Page 52 of Even Angels fall
In the opening, in all his glory, stands Elhyor, nostrils flaring, as if his dragon is in possession of him, and fist tight at his side.
He’s wearing a dark blue Henley, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, letting his tattoos dance with the light, and dark jeans. He looks so casual, and yet the energy that exudes from him is nothing but danger.
“We’ll get married on Sunday,” he says, a little breathless. “I called your father already, told him that you’d like your best friend to be the one giving you away. He agreed.”
Then, he’s out of my doorway, out of the corridor, and as far away from me as he can be.
I don’t understand what just happened, but all the energy I had left in my body depletes in one instant. I sag against the wall and breathe.
I don’t know how long I stay like this, but I know I need to keep moving.
What am I going to do?
I don’t feel so hungry anymore, but my stomach growls in disagreement, so I still walk to my door, then along the corridor, and finally, to the bottom of the stairs, where Cassiopé is waiting for me.
For once, she doesn’t talk, she just grabs my arm to help me walk, and without even needing to tell her, she helps me down to the stairs leading to the kitchen.
It’s completely empty, and it’s to be expected. It’s past eleven in the evening, and from what I’ve seen so far, it empties out around nine-thirty or ten, at the latest.
Cassiopé walks me past the tables where the food is usually served.
There’s a door there that I never noticed, and that’s where we’re going.
She opens it and motions me to enter.
“He’ll take care of you,” she says with a small smile.
That’s when I see him.
Elhyor is behind the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and what looks like smoked bacon in the other.
Cassiopé pats my hand and helps me to a high stool before leaving me there.
What am I doing here?
My stomach growls again in answer.
Well, I might as well stay and see what Elhyor is preparing.
31
Angélique
Ilook at Elhyor, plunging the pasta into the water, in amazement.
He made them from scratch. Stuffing them with a mix of chicken, bacon, and parmesan that smells like heaven.
My stomach hasn’t stopped growling with impatience, and I must agree with it. It smells divine.
In another pan, there’s more bacon sizzling with onions and cream.
Fuck, I’m drooling at the smell.
Elhyor hasn’t said a single word since I arrived in the kitchen, but his eyes haven’t strayed far from me for more than a few seconds.
He’s been watching me, studying me, and I’ve done the same.
I know he doesn’t work in the kitchen, but he looks so at ease here that I wonder who taught him how to cook. If I’m honest with myself, I’m a little jealous of whoever taught him that particular skill, because every move seems precise and wellquantified. It looks like his fingers are executing a well-practiced dance that I’m dying to follow.
