Page 67 of Even Angels fall
I’ll marry her to honor a promise I made to her father—even if he doesn’t deserve anyone keeping their promises to him. But mostly, I’ll marry her to protect her.
I’ve got no idea if she’s still plotting my death, but I can’t let her be trapped by her father again, and I might believe that I can’t let her out of my sight, either.
41
Angélique
Idon’t know what to think of Elhyor’s reaction since he closed the door of his office. His face is contorted in a mix of anger, pain, and a certain longing that I don’t think he knows he’s displaying.
But one thing is for sure: as much as it cost him to ask, I can see how much he needs to see for himself that I am unharmed and how much his body is on high alert.
I remove my boots and my socks, then I remove what’s left of my shirt. I follow with my pants, that are more or less leggings, leaving me in just my black sports bra and panties.
My eyes are downcast. I’m not sure I want to see what he thinks of my body, as he appraises the bruises that are currently starting to mar my skin over my ribs on my left side, my hips, and my left thigh. I don’t want to see the disgust that I believe will be there when he sees that my toes have been broken more than once in the past and never went back to normal, that scars aren’t limited to my back. Maybe I was lucky to never break anybones other than those in my toes, but my skin wasn’t as lucky—scars decorating it in the most gruesome way from my calves to my arms. Some are small, but the one on the front of my left thigh is probably the worst, because it followed a whipping, and for that reason, I had been forced to choose between lying on a whipped back or on a pierced thigh.
I decided to sleep on my belly, with my leg outside the bed, but it wasn’t enough. Each night, I moved in my sleep and opened the wound again, until my back was healed, and I could start sleeping normally at last.
So, yes, I don’t dare to look him in the eye once I’ve finally complied with his demands, because I know what I’ll see, and I’m still too high on adrenaline from the battle I had to fight to bear his judgment.
I feel him move from his spot against the door, circling me, but without ever touching my skin. I feel the warmth of his hands hovering over me, even if they stay at bay.
How would it feel to have them touch me for real? Would they burn my skin in the most pleasurable way? Would they hold me softly or in a bruising way? Would they make mefeel?
I have all these questions in my mind and yet, I don’t move. I don’t lean into his touch or grasp at his hands.
I’m motionless, and maybe a bit breathless, too, because I keep holding my breath in wait for what is to come now.
He ends his course in front of me, and this time, his hand comes into contact with my skin. His palm presses against the side of my throat, his thumb slowly tracing my jawline until he forces my chin up.
He looks tormented, and somehow, I believe he looks the way I feel right in this instant, because he’s still my mission—if he can be killed—and I still hate him for pinning me to a cross. Or maybe I want him to pin me to his desk in some other way now—but right in this instant, all I can think about is wanting him to kiss me.
I want him to kiss me and make me forget today.
“You’re magnificent,” Elhyor says as I feel his thumb slowly stroking my jawline.
It’s not disgust that I see in his eyes, and the fear has disappeared altogether, too. Instead, I can see the raging inferno emanating from his beast and deep hunger.
I can’t close my eyes anymore now that they’re locked with his, and that earlier thought about kissing me to forget today? It’s all gone. Now, I want him to kiss me, to feel that hot flame inside of him, to grow one of my own and to melt with him.
And maybe he wants that, too, because I can feel his breath on my lips, I can feel his warmth permeating my skin and branding me as his.
Knock, knock, knock.
As if I’ve burned him, he’s away after the first knock on the door, and his absence feels like I’m drowned in cold water in just a matter of seconds.
“Who is it?” Elhyor asks, and his voice is as ragged as my breath is.
Good. I would hate to be the only one affected by what just—almost—happened.
“Brice.”
“And Cassiopé.”
“Give me a second,” Elhyor answers as he fumbles with a wardrobe that seemed to be hidden inside the wall.
No wonder I didn’t spot that bunker’s door.
“Put this on,” he says as he throws me something made of a dark, soft material.
