48. Angélique
48
Angélique
T here has to be another solution. It can’t be a dead end.
I don’t know if someone called for Elhyor, or if he saw the state we were all in over here, but I feel his warmth at my back once again, and I know it should be weird, and I shouldn’t feel like this, but with him next to me, I don’t feel so alone anymore.
“What do you need, Little Devil?” he asks softly.
“A surgeon, an expert in electronics, and maybe a witch. Or all three in one person,” I say with a sigh. “We might need a miracle at this point.”
”How fast do you need that?” he asks without even asking more, which makes Léandre raise a questioning eyebrow at me.
I don’t know either, my friend.
”As fast as we can. We have less than a day before something terrible happens.”
“We have less than a day before my brain goes boom,” Léandre chimes in, and I can see from the corner of my eye that Cassiopé flinched at the word boom.
“I’d tell you to relax and have a drink while I sort that out,” Elhyor shows the tables that have been arranged with spread of food and bottle of all sorts of alcohols with a wave of his hand before starting to talk again, “but I’m not sure your mind will be set on partying.”
“Actually, that might be what I need,” Léandre says, surprising all of us. “If I only have tonight, I might as well make the best of it. At least, with my lack of sleep for the past few days, it won’t take long before I get completely shitfaced.”
“You’ve never drunk,” I tell him, half afraid of his plans for tonight, half shocked to hear him say he wants to drink.
“If today isn’t the day to start, I don’t know what day would make me.” He turns to Cassiopé with a brilliant smile that still doesn’t hide all the sadness his eyes hold. “You’re drinking with me.” Then he turns to me. “And you, too.” Finally, he turns to Elhyor and stops short before mumbling, “Can dragons get drunk, anyway?”
The deep laugh that escapes Elhyor’s throat is like music to my ears, but stops too fast.
“I don’t know about all dragons, but I can,” he answers, amused.
“Drinks, then I need to know everything about dragons,” Léandre says as he walks away from the group and immediately comes back with a bottle of dark rum and four glasses. He fills the glasses to the brim, all proud, until Cassiopé takes the bottle from his hands.
“You do realize that those are water glasses, right?” she asks, slightly amused.
In truth, he probably knew because I annoyed him long enough with my etiquette lessons, but he obviously doesn’t care because the whole bottle disappeared into just four glasses, and it seems to be the way he wanted it.
“Oh, I know,” Léandre says with a dark chuckle, “but I plan on getting everyone as drunk as I’ll be.”
“I don’t mind,” Cassiopé answers him with a sad smile.
I can understand them. I, too, want to forget what has befallen Léandre. I also see the way he looks at Cassiopé—as if he would love to know her better, but is too scared that he’ll forget her tomorrow.
“Truth or dare?” Léandre asks, and it surprises me.
“What do you mean? Why would I need to pick?” I ask, surprised by the question.
“Just answer me,” he says, like a petulant kid, after taking a big gulp of his rum. “It’s a game! It was in the last book I read. It was quite popular at the beginning of this millennium.”
“Ohh, you read?” Cassiopé asks, her interest immediately piqued. “What kinds of books?”
“A bit of everything,” he says as he takes a bit of rum again.
I can see Léandre turn a pretty shade of red—and I’m not the only one, if the chuckle from Elhyor at my side is any proof—so I decide to save him.
“Dare,” I tell him, and he looks so happy I’m playing along that he completely forgets his embarrassment.
“I dare you to drink all your rum in one go,” he says with a triumphant smile.
“What happens if I don’t do it?” I ask.
“You’ll have to tell me a truth of my choice,” he answers immediately.
“If I puke, it’s on you,” is my only answer before I start to drink. It’s a shame I have to drink so fast because the rum is smooth, just a tiny bit sweet, and goes down like a caress. Well, if a caress burns on its way.
“Now it’s your turn,” he tells me.
