“F–k you. That blade is worth at least three thousand, and you know it!”
Abram chuckled. “Might be what it’s worth, but I have to make a profit.”
I glared at the old man. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll just pay my rent with the f–king dagger.”
I went to snatch it back, but Abram grabbed it first.
I reached for my gun, furious. I had done business with this man since I’d moved to Nineveh, and this was how he treated me? F–king blade must be worth a small fortune, but when I met the old man’s gaze, I froze.
The whites of his eyes were red.
The color drained from my face, and for a moment, I ceased to breathe.
“Abram?”
He blinked, and a trail of blood raced down his cheek.
He lifted his hand, touching his face. When he pulled it away, he rubbed his fingers together, brows furrowing, as if he did not understand what was happening.
I didn’t understand what was happening.
The old man lifted his bloody gaze to mine. His face had turned a garish color. A low, strange whine came from his mouth, like he was a balloon leaking air, and as he made that sound, he seemed to fall in slow motion, hitting the ground with a hollow thud.
For a few seconds, I stood stunned, unable to process what the f–k had just happened.
“Abram?” I called and then jumped, resting my stomach on the counter as I peered down at the floor. He lay on his back, eyes pools of blood.
He was definitely dead.
“What the f–k,” I muttered under my breath.
Scarlett St. Clair Reimagines the Story of Lilith in Terror at the Gates
