Page 68 of Terror at the Gates

My brows lowered.When I want him to?

I considered asking her what she meant, but I decided I didn’t want to give her any reason to continue this conversation. Coco seemed to get the hint, because she turned her attention to the television.

“What are you watching?”

I followed her gaze. It looked like some sort of children’s show, but all the characters were weird hand puppets. I was about to answer that I had no clue, but a knock at the door interrupted us. We exchanged a look before she hopped from the couch.

“Speak of the devil,” she said as she peered through the peephole before opening the door.

All of a sudden, my heart was racing, and I didn’t knowwhy. Zahariev had visited a million times, and I’d never had this reaction.

It’s because of last night, I told myself.A lot of things happened last night.

“Good morning, Mr. Zareth,” said Coco.

“Good morning, Miss D’Arsay,” Zahariev said, his eyes connecting with mine as soon as he walked into view.

I wondered how much sleep he’d gotten. He still looked tired, but he was freshly showered.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hi,” I said, though my voice sounded small and breathless. I blamed Coco for that, because now I couldn’t look at Zahariev without thinking about sex.

This was a new low. I needed to get laid.

I glanced at Coco, noticing how she pressed her lips tight to keep from smiling.

“I’ll just…uh…be in the bathroom,” she said.

I wanted to roll my eyes but didn’t, noticing Zahariev’s attention had dropped to my lap where Cherub still slept. Before he could ask about her, I spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought you a gun,” he said, holding up a black case. I hadn’t noticed it before. It blended almost seamlessly with his long jacket. “I also brought you a phone.”

He pulled the device from his pocket and handed it to me. It was new and shiny, and it made me feel anxious.

“What about my old one?” I asked.

“Disabled,” he said.

I felt a little better, but there was a part of my brain that wondered if it was too late.

Zahariev set the gun case on the coffee table and then stared at me. I felt like he wanted me to say something. Ithought about apologizing for last night, for breaking down, for asking him to hold me, for being an inconvenience, but I knew he would reject it, and I also wasn’t sorry.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, probably too quickly for it to really be true.

I couldn’t handle holding his gaze, so I dropped it to the fur ball in my lap. The couch dipped with Zahariev’s weight.

“When did you get a cat?” he asked.

“Apparently this morning,” I said. “Coco brought her home sometime last night.”

“Are you keeping her?”

“I…don’t know,” I said, glancing at him.

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