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

by Scarlett St. Clair

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.

Visually, it was easy to see where we all fit in the hierarchy, but here, in the City of Sin, we were equal in one thing—desire.

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.

What I’d done tonight was illegal. I was not allowed to use my magic without some kind of male oversight.

It was hard to explain, but I felt like he had the deepest eyes I had ever seen, yet they held absolutely nothing.

In Hiram, there was nothing more powerful than shame.

Hassenaah was like many who lived in the City of Sin. They didn’t believe people in the other districts had problems; they only knew their own suffering. Which was fine. I wouldn’t try to convince her of mine. I knew why I’d left my family, and so did Zahariev.

Sometimes I thought he was a sheep, and sometimes I thought he was the wolf.

You must, she said. One day, you will be the face of House Leviathan. Father is the face, I said. Your father is a puppet, she said. I still remember the wild look in her eyes as she snapped at me. It was a look I’d grown to fear and one that haunted me to this day. I have built our reputation, and you will carry my legacy.

It was something I despised, but I couldn’t bring myself to take the choice away from him, because even though I knew I’d never go home again, I couldn’t handle the thought of him losing hope.

You are Elohai, she had said between her teeth. The blood of God is in your veins. It is God’s magic. It has always been God’s magic. Never forget.

Guilt seeped into my chest, a poison I couldn’t shake no matter where I turned. I realized I was lucky to have been born with the status I had. The only reason I was able to behave the way I did was because of it. My life had been far easier than most, but that didn’t make it the life I wanted.

It wouldn’t be the first time, but I wondered when Zahariev would stop saving me from the consequences of my actions.

“If women believed in their power, perhaps we could,” she said. “But you cannot rouse the downtrodden without a show of great power. The gods under the mountain have promised that.”

It didn’t matter how much I had changed or how brave I felt. In my parents’ home, I was a child again, hurt and desperate for love.

His comment was not praise but the equivalent of showing him a piece of art and the only thing he could think to say was, yep, that’s red.

I felt a mix of overwhelming gratitude and guilt. I loved Coco, and I didn’t deserve her one bit.