Page 9 of Even Vampires Bleed
“Where is your key?” I ask him when he just pushes his shoulder against the door without even releasing me.
“Don’t know,” he answers with a grumble.
He tries to pat his pockets without releasing me.
“It would be easier to check your pockets if you released me,” I say with a chuckle.
“No, no, no,” he says, “I have you now. I’m not going to let you run away.”
He’s mumbling, so I think he’s talking more to himself than to me, but I answer him, anyway.
“Why do you think I’m going to run away?”
He squeezes behind my back and only then he starts again.
“Because you feel like a dream, and I don’t want to wake up.”
I should tell him that if I really wanted to flee, I only needed to shift and he wouldn’t be able to catch me, but surprisingly, I’m speechless.
“Aha,” he says with a flourish, and I realize why. He thinks he found his key without even letting go of me.
“Call me the master of the keys now,” he says with a wide smile.
Except those aren’t this room’s keys. It’s a keyring, alright, but it’s not one that is in use in Notre Dame.
I think he’s drunker than I initially thought.
“Time to sleep, oh Master of the Keys,” I say, trying—and failing—to look as serious as I can.
“You’re coming in?” Léandre asks, and somehow his smile falters with his words.
“No,” I say, “but I don’t think you’re going in, either.”
My smile is audible through my words, but they still make him pause.
“This isn’t the right key,” I add, “let me down so you can find them.”
He begrudgingly complies and turns all his pockets inside out, but the key isn’t there.
“Come with me. I have a key pass in my room,” I tell him when I see the look of realization on his face.
He follows me like a lost puppy, and when we reach my door, I tell him, “Wait for me here,” and slip inside my room.
“Do we really need that key?” he asks, but it’s louder than it should be if he actually followed my order. I turn to double-check, and obviously, he’s inside my room.
He let himself inside, and I didn’t even pay attention. I might still be a bit tipsy.
“It’s not a good idea,” I tell him. “And you’re drunk. You won’t even remember me tomorrow,” I add with a chuckle that I don’t really believe in.
It would sting if he stayed, and in the morning, he wouldn’t remember me.
“Not like that,” Léandre says, indignant. As if I had basically just said that he would use me for the night and discard me right after.
Oh shoot. I think that’s exactly what I just implied.
My face must show what my mind just computed because Léandre chuckles again.
“I just want someone to hold me,” he says, and even with the chuckle, he still sounds vulnerable.
