Or will I have to search you?”

“If you are accusing me of stealing, then you will have to search me,” I said.

“We watched you obtain a knife from a patron,” he said, as if that might convince me to cooperate, but I wasn’t in the mood.

I shrugged. “He said I could have it.”

“We read the signatures. You used magic.”

I suspected as much. They’d literally been waiting for me at the exit. I wasn’t really surprised. Nearly every business across Eden used technology to target the heat signatures of magic. What I’d done tonight was illegal. I was not allowed to use my magic without some kind of male oversight. Since I was unmarried, my father dictated when and how I used my power, though even when I’d lived at home, he’d ignored my magic.

I didn’t really blame him though. I imagined it was very uncomfortable for my father to know his daughter had developed sex magic at the age of eighteen.

“You refuse to comply?” the man asked.

“I rarely change my mind,” I said.

“So be it,” he said and took a step toward me while withdrawing a knife. “Strip or I’ll help you.”

I raised my brows. I couldn’t help feeling amused. This was the problem with hopefuls. They wanted to show off, prove themselves in stupid ways. This was likely the last night he’d work for Zahariev.

I looked at the blade and then met his gaze.

“I am afraid you will have to help.”

I wasn’t even flirting. I just wanted him closer.

I waited until he touched me to strike, slamming one hand into his elbow and the other into his face. He staggered, dropping the knife as he held both hands to his bleeding nose.

Then I kicked him in the balls, and he collapsed to the floor.

There were some perks to being the daughter of one of the five families. My father always wanted me to be able to protect myself. Despite his participation in this indoctrinated world, he knew religion bred hostility, especially toward women.

I swiped the blade from the ground and straddled the man. Grabbing a handful of his dark hair, I placed the knife to his throat.

He whimpered.

“I told you to let me go,” I said.

The door opened.

I expected the guards, but a heavy sigh told me someone else had joined this meeting.

I looked up to see a man. He was the kind of handsome that pissed me off, probably because I knew him well and didn’t want to find him attractive, but it was impossible. To me, he had a perfect face—a beautiful jawline, pillowy lips, blue eyes, and thick, dark hair that was shaved low on the sides. He had a habit of running his fingers through it when he was frustrated, and around me, that was all the time.

He was dressed for business in a tailored black suit. My eyes traveled from his face to his neck, where a set of waningmoons were tattooed. They merged with clouds that billowed across his chest, cut through with beams of light. Though they were only partially visible beneath the unbuttoned collar of his red shirt, I had seen the entire thing and knew that angels battled along his sternum and stomach. It was a scene from Armageddon, the end of the world.

“Lilith,” he said, his voice a deep baritone. He sounded bored and a little annoyed, like I was an inconvenience.

Which wasn’t unfair. I was an inconvenience.

“Zahariev,” I said, straightening before dropping the knife. “Took you long enough.”

His gaze swallowed me. I wanted to shiver beneath it but refused, grinding my teeth to keep still. I wondered if he knew the power of his stare. I suspected he did. I felt pinned by it, hating that I questioned if it meant he was disappointed in me.

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