Page 46 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Brice

R age.

That’s all I currently feel.

No, that’s not true. I feel desperation and helplessness too.

I let her go.

I let her go and even sending Charles with Daniel did nothing. I should have known that only a dragon could keep up with a jet when it comes to speed.

Charles followed the jet in his shifted form, but he got distanced quite fast, and when he finally arrived at the address I entered in the jet coordinates, they weren’t there anymore.

There was blood everywhere.

A bird was dead, but the blood wasn’t from him and the pictures Charles sent me froze my blood.

I’d love to say that I've been pacing ever since I learned the news, waiting for any update, but no.

No, I didn’t wait a single second, and I was airborne.

Going where? I don’t know.

Do I think it’s stupid? Yes.

Do I care? Absolutely not.

I’m half-shifted on my way to Paris and I know what those birds did to my brain is going to kick in any minute now, but I don’t care.

I need to know if Florentine is alright.

I need to know that she escaped the scene unscathed, and that she is alive.

To hell if my brain forces me to fight my best friend as long as she lives.

Fuck.

When did I start thinking like this?

I know I said that she is mine and that I even dared to repeat it out loud to Daniel when I entrusted him to take care of her while in Paris.

Maybe it was more of a growl, but oh well, the message was received anyway.

Or so I thought.

Because obviously from the pictures and the bloodstains in two different spots, Florentine was hit, too.

That doesn’t look like a good way to take care of someone to me.

I should probably question my sanity on my way to Paris—I’m taking a considerable risk coming back home, after all—but my mind is too clouded by images of Florentine laying in a pool of her own blood to do so.

I still have the thought to warn Elhyor of my impending arrival, though.

“Cassiopé?” I say as my holo finally connects with hers. “Tell Elhyor to leave Paris.”

She doesn’t question me. It’s like she already knew I was coming, but then her next words are like a cold shower.

“She’s here. The doctor is on his way.”

I don’t need to ask who she is talking about. My daughter has always been way too perceptive, and if Daniel is still alive he probably told her all about how I threatened to make him eat his own balls if he touched Florentine.

Did I forget to say that’s what went with the growl?

But if I thought Cassiopé’s previous words were a cold shower, her next ones freeze my blood.

“She took two bullets, she is not conscious anymore. Daniel tried to explain what happened but he’s not making sense. He lost a lot of blood too.”

“I’m coming,” I tell her before I cut the call and flap my wings faster.

I need to be there. Now.

I have no idea how I manage the feat, but it only takes me about twenty minutes to reach Notre Dame, fueled by desperation.

It’s already too much.

“Where is she?” I yell as I pass the double doors at the entrance of Notre Dame.

My inner beast doesn’t rear his head inside of me so I guess Elhyor flew away like I asked, or maybe my brain is too focused on something else for the beast to take over. I don’t care about the reason, as long as I can focus on Florentine.

I don’t need an answer to my question, though.

I can smell her in the air. It’s mixed with the smell of Daniel’s blood but I could follow her even blindfolded.

The sweet smell of blackcurrant and jasmine carries me to one of the upstairs rooms. It’s one that is used by people when they’re visiting and I have the sudden thought that she should be in my room.

No, no, no.

What Am I thinking?

I can’t think like that.

Obsessing over her is one thing, thinking she belongs in my room, and more specifically in my bed, is a whole other thing.

She could be my daughter. Hell, she’s younger than my very own daughter.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Except I don’t need to ask myself to know what the fuck is wrong with me.

I’ve been looking at her, watching over her, even taking care of her in my own selfish kind of way as recently as yesterday.

I’ve been clinging to the smallest thread of emotion that seems to only ever appear when she’s here, when she reacts to me.

It’s only ever been her.

And now that I can smell the blood that she lost in the air, some primal part of me is reacting as if it’s always known her.

As bat-shifters, we never talk about blood because it’s taboo—more than the wings, it’s our attraction to someone’s blood that made humans call us vampires.

It was already taboo on Aléa, but ever since we arrived on earth, it’s even more so.

I want to say it’s because of the humans—they’ve romanticized vampires for centuries, after all—but the truth is that we love blood too much. It’s an aphrodisiac of the highest potency for bats, and knowing some humans have biting kinks, it was a huge mess when we arrived three hundred years ago.

Vampire dens were created, and after so long not gorging on blood, a lot of bats went crazy for blood.

Because it’s not just an aphrodisiac, it also acts like a drug.

From what I know, it’s alright if you only ever take from one partner, but the problem comes when you sample multiple sources.

It starts to make the bat want to experience every single blood in existence in search of the best taste ever.

It was a bloodbath.

Maybe it was also the reason why it was so easy for the birds to step in and parade as angels. Greedy bats had paved the way.

Shortly after that, vampire dens were closed, and feeding from anyone became taboo again.

I have no idea why they were taboo in Aléa, but I can only guess that it was for the same reason. And as often happens, people didn’t learn from history.

Which is why I’m currently at the door but can’t bring myself to open it.

What if I open it and can’t stop myself? What if I open it and make it worse because I see all the blood and it triggers something inside of me and all I’ll see is the blood and all I’ll want is the taste of it on my tongue?