Page 42 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Brice

I can see from Florentine’s face that she didn’t expect me to agree with her. To be honest, I don’t completely understand why I agreed with her. It goes against all my mind can comprehend in this instant.

I don’t want her to go. I don’t want her to be out of my sight.

I don’t want her to be closer to the danger, because I know Paris is more dangerous than Blois could ever be.

The birds left this city when the bats came to free me and my men a few months ago and they haven’t been back ever since. We made sure of it.

She’s safe here—safer than she’ll ever be in Paris—but I understand her need to help her sisters.

What I don’t understand is why she feels it has to be her who handles everything that could go wrong in their life.

I know it’s what is happening. I know it well, because that’s exactly what I used to lure her here in the first place.

I know I should feel ashamed, but there’s not a drop of that in me right now.

I needed her. I found a weakness, and I exploited it.

Now, do I want others to do the same? Absolutely not.

In my defense, it was a one-time only thing, and I might have forced her hand a bit, but she could have left and refused my offer. She could have told me to fuck off and she could already be gone.

Except I’m an asshole and I exploited another of her weaknesses, or more specifically, her father’s weakness this time.

Everyone in Paris knows that Stéphane is a gambler, that he could gamble anything he possessed if he was convinced he would win.

I'm surprised he still has a home and that he never bet his own daughters knowing the man.

I guess renting the house helps for the former and that everyone has their limits after all.

The man would let his daughters starve if it weren’t for Florentine, but at least he loves them enough not to barter their lives.

In the end, I’m no better than them, and I can see it.

I can see it specifically because I’m no better than them.

It sounds like everyone around her expects her to fix everything. I don’t know if they exploit her weakness per se or if they just don’t realize that they all rely on her for almost everything—her father to pick up his slack and her sisters to take care of them—but it doesn’t change the result.

“You’re going to swallow a bug,” I tell her as I tip her mouth closed with my pointer finger.

I don’t even think she realized that her mouth was hanging open. That’s how surprised she was.

Quickly, her lips draw into a line, and she glares at me.

“I feel like there’s a catch,” she says as she crosses her arms over the blanket.

She’s still wrapped like a burrito in one of them, the other one discarded on the floor on the other side of the bed. The movement reminds me that she’s only wearing panties under all of that and that I had my hand against her skin less than a day ago.

She most likely doesn’t remember, but I stayed with her for hours yesterday. I stayed at her back until I felt her shivering subside, and then I stayed some more.

She would hate it if she knew, so it’s probably better if she doesn’t. She already has a lot on her plate.

Or, well, on her family’s plate.

It seems to be all the same for her, anyway.

She slept for a day, and yet she looks exhausted, and she’s right.

There is a catch.

I might not be able to go like we already established, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her go back to where mayhem reigns on her own.

“Daniel will go with you,” I tell her. I should phrase it to give her a choice, but if she refuses I’ll ask Charles to go anyway, so I don’t care if she gets mad.

“Okay,” she answers, and it’s my turn to be surprised. I wasn’t expecting her to agree so fast.

Maybe when I’m not trying to be a pain in her ass, she’s more willing to meet me halfway.

The problem is … I already miss the red of her cheeks and the darkness of her glare.

It was too easy.

I hate it.

I picked Daniel because I know she likes him already and I thought it would make it easier for her to accept, but now that she agreed without even fighting me, I wonder if I should have picked a more seasoned warrior.

One who wouldn’t try to get in her bed , I think to myself.

Where did that thought come from?

I did get in her bed yesterday, even if it was for her own comfort. Could I have found another way to get her warm? Most likely, but would I change what I did? Never.

She’s mine.

Mine to taunt. Mine to piss off. Mine to make blush. Mine to take care. Mine to comfort.

Mine to stalk.

I should be ashamed of what I’m feeling—because yes, I can’t hide it from myself any longer, I feel now. I don’t think the full range of my emotions work, but satisfaction when I manage to make her red from fury and possessiveness, those I can feel for sure.

And that means some part of me is more than aware that I hate the fact I’m going to leave her safety between the hands of two other men—because yes I’m sending Charles too if only to make sure Daniel doesn’t try anything—even if I know they’re highly trained and efficient.

One was trained before I even trained as a warrior and the other I trained myself.

That thread of possessiveness that just woke up doesn’t care about it, though. All it sees is that I won’t be the one by her side and I’m already dreading the minute she leaves me here.

Talk about pathetic.