Page 188 of Terror at the Gates

She was so close now, I could smell her honeysuckleperfume. It burned my nose.

“You see now,” she said, her voice muted by the sound of metal ringing against metal. She shifted the box, holding it with one hand as she slipped the gold chain of my necklace from beneath my shirt. “Your blood is the only important thing about you. You have never been nor will you ever be anything more than a sacrifice.”

I stared at her, unable to think, but for a reason entirely different from the magic roiling in my blood. This time, I was just numb.

I always knew my mother was fanatical. I’d just been wrong about her loyalty. She believed she was the savior, chosen to free the true gods.

It was her only purpose, just like mine was to die.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging at the door to the baptistery, and I heard Zahariev roar my name from the other side. He couldn’t get in the room. I suspected my mother’s magic was pressed against the door, though I couldn’t feel it over the power of the blades.

Her eyes didn’t leave mine. “Perhaps I should let him bear witness to this,” she said, studying me. “Then he will not want you.”

Zahariev’s voice broke through the storm of magic inside me. I ceased fighting and let go, easing into a blissful peace. For the first time since I’d stepped into the room, I remembered who I was.

I was not a victim.

I was not a sacrifice.

I wasLilith, a survivor.

My fingers flexed, and I saw the moment my mother realized her plan had failed. Her eyes widened slightly and then a little more as my knife sank home. She dropped the box.It hit the floor and broke open, scattering six golden blades across the floor.

I pulled mine free from her and she pressed her hand to her side. It was the only reason I saw any blood, because the color of her dress was too dark to show it.

The door to the baptistery flew open, and Zahariev entered the room. I assumed my mother had been unable to maintain a hold on her magic, though what happened next made me think she’d let go intentionally.

She released a breath that sounded almost like a disbelieving laugh and staggered into me. Then struck, clawing at me until her fingers slid beneath the chain of my necklace and tore it free.

The pain was a complete shock, freezing every muscle in my body as it ripped through me. It was like being split in two, severed on a molecular level.

My jaw opened, my head fell back, and I screamed.

I was being rearranged. I could feel my bones moving, tearing through the flesh of my back.

I don’t know how long it lasted. Even as awareness crept in, the pain remained, an unpredictable rhythm, rising to blinding heights. It was during the fall I realized I was on my knees at the center of a crimson pool.

It was my blood, and my hands were in it, palms pressed firmly to the ground. Somewhere beneath were seven daggers.

I lifted my gaze, aware that I wasn’t alone. Gabriel watched nearby, jaw tight. My mother sat propped against a wall at his feet. Her eyes were closed but she was still breathing. I knew because I could sense her heartbeat. It echoed in the space between us, and then all at once, others joined.

It overwhelmed my senses, and I had to close my eyesand push it away.

When I opened them again, I found Zahariev watching me.

He was watching me. I couldn’t decide what he thought of me, but I knew it was not as my mother said, because he came to me and knelt in my blood, fingers touching my chin and then my cheek.

“You’re something else, little love,” he said in grim wonder.

It was only then that I became aware of the heaviness against my back.

I turned my head and reached, touching what felt like wet skin over bone.

“Lilith,” Zahariev said. “You don’t have to look now.”

I ignored him and continued tugging at the strange mass. It hurt, and I became nauseous with pain, but I didn’t stop until I had straightened what was pressed so firmly against me.

Then I realized what I was staring at.