9. Elhyor
9
Elhyor
I can’t keep my eyes off Angélique.
Outside, on the parvis de Notre Dame — the Notre Dame forecourt —she looked so damn cute with her bright blue eyes and heart-shaped lips, but now, she looks pissed and cold.
I’m not sure what I did to deserve this cold shoulder treatment, but I guess I’d be pissed if I had to marry a stranger.
I chuckled at my own joke, and Brice, my second, looks at me like I have a loose screw.
Angélique doesn’t react.
It’s been almost an hour that I dropped us on top of Notre Dame and she hasn’t looked at me a single time. She’s been looking at everything around us, at the details of the cathedral, at the gargoyles, going as far as stroking them, but she refuses to look at me, and to be honest I didn’t think things through when I took flight and brought us here.
The only thing that crossed my mind was the fact that I wanted those divots of vultures as far away from her as possible.
I reacted based on instinct only, and that doesn’t make sense.
I don’t know the woman. Why would I want to protect her?
Since then, I’ve been pacing on top of Notre Dame.
My men know not to stop me when this happens. Not that I’m prone to violence, but no one likes a pissed off dragon and everyone knows Notre Dame burned enough for a lifetime already and I wouldn’t want to be the cause for it to burn again just because of my stupid temper.
From the corner of my eye, I see Angélique crossing her arms, and it draws my eyes to her breast.
Not going there.
This is political.
I’m not going to bone Micha?l’s daughter, even if she looks, well, angelic.
Not even when all I can think about is how her lush breasts were plastered to my torso not so long ago.
Not when she looks so sinfully innocent.
It feels like Micha?l created her perfectly to tempt me.
He knew that I didn’t want a wife, that I only use women to warm my bed.
Which begs the question… Why the fuck did he push his only daughter in my arms?
This man is fucked up and I can’t see how this is a favor to me.
But I needed the publicity of an alliance with the angels . I sneer at the word.
I need to stop showing on my face what I feel.
I needed the world to know I’m marrying Micha?l’s daughter, for those damn idiots from the Libération to stop trying to recruit me.
But in my head, I imagined Angélique to be a pale copy of her father, and it wouldn’t have been too hard for her to be my wife only in name.
I’d have taken care of her. Comfort, jewels, fancy food. I’d have given everything to her.
But there’s a spark in her eyes, and now, all I can think about is the fact that if I marry her, I’m going to want to claim her and erase all innocence in her eyes.
And that can’t happen.