Page 35 of Even Angels fall
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Elhyor
Ican’t do it.
I can’t keep her, but at the same time, it’s like my hands refuse to let her go now that she’s in my grasp.
I’ve been falling asleep to the sound of her moans for the past few nights, and my whole body is on edge.
I know I should have jerked off under the shower each time she taunted me—which meant every single night—but something prevented me from doing exactly that.
Instead, I take another cold shower.
I’ve never taken so many cold showers in my life.
And now she’s in my arms, and all I can think about is how much of a creep I am because she smells so good and I want to inhale her whole and lick every centimeter of her skin.
Other than that first night, she hasn’t moaned my name again, and I can’t help the feeling that maybe I dreamt it.
That would be a shame, but that would also solve a lot of my problems.
No, it’s not true, that wouldn’t solve any of my problems.
I would still be pining for a woman I can’t have.
First, because she’s way too young for me.
Second, because it was okay to have her next to my room, but after the first night, I cleared the room next to hers, on the other side, and the one next to it, too.
If I didn’t think I was turning into a territorial bastard then, I can’t lie to myself now. Because she is right. I don’t want them to see her. I don’t want them to enjoy her company when I have to stay as far away as I can, just because I can’t seem to control myself when she’s near.
And third, because my idea to get her to marry me to get theLibérationoff my back came back to bite me in the ass.
Now, they obviously stopped trying to get me to join them in the fight against the birds, and instead, they put me on their shit list. Meaning, I put a target over Notre Dame and all its inhabitants.
Angélique would probably be safer in Versailles.
Except, with the way she’s looking at me right now, I’m not so sure anymore.
Then she steels her eyes and there’s no warmth in their endless deep blue anymore.
I feel the loss immediately, but it doesn’t waver my resolve.
I need her to be back with her father for everyone’s safety.
“I called your father already. We’re meeting him in three days.”
“Get your hands off me,” she answers in a sharp tone.
I’m reluctant, but I do as she asks.
And she storms off to the stairs, going up to our rooms.
I expect her to slam her door or sigh in relief.
I get none of that.
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