Page 108 of Even Angels fall
That was difficult to miss, but that’s not the reason why she is so worked up now.
“And you’re not mad?” She whisper-yells and it’s more a yell than anything else. I don’t think she knows my office issoundproof, but I believe for what’s to come, it’s probably for the best. “You’re not mad that while some of your men were wounded, butchered, hell, some of them are missing…”
I give her a look that she interprets the right way.
“Yes, I digress, so what?” She pauses. “Tell me you’re not mad that while we risked our lives, those idiots were doing useless things.”
It’s not a question now, it’s a command. It’s in moments like this one that I thank fate for bringing her to me. Our meeting might have been planned by the biggest asshole who sets foot on Earth, but it brought us together and I’ll forever be grateful.
Why? Because when she speaks like that? When she doesn’t cower or try to please me like most women would? She shows me her true color… and she’s as red, bright and fierce as my dragon fire.
She’s perfect.
“You didn’t think it was useless last night…” I say, trailing on the last two words.
She blushes, but it’s a deep contrast with the way she looks at me.
If looks could kill…
”Could you really blame him?” I add instead. Yes, I’m playing with fire, but if I was in Léandre’s situation and had a beautiful woman fussing over me—because let’s be honest, Cassiopé didn’t hide her attraction yesterday—I’d probably try to forget that life as I know it is about to change drastically. And I’d want to live whatever was left of my life to the fullest.
I’m not Léandre, though, and all I want to do is be with the beautiful woman currently in my office, even if that means incurring her wrath.
“What would you do if you only had twenty-four hours left in your life? If you knew that your life ended sometime today?” I ask her, slowly approaching her like one would approach a wildanimal. “Would you mope in your own corner or would you seize the day?” I look pointedly at her. “They used to have a saying around here, ‘carpe diem’, it literally means ‘seize the day’, so—be honest—what would you want to do if you only had one day left? Brice might have destroyed the servers, but when we left, in Léandre’s eyes, he only had one day left to live. So, really, be honest with me, what would you do with those very few hours? Would you waste them, or would you make them count?”
That seems to make Angélique stop in her tracks, as if she hadn’t thought about things this way. Or maybe as if she couldn’t see things from Léandre’s point of view, the only thing bright and raw in her mind being the fact that she was—might still be if those servers survived—about to lose her best friend.
“What would you do?” I asked again because in all of her abating madness, she still hadn’t answered.
“I don’t know…” she answers truthfully after a beat, and most of the anger in her voice has disappeared. Instead, I can see the glinting tears threatening to leave her eyes and the look of defeat that replaces all that white hot anger.
And it’s breaking me.
I didn’t want to see her mad at Léandre, especially if he’s not going to be himself by tomorrow, but I hate seeing her this way even more.
I tentatively walk to her, holding my hand out for her to take again, and when she finally grips it as if her life depended on it, I wrap myself around her.
“Would you want me to hold you?” I ask softly.
I’m surprised to see her melt into me, wrapping her arms around my back and hiding her face against my chest.
I’m not gonna lie—it feels good to have her like this, have her seek comfort with me.
I raise my hand to rest against her head, tracing small circles against her slowly growing hair.
It feels weird against my callused hands; for the umpteenth time, I wonder why she ended up having hair completely shaved. Yes, it’s more practical for combat, but we all know how to fight in Notre Dame and none of us have taken to getting a buzz cut.
It’s like her father almost wanted to take something more of her when he forced her to get that haircut.
As if by being a crow-shifter, she deserved punishment.
And maybe in his twisted mind he felt—probably still feels—like she needed to be punished.
No one in their right mind forces their own daughter through half of what Angélique had to go through.
But maybe I’m wrong about her hair, maybe she prefers it the way it is.
Who am I kidding? If Michaël has ever been in his right mind one day, it’s long gone.
