Page 126 of Terror at the Gates

“I won’t ask,” he said.

“You aren’t. I’m offering.”

“Lilith—”

“Zahariev—”

“I said no!” he roared.

My spine straightened, and as I blinked away my shock at having beenyelledat by Zahariev, I watched as he squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face with his hand.

“That man,” he said, but his voice broke, so he stopped and tried again. “That manhurtyou. I couldn’t protect you from him then, but I can now, and I refuse—” He paused again and swallowed. “Irefuse.”

I thought there was going to be more to that sentence, but that was where he left it.

My chest hurt.

“Zahariev.”

All I could do was whisper his name. He wouldn’t look at me.

I rose from the bed, letting Cherub jump to the ground, and went to him. Before I could think, I was already moving, dragging his mouth to mine.

I didn’t know if he’d kiss me back, if he’d had time to realize this wasn’t supposed to happen, but his reaction was immediate. He kissed me hard and deep, parting my mouth with his tongue. His hands burned as they pressed into me and drew us together. He was still hard, and I was desperate to touch him, to taste him.

But as soon as I reached for the button of his jeans, his hold on my shoulders tightened, and he ended the kiss, his forehead resting against mine.

“Lilith.”

My name was a rasp on his lips. It was like he wanted me to believe he was desperate for me, even though he’d rejected me twice.

I guessed this was what obligation looked like, and while it was clear he’d break a lot of rules for me, this wasn’t one.

I took a step back, almost tripping over a pile of clothes. Zahariev reached to steady me. “Don’t.”

He froze, and I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Don’t touch me.”

His arms fell limp at his sides as he stared, but I didn’t want to see the regret in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’m not,” he said.

“You’re a terrible liar, Zahariev,” I said.

“It’s not a lie.”

“Then you’re an asshole,” I said. To that, he said nothing. “I think you should leave.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I should.”

He didn’t move, so I did.

Retrieving the dagger from atop the rumpled covers, I returned it to my bedside drawer before wrapping my blanket around my shoulders and sitting cross-legged on my bed, waiting for Zahariev to leave.

He adjusted and buttoned his shirt.

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