52. Angélique
52
Angélique
E lhyor stands slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.
“As far as I know, this is my house, my archive room,” he says without a concern as he brushes non-existent lint from his pants.
He’s changed since last night, and he’s not wearing the wedding attire that he was the last time I saw him. Instead, he’s wearing a V-neck, dark gray t-shirt that almost seems to be painted over his body. It shows his tattoos, and now that I can see them closer—and I’m not actively trying to kill him—I can see that they aren’t just words or sentences. Between the letters, there are flames and smoke that give some depth to the whole design. I wonder what they mean and if I’ll get to see them in full one day.
“I meant sitting right next to me,” I hiss through my teeth.
I refuse to acknowledge that I was super comfy against him and that I was having very nice dreams and that, maybe— just maybe—he was involved in making those dreams very, very sweet.
He doesn’t need to know.
“Do you mean that I can’t hold my own wife against me as she sleeps?” he asks with fake outrage in his voice.
Except… I’m not so sure all the outrage is fake. Surely, I’m mistaken.
“Please, we both know ‘wife’ is just a name. We’re roommates at best,” I answer him as coldly as I can.
I’m not sure it works, because instead of leaving me alone, he gets closer, not minding that I’m still holding my dagger between the two of us.
He’s just at the tip of it when he stops.
“I know what you’re doing, Little Devil.” He pauses. “You’ve been hiding in here in hopes of finding something that will finally kill me so you can save your best friend up there,” he adds, as he points to the ceiling in a direction which is probably where Léandre is sleeping off all the alcohol he drank yesterday. It’s the middle of the night, so it would make sense.
I want to lie to him and tell him that he’s wrong, and that I wasn’t trying to find something to kill him. Really I want to, even with half of the books on the ground next to us being on dragons and the other half on poisons, but I can’t seem to be able to master my own tongue in time before Elhyor grabs my hand—the one holding the dagger between us—and I think he’s going to remove it, but instead, he closes his hand around mine and brings them higher, until the tip of my dagger is right in the middle of his chest. I can see the indent the tip of the blade is making on his shirt, pushing against the fabric and his body without breaking the skin.
“I know what you’ve been doing,” he repeats. “What you’re still trying to do.” He pauses and takes a deep breath that makes the blade of my dagger dip a bit deeper, the fabric tearing at the contact. “You won’t find anything in those books. There is nothing that can kill me in those books. I can’t die from poison, and the only fire that can destroy me is the one coming from another dragon. And before you start researching if there are other dragons on Earth, yes, there are two others. One lives in Japan, and the other in New Zealand. No matter what you have planned, they can’t be here in time.”
I don’t understand.
Why is Elhyor telling me all of this? Does he not care about his own life?
But it also doesn’t make sense. Micha?l said that Elhyor’s father committed suicide, but then, how did his father do it? The only way would have been him being “helped” by his son, but then it would hardly qualify as suicide....
“I know what your father expects of you. I think I knew even before you tried to attack me. I just didn’t want to believe he could be like this.”
Why is he telling me all of this? I don’t want to hear any of it. I’ve barely slept, I’m on edge, and I’ve been holding tears inside since Micha?l departed after the wedding.
Elhyor has no right to talk about any of this.
Yes, I planned on killing him, but I’m not completely sure I could still do it. I love Léandre, I do. He’s my best friend, my brother, my confidant, and I know I’ll suffer more from his brain being erased than he will, since he won’t remember, but am I ready to let him forget me? If his memories aren’t here anymore, I’m losing him the same way as if he died, and if I lose him, am I going to survive another year, another week, or even another day in this world?
If no one knows what happened to me, does it make it any less real?
I don’t realize I’m crying until Elhyor’s hand comes into contact with my cheek and softly wipes the tear away.
“I know how much you care about him,” Elhyor says as I feel him press against my dagger. His shirt now has a hole in the middle, and like the single tear traveling down my other cheek, there is a single drop of blood dripping from the wound my blade has started to make, but Elhyor isn’t moving away. If anything, he keeps pressing against my dagger, his hand over mine.
“I know how much you care about him,” he repeats. “And as much as I’d like to live, I’d much prefer for you to be happy, wife.”
What is happening?
“What?” I ask in astonishment. I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this, or maybe I do, but I don’t want to believe it.
“You were just too much on the right,” he says with a sad smile that I do not want to understand. “Just keep pressing and your friend will be safe. Just keep pressing and you’re free.”
I try to remove my hand from the dagger, but he’s still holding it against his chest. Now that I know what he is doing, I’m not so sure I want it. I’m not so sure I ever wanted it.
“No,” I say with a gasp.
“Yes,” he answers. “You can kill me now and everything is over. But don’t go back to your father. Run with Léandre. Run as far as you can and never come back. Travel. Live. Love. Don’t waste the life I’m giving you. Live it to the fullest.”
He forces my hand to hold my dagger, and slowly, he gets closer to me. I’m trying to get away. I push him with my other hand, but he grabs it, too, and holds it away so he can advance a bit more. It’s slow and torturous, because I can see the blade entering his skin, millimeter by millimeter, and I hate that this is mine. I hate that I held it against him in the first place. And maybe, I hate that he’s making me do that, too, because I don’t want to kill him.
I wasn’t sure a few minutes ago that I would still be able to go through with killing him. Now, I’m sure I can’t and yet, he’s making me, and…
”I don’t want to lose you…” I whisper in a broken voice.
I know there’s no real reason for me to react this way. Elhyor is no one. He shouldn’t even be important in my life. I’ve known him for just over a week, and yet, I can’t.
Maybe I’m not the monster everyone thinks I am, after all, because I can’t do it. It’s not because I’m a coward, no, it’s because of him.
Yes, he pinned me to a cross, but when he realized I wouldn’t heal normally, he got a doctor. He healed me. He didn’t make me a prisoner after I actually tried to kill him. He gave me space and comfort. He let me fight my own battles and saved me when he had enough.
It’s only been a week, and yet he’s been here for me more in a week than my own father in my whole life.
I should hate him, because I’m going to lose my best friend because of him, and yet, I can’t.
“Don’t make me kill you,” I say, my voice is barely above a whisper and it’s so broken that I don’t think I could get more sound out. “I’ll hate myself more than I already do.”
My tears are flowing freely now that Elhyor is holding both my hands, but I don’t care.
I don’t cry often, but I’m too tired and devastated to stop, because I know now, tonight I’ll lose my best friend, but I can’t kill Elhyor.
I think I might need my husband in my life.