Page 121 of Terror at the Gates

She meowed louder and made a figure eight between my legs.

“I’m working on it,” I said, my fingers slipping on the plastic. “Patience is a virtue, Cherub.”

When I finally got the bag open, I gave her two treats and then refilled her water bowl before heading to my room. As I pushed open the door, I froze, finding Zahariev sitting on the edge of my bed. He looked amused, the corners of his lips tilted up.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” I demanded.

“I put the lock on your door,” he said, as if it were obvious.

“So you took that as permission to drop by anytime?” I asked.

“I would have knocked, but I didn’t think you’d answereven if you were home.”

“That’s usually a sign you aren’t exactly welcome,” I said, letting my backpack slide off my shoulder. I set it on the ground.

“We have a few things to discuss,” he said.

I didn’t look at him and instead scanned the clothing on my floor for something to sleep in. I really needed to do laundry.

“Thingsare discussed during business hours,” I said.

“Apparently all your business is conducted between the hours of midnight and five a.m. so I guess I’m right on time.”

“I’m ignoring you,” I said.

“When don’t you?” He countered, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. It gave me pause, and part of me wanted to argue, but I thought he wanted that, so I decided not to give in.

“Fuck you, Zahariev,” I said, leaving for the bathroom. I wanted to slam the door, but I didn’t want to wake Coco up, so instead, as I undressed, I hurled every piece of clothing to the floor. By the time I was finished, I felt more silly than frustrated. I didn’t even really know what I was angry about, except that my plans to come home, crawl into bed, and sleep had been interrupted by the man who’d starred in my sex dream last night.

It was all highly inconvenient.

After I washed my face, I felt a little more calm and considered entertaining whatever Zahariev had come here to say.

That was until I returned to my room and found him sitting with my backpack between his legs, my blade in hand.

“Wanna tell me where you got this?” he asked.

“Stop looking through my things!” I snapped, bolting across the room. I had every intention of snatching thedagger away from him, but he held it high and wrapped an arm around my waist, keeping me anchored to his body.

“You looked through mine,” he said.

“I didn’tlookthrough anything,” I said, shoving my hands against his shoulders. I let out a small yelp as he fell back onto the bed, taking me with him.

I scrambled back, straddling him as I sat up, hoping I’d be able to reach for the blade, but both of his hands had moved to my thighs.

“Where is it?” I demanded, my palms planted firmly on his chest.

He arched a brow at me. “I guess you’ll have to search for it.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering what he was playing at but very aware of where our bodies touched.

“It’s not like you to play games,” I said.

“This isn’t a game,” he said. “I asked you a serious question you still haven’t answered.”

I could just tell him how the blade had come back to me, but I wanted to be difficult.

“What will you give me?” I asked.

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