Page 16 of Even Vampires Bleed (Even Ever After #2)

Cassiopé

E xcept, all we do is wait. The warriors train, and we wait.

If it wasn’t for Léandre, I think I would have even lost my taste for reading. I’m bored, and the only saving grace of this downtime is the fact that I get to spend more time with Léandre. He reads to me before we go to bed.

I feel like Marie Antoinette, waiting for the guillotine to fall.

Because it might be calm and quiet right now, but it’s just the calm before the storm.

Or at least it’s how it feels for almost everyone else. For Léandre and me, the storm is already inside our heads.

Léandre’s storm has the form of a father who is barely there in mind, and mine, the form of a father who has yet to wake up.

I’m scared that he’ll wake up in the same mental state as Gabriel. I’m scared he could be worse, too.

But I’m even more scared that he doesn’t wake up at all.

The first sign we get that things are about to change for the worse comes on Friday night.

Some of us are gathered and watching a movie in the cafeteria when all of our holos ring at the same time. It lasts less than a second, stops, and then rings again.

Then all of our screens—including the movie screen— turns black for a second and a loading bar appears.

What the hell is happening?

The loading bar finishes charging, and in its stead, appears the face of a young man.

His face looks surprisingly familiar, but I don’t know where I could have seen him before.

He looks young, barely over eighteen. He’s sporting short black hair that makes his blue eyes all the more striking.

Seriousness is all over his face, and there is also a hard glint in his eyes.

He’s wearing one of those long white robe-like dresses with a hood the archangels always wear for official functions.

Someone off-screen is talking, but what that commentator is saying is barely registering in my mind though.

I think the commentator is presenting the guy on the screen and then it hits me what this is.

The guy in the white dress smiles, and it chills me to my bones. Then, on some silent signal that I don’t notice, he pops his wings out dramatically.

They’re all white.

This is the new Michael.

“Ambrose,” I hear Angie mutter from the other side of the room.

It takes me a minute to realize why she muttered a different name. I’m staring at the same eyes.

This is Angie’s little brother, and from what she told me so far, this isn’t good.

It was to be expected after Michael’s death, so I shouldn’t be surprised, but still I hate the feeling that we might have traded a monster for another one.

I hear Léandre gulp before I turn to look at him.

He’s staring at the screen, but it isn’t Ambrose on the screen anymore. There is a woman this time, one in her late twenties. She looks tall and skinny. Long blond hair frames high cheekbones, light green eyes, and pouty lips painted in a pastel pink.

Ambrose doesn’t really look angelic, but this one does, and it surprises me even more because I have no idea what she’s doing on the screen.

The commentator starts talking again as the screen view broadens, and we can finally see what the woman is wearing: a long, white robe-like dress.

“This bitch,” Léandre sneers next to me, and I’m once again surprised tonight, because it’s not like him to insult people like that.

“Who is she?” I ask him at the same time the commentator says, “Here I present you, Gabrielle.”

In the same manner Ambrose released his wings, Gabrielle does the same.

They’re obviously all white.

It registers to me that this woman is Léandre’s father’s replacement. She’s the new archangel, and if I’m reading him well now, I think she might not be as angelic as she looks.

“My cousin. She didn’t even wait for my dad to be dead to take his place. It didn’t take her long to switch her affection from one Michael to another, though,” he says in a bitter tone as we see her stroke Ambrose’s arm in a sensual way on screen.

I connect the dots, and I can only agree with Léandre. If this woman used to be Michael’s mistress—if she wasn’t repulsed by who he was and what he did—then she probably deserves Léandre’s ire. Even more so if she’s already in bed with Ambrose.

“Do you want to go to our room?” I ask Léandre.

The evening is already soured with this announcement, so I don’t see the point in staying, but the video is still running on every screen and everyone seems to be stuck watching whatever is about to happen.

Because there is one thing I know for sure. It’s that the archangels and their team would never stay on screen without a purpose, and that’s when I see it: Ambrose grabs Gabrielle’s hand and brings it to his mouth.

Softly, as if he was a knight of old, he kisses her knuckles before turning to the camera.

The camera’s angle is now set to get a full view of the two new archangels with their wings out and… Ambrose drops one knee to the ground.

Everyone seems to be shocked. Here in this room, but also on screen.

“Will you marry me?” Ambrose asks.

Gabrielle rushes to say, “Yes.”

The video is cut, and the commentator adds, “We’re recording live from Versailles, where it’s a first in history. An archangel has decided to take a wife. We will keep you updated. Have a good evening.”

For a moment, the cafeteria sits in stunned silence. Then, everyone starts talking at once.

The commentator is correct.

This is unheard of.

Archangels never marry. They reproduce for sure—Léandre and Angie are the blatant proof of that—but they never enter the holy matrimony.

And it wouldn’t be so shocking if Ambrose had picked any other girl, but he picked another archangel—one he’s supposed to rule with. What mess is it going to make to have two archangels always siding with each other?

Shoot.

What is going to happen when those two will have kids? Because I know for sure they will.

And what then?

The future kid will evince the swans?

I don’t see that one going well—swans are notoriously nasty.

But accidents happen, and I wouldn’t put it past the power hungry couple who just embraced their role to seek even more power.

This doesn’t bode well for the future.

And I’m not even talking about what horrible decisions they could make.

We’re definitely screwed.

“I think I want to, yes,” Léandre tells me, and it takes me a few seconds to realize he’s answering my earlier question.

He wants to go back to our room.

So, I take his hand when he stands, and in this rioting atmosphere, we leave for the quiet of our bed.