Terror at the Gates (Blood of Lilith, #1)

by Scarlett St. Clair

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world…

Forgiveness was an invitation to sin. I witnessed it every week, which was why I’d decided a long time ago that I did not care to be forgiven. I’d rather be a sinner than a hypocrite.

My magic was the downfall of my obedience. It wasn’t until then I realized everything the church had tried to say about women was a lie. We were not responsible for lust in men. We existed, and they desired.

I was not allowed to use my magic without some kind of male oversight. Since I was unmarried, my father dictated when and how I used my power, though even when I’d lived at home, he’d ignored my magic. I didn’t really blame him though. I imagined it was very uncomfortable for my father to know his daughter had developed sex magic at the age of eighteen.

The commission was made up of the heads of each family. There was Zahariev, of course, then my father, Lucius; Victor Viridian, who oversaw Temple City; Serafin Sanctius over Galant; and Absalom Asahel over Akkadia. Their goal was to keep peace between families and address disputes before they escalated on the ground. They also enforced social law, which usually only applied to women as dictated by the Book of Splendor.

“You’re such a terrible liar.” “You’re the only one who would say so, little love,” he replied. I was used to Zahariev’s nickname for me, but it still made me blush.

I looked at Zahariev as he was lighting his own cigarette. He took a long drag from it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger before expelling a plume of smoke into the night. He gave no answer. Sometimes he looked so menacing, I hardly recognized him. A shiver ran down my spine.

Beware she who bleeds, bound in chains. Beware the exile, the young winged beast, who dances unafraid before fire. Beware the woman with many names, the maiden, the whore, the scarlet serpent. Beware the temptress who whispers in the dark. She is the beginning and the end. She is peace and chaos. She is terror knocking at the gates.

No one born within Nineveh was allowed into the other districts, except for Zahariev and any member of his family. Among the five, we called it the Eden Rule, and it meant that districts closest to the Garden of Eden had more freedom. For example, those born in Hiram could enter Temple City, but those born in Temple City had to have special permission from the commission to enter Hiram. Those born in Akkadia and Galant could go between their districts and down to Nineveh but not up to Temple City or Hiram. Nineveh was open to all, but that hospitality was not reciprocated.

My relationship with Zahariev had boundaries, even when I teased. We’d never touched each other in a sexual way, never kissed. I wasn’t sure what kept that line so solid, but neither of us crossed it. Maybe it was because we were both, in some ways, indoctrinated—the families wouldn’t allow an heir to be with another heir, so there was no reason to give in to the temptation…not that there was any.

I didn’t know a single Elohai who didn’t leech magic from their wives, sometimes even their daughters. Officially, the families were only supposed to use their magic to support the church, who pretended they only used it to perform miracles —calming storms, healing the sick, resurrecting the dead. Though the latter had only happened once as far as I was aware.

Our role in this world is to reinforce the power of faith, my mother would say. Faith in what? I asked. It’s our magic, not God’s.

I rarely yearned for partnership. I didn’t like the idea of answering to someone or having to make decisions with someone, but when I witnessed the gentleness between these two, I thought maybe, if it was like this, I wouldn’t mind.

“It’s okay to not be okay.” “It doesn’t feel that way,” I said. I let my head rest against his chest. His laugh was quiet. “That’s because you do not like to be contained.” He paused and then added, “Most wild things don’t.”

Those who commune with spirits commune with demons. The archbishop preached on it often, always wanting to be very clear about what made the Elohai different from witches. Mainly, it was blood. Elohai were gifted magic from God, while witches learned magic by studying craft created by demonic forces.

On the other side of the bridge, carved into the mountainside, was the Seventh Gate. It was said that the evil of the world was trapped behind it, tangled in the roots. The gate itself was massive, a great work of stone the color of blood. Intricate mosaics of twisted serpents were inlaid around the archway in black, and the double doors were sealed with magic. Or so the Book of Splendor said.

You act like this has to mean something. Fucking brat. She meant everything.

“Forgiveness is overrated. It’s just something churchgoers shove down your throat so they can beg for it when they sin.”

“Promise me something,” he said, still watching me. “What?” “If you ever feel like you don’t want to do this anymore…tell me. Give me the chance to bring you back.”

“The Elohai are descendants of the Elohim,” she continued. “The Elohim are Eryx and Ashur, the creators of humankind and the true gods of our world. They are trapped beneath Mount Seine, behind the Seventh Gate, and have been for thousands of years.”

“Someday I will have to watch you marry another man, and it will be far easier to do if I never fuck you.”

What was the point of life without the promise of eternal paradise? But that was the great lie, wasn’t it? Life was life. It was as meaningful as I made it.

“You want me to do something about it?” he asked. “You can’t,” I said. “Not without starting a war.” “I would go to war for you,” he said. I ceased breathing, thinking that I’d misheard him. I pulled back and met his gaze. He was usually so composed, but there was something unfiltered in the way he looked at me now—a raw confession of devotion. “What did you say?” His mouth lifted in a soft half smile as he swept his thumb over the edge of my lips. “I would go to war for you,” he said again. “I would fight endlessly to keep you if that’s what you wanted.”

That was when I realized I was wrong, that there was no difference between what I wanted and what I would choose. The answer had always been Zahariev.

Holy woman, Mother of the dark world, Hold tight to your anguish, carry it deep Revel in the burn, that sweet agony Make your mark and open your mouth, Fill the night with your sacred screams Shatter the earth and never know peace.

“What does it mean? To be yours?” I asked. He smiled softly. “Whatever you want,” he said. “I’ll always be here, following in your shadow. I am not afraid of your freedom.”

She will ascend from the womb of her enemy, A temptress cloaked in night, a nightmare bound in chains. Her cries will rattle the earth. Her blood will break the gates.

Wings. Bony, membranous wings. I understood what I was seeing, but I couldn’t comprehend it. Wings. Attached to my body. It was impossible. The only creatures with wings were angels, and they were not like this.

They will call her a demon, but I watched her transform, and I will call her goddess.