Page 49 of Terror at the Gates

“I love you,” I said, kissing Esther’s forehead.

“I love you too.”

“Good night, Esther,” Zahariev said as he guided me to the door, a firm hand on my back. He kept it there even as we headed down the hall to the elevator. I thought he might put distance between us once we were inside, but he didn’t. Even with him near, I held on to the bar, feeling a rush of nausea as we made our descent.

“The church is going to come looking for their enforcers,” I said.

“I’m counting on it,” Zahariev replied.

I looked at him. He was staring straight ahead, so I could only see the sharp edge of his jaw.

“What are you going to tell them?”

He looked down at me. “I’m going to tell them what I found,” he said. “Three dead men and a taxi.”

“What about the knife?” I asked.

Zahariev frowned. “What do you mean, what about the knife?”

“Burke had the knife,” I said. “I saw him use it. I picked it up.”

I knew I wasn’t imagining it either, because as soon as I’dhad it in hand, I’d been transported to that fucking desert.

“It might have been there before you passed out,” said Zahariev. “But it wasn’t there when Gabriel arrived.”

“Why would someone take the knife and leave my bag?”

“Maybe they thought it had more value,” he said. “I suppose it’s just a matter of time before we find the person responsible.”

“Do you already have a lead?”

“No,” he said. “But everyone who’s touched that blade has ended up dead, save you and me. I doubt whoever has it now will be an exception.”

I shared the same doubt, but why did Zahariev and I seem to be one?

***

On the ride home, I lay down in the back seat. Zahariev let me use his leg as a pillow, which wasn’t exactly comfortable, but I didn’t complain. My head felt like a weight, and it was better than sitting up. I kept my eyes closed but didn’t sleep. The ride was too bumpy, and I’d become aware of other injuries I’d sustained in the struggle with Burke. My ass hurt. Maybe I’d broken something other than my head during that fall. It didn’t help that Zahariev’s hand was resting on my hip, a warm weight that only made me dwell on the ache.

When we arrived, I groaned. I didn’t want to feel that rush of dizziness as I sat up again. Zahariev combed his fingers through my hair and I opened my eyes, looking up at his stupidly pretty face. He had to be the only person in the entire world who didn’t have a double chin when they looked down.

Fucking rude.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“I just want to sleep,” I said.

His fingers running through my hair didn’t help. If he kept it up, I’d be asleep in his lap in no time, especially now that we were stopped.

Zahariev’s lips curled. “You’re almost there, little love. Do you want me to carry you?”

“That’s the second time tonight you’ve tried to sweep me off my feet, Zahariev.”

His smile widened for a moment and then vanished completely.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I frowned, confused by his sudden change in tone. “Why are you apologizing?”

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