“Okay.” I’m tempted to ask Elhyor just in hopes that he’ll pick “truth” and that I’ll get to ask what went through his head to kiss me like this during the wedding, but I’m not sure I actually want to know, and I have no idea of what to ask.
”Cassiopé, truth or dare?”
She fakes thinking for a few seconds, but says, “Dare”. I have no idea what to make her do and almost tell her to drink her rum like I was dared to do, but then Brice just walks near us and I have my idea.
“I dare you to convince your dad to play with us.”
“You’re a big meanie, Angie,” she says with a pout, but still, she puts her drink on the closest table and walks to him.
And just like that, Brice joins us in this stupid game that doesn’t make much sense.
It may not make much sense, but it gets us drunker and drunker, and the sun is starting to go low in the sky when Léandre asks me again.
”Truth or dare?”
More than tipsy, I answer, “Truth,” and regret it immediately when I see the devilish smile on Léandre’s face.
I’m going to hate his question for sure.
“Do you have feelings for Elhyor?”
Where the fuck did that question come from? I want to sputter and tell Léandre, “Of course not,” but Elhyor is right next to me and seems very much interested in the game now that Léandre has asked that question.
“Do you want me to answer that question when he more or less crucified me a couple of days ago?” I ask instead.
“Okay, okay. You don’t want to answer, I get it. Then I’ll give you a dare.”
“Wait, no. This counts as an answer,” I sputter.
“No, no, no,” he starts, and his voice is slightly slurred from the alcohol consumption. “Not an answer.”
I don’t fight him very hard. To be honest, he’s been distributing drinks as dares since the beginning of the game, and I’m not too scared, because it turns out that I’m pretty resilient to alcohol. Who knew?
“I dare you to kiss your husband.”
I freeze.
What the fuck is wrong with Léandre? I think he read too many romance books and is imagining things about me and Elhyor.
“You heard the dare,” Cassiopé says in a singsong voice.
She’s the only one who can’t really hold her liquor, and she looks like she’s been enjoying herself for quite a while now. I bet she’s going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow.
I turn to Elhyor, and he’s looking at me as if he fears what I’m about to do, but there is no way I’ll let it become like during the wedding, so instead, I approach him, put a hand over his chest, stand on my tiptoes, and just peck his lips.
There. I kissed him. I’m all good.
Léandre laughs from where he sits on the ground, pouring another glass of rum. Or maybe it’s whisky. He shredded most of the tags two dares ago, and I can’t recognize the bottles anymore.
“That is not a kiss. It needs to be a real kiss,” he says as he tips the drink to his mouth, and half of it spills over his shirt.
I hate you, Léandre.
Except there is no reason to hate him. Maybe I just hate myself because I want that kiss, and I know I can’t get addicted to Elhyor, and I feel like too many of his kisses might do exactly that. Get me addicted to them. And I still need to find a way to kill him if I want to save Léandre.
Except, with that logic, Elhyor will be dead before tomorrow night.
So, I can’t get addicted.
I know my logic is faulty, but I can blame it on the alcohol.
I get closer to Elhyor again and realize that I never removed my hand from his chest after pecking his lips the first time when I feel his hand close above mine as I tip my head up to meet his eyes.
He had bent down in preparation, as if he was waiting for this to happen, and maybe he was, because when his lips meet mine, they are soft but demanding. They move against my lips torturously softly and, helped by his tongue, he parts my lips before he sucks my lower lip between his. But he isn’t done. He continues sliding his lips against mine, prodding my mouth with his tongue and nibbling on my lower lip, as if he wants to devour me, and then it picks up, becoming more demanding as his other hand comes around the back of my neck and forces me to tip my head to give him better access.
I’m a mess. I don’t even want that kiss to end.
Am I fucked up? Most likely.
Do I want to kiss him again? Yes.
Am I completely wet? Also yes.
Do I still need to kill my husband? Because I can see some use to him… Sadly, that answer is still yes. At least I’ll always have the memory of our kisses.
I’m completely doomed.