Around Zahra, I felt my thoughts going dark in the same way they once had around Lilith. At any moment, my true face was in danger of emerging—just like it had in battle. That blankness clouded my mind, bereft of reason.
And if Zahra saw my true face in all its horror, she would never look at me the same. As the Angel of Death, I reminded mankind of what they most yearned to forget. Mortals spent all their time trying to forget one important truth: that they were, in fact, mortal. They found ways to keep the fear of death at bay, to convince themselves they’d made peace with it, that they would live on in one way or another.
Mankind’s mortality was a horrifying pit they couldn’t bear to look at, a grave that gaped out before them. So they constructed their shaky edifices to hide it, built of pretty lies. They ignored the grave awaiting them, future obsolescence. They told themselves that through Albia or God, they could become eternal.
My true face was a storm wind that rushed in, ripped the pretty lies to pieces and forced them to confront that yawning void. And always, it broke their minds. I’d driven many brave soldiers mad.
And when that bestial side of me emerged, I moved like the wind, severing the bodies of my enemies, bathing the fields in their blood.
As I watched Zahra walk closer to the secret room, half naked, my thoughts started to dim, my blood pounding hard. And that was a problem, because I could feel reason slipping. Except I wasn’t thinking about death. No, I was thinking about the thousands of sordid things I’d like to do with her perfect body—where I’d like to touch her, to stroke her, make her moan as I ran my finger over her most sensitive parts. I wanted to know what she tasted like, how her nipples would feel in my mouth.
With Zahra so close to me—or whatever the fuck her name was—I could feel myself about to snap. Then what might happen? I might kill everyone around me, rip out their hearts. Or, I might do something altogether different.
Desire was a strange, pleasurable sort of madness. And it felt more dangerous to me than going to battle.
As she stood in front of the two-way mirror, my gaze swept over the curves of her breasts, the silky material at the apex of her thighs, her shapely legs. I shuddered with pleasure, thinking of ripping all that off and fucking her hard against the wall.
I’d known she was dangerous. And now I understood how she was dangerous.
Dangerous … Zahra … desire … The words grew muddled in my mind, shadows sliding through my thoughts.
Then, she pushed the button to open the door, and she stepped inside. Fire ignited in my body, and a sharp stab of hunger unfurled in me.
Each one of my muscles went taut as she brushed against me in the tiny room.
Take her… mine … lose control …
I found myself pressing my hands against the mirror, leaning over her. Dominating her. My lips were by her ear, and I struggled to remember how to string words together in a coherent way.
At last, I whispered, "What are you doing in here?"
She went silent for a long time. I suspected that she was thinking of a lie. She lied a lot, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fuck her or punish her or both.
Then, she cupped her hand around the back of my neck, and my thoughts went black for a moment, driving out the ability to actually make considered decisions.
She whispered something to me, but I could only focus on the feel of her hand against my neck, her warm breath against my cheek, and that silk camisole brushing against me.
I would not let the darkness claim my mind. I was the Venom of God, and I would stay in control. But what the fuck had she been saying to me?
I wanted to tell her things. For reasons I didn’t understand, I had the strangest sensation that I wanted to confess things to her.
“What?” I asked, like an idiot.
“There's a cop here. He saw me with Sourial today."
I tried to make sense of what she was saying, then realized this was why she was hiding in here. “Fine.” My muscles were tightly coiled, and I felt like something was about to snap. Everything hinged on me restraining myself. “Did