Page 123 of Terror at the Gates

I gasped in pain, and it was like dousing him with a bucket of ice water. He stopped immediately and sat back on his knees, eyes wide with shock.

“Fuck,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Lilith.”

I blinked up at him. I was just as startled as he was. I hadn’t thought twice about my injury since the moment he kissed me, though now I couldn’t ignore the sharp stabs of pain slicing through the haze of my desire.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“You’re holding your arm,” he said.

Oh.I hadn’t noticed, but now that he pointed it out, I realized I had both hands pressed to my chest.

“It’s nothing,” I said, but I didn’t think he even heard me. His eyes were locked on my wrist as he tugged the sleeve of my shirt down, exposing the wound.

“What the fuck is this, Lilith?” he asked.

I flinched at his tone, so different from the heady rasp he’d used moments before. It made me angry, and I pushed him off as I sat up.

“Isaidit was nothing,” I snapped.

He gripped my jaw, tilting my head back.

“What did I tell you?” he asked. “At least look me in the eye when you lie.”

“It’s a burn,” I said between my teeth, shoving his handaway.

“How did you get it?”

I glared at him, and a part of me wondered how we’d gone from almost fucking to fighting.

“I went hunting for demons,” I said.

His brows lowered. “Demons?”

“The jelly monster that killed Esther,” I said. “I went hunting for it. I found it. I killed it…well, most of it.”

“With what?” he asked.

I just stared at him.

“The knife,” he said, answering his own question.

“And a stun gun from Samuel,” I added.

He stared at me, incredulous. After a moment, he pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, but I could guess.

I rose to my feet and reached for his phone, but he turned away from me.

“I’m going to Dr. Mor tomorrow!” I said, my fingers twisting into the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt as I tried to pull him back. I didn’t want him to bring the doctor here tonight. He would probably wake up Coco, and then all she would do was worry.

“Tomorrow is Esther’s funeral,” he said.

“I’m not going!” I yelled, angry that he had brought it up. Why had he brought it up? He looked at me, and I felt pressure building behind my eyes. I ground my teeth against it. I didn’t want to cry. I took a breath, but that didn’t stop my voice from shaking as I spoke. “I can’t.”

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