Page 46 of Even Vampires Bleed (Even Ever After #2)

Cassiopé

L éandre has been silent on our way back to the house, and I don’t know what to think of it.

I don’t know what to tell him either, and that might be a first for me.

How do I tell him that I don’t want to spend time with him because he both reminds me of someone I loved and that, at the same time, I feel like the idea of spending time with him is a treason to that other person?

And to top it all, how do I say that when the two people I’m talking about have inhabited the same body at some point?

I’m scared that I might like you as much or more than your previous you, but I’m even more scared that I’ll like you less .

I don’t see that going well at all.

He’s going to think I’m a lunatic—that I have a loose screw or something.

“Do you know how to cook?” Léandre finally asks when we reach the house.

I turn my head in his direction, and I’m faced with a hopeful expression.

If I can feed him, maybe he’ll forget about my lunatic ways.

What are you thinking, Cassiopé? Did you already forget how you can’t stay close now that you drank from him? I berate myself.

Still, I can’t say I don’t. If he’s a shitty cook, we still need to eat.

I’m starting to think that I could eat him instead. But unless I’m talking about his blood, it won’t nourish me, and that’s definitely not what I have in mind.

“Yeah, I’m not a great cook, but I can do a few things,” I tell him, and I don’t think I’ve seen his face with so much happiness over something so small.

“What have you been eating so far?” I ask right after.

There is genuine shame now showing on his face.

“Pasta and whatever meat we have in the cooler,” he answers me, and I’m at least relieved to know he knows how to cook pasta.

“I’ll take a look at what we have and see what I can come up with,” I tell him when we arrive in the kitchen part of the main room.

It’s at this moment that I realize what I’ve been doing all this time.

Because now that I need my two hands, it becomes really obvious to me that one of mine is still in his.

And that he hasn’t released me, either.

I’m confused.

Have we been holding hands the whole way back?

Why didn’t I realize that earlier? I’m supposed to stay away—now even more than before.

But why did he not say anything, either?

I drop his hand like it burned me, and yes, I know that makes me look suspicious, but I’m not ready to deal with that.

Instead, I shuffle through the things left in the cooler. To be honest, there isn’t much in it because we’re halfway through the week already, and we were dropped with only what is necessary for a week.

The cooler is half empty, but I don’t blame Léandre for it. With how much I remember taking of his blood, it was to be expected. He needed to build his strength again.

Weirdly—or not—he left all the vegetables untouched.

Don’t worry… I’m not a huge fan, either.

I leave the zucchini and eggplants and take out the beef and tomatoes.

Léandre is eying me with curiosity, not knowing what I am about to prepare.

There is a bag on the side that contains dry food, and I make an inventory of what’s inside, too, before picking some garlic and onions.

And then I turn to the oven-slash-whatever is that metal plate on top of it—cooking plate?

This looks rustic, and I have no idea how any of it works.

“Oven or hob?” Léandre asks at my bemused face.

I’m glad he asked because I was ready to try all the settings and just hope one would work with what I have in mind.

“Which one is easier?” I ask instead.

“Probably the hob, but they’re both easy once you get used to it,” Léandre tells me.

Okay, so let’s see how long we have, then. Wait, no, Léandre told me he’s only eaten pasta and rice since I passed out. I can’t do the easiest of my two ideas—bolognese.

“How hungry are you?” I ask him.

“I can wait if it’s going to take some time. I need a shower, anyway,” he answers.

“Perfect,” I tell him and gather the potatoes and a carrot I saw in the dry food bag.

I expect him to run away to the shower, but instead, he’s looking at me like I’m an enigma.

Is it because—against all odds—I’m not distant with him for once?

“Can I help?” he finally asks.

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t want to only eat pasta and grilled meat if I end up being on my own again,” he answers with a shrug.

That doesn’t exactly answer my question, but I won’t be picky.

Léandre gets closer to me and opens the drawer with all the cutlery. He sorts through it and hands me a knife as he takes one for himself.

“What are you doing?” I ask him, appalled.

“Helping,” he answers cockily, as if he didn’t hear the tone I just used. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re going to trickle sweat all over my food,” I deadpan. “You’re not touching anything here until you’ve taken a shower. Don’t worry, unless you’re spending half an hour under the shower, you won’t miss a thing. I have a lot of slicing and cutting to do before starting.”

“You’re sure?” he asks, and I hear a small tinge of insecurity in his voice.

My Léandre didn’t mind me taking things in my hands. This one… this one looks like he wants to do everything by himself, and it has the effect of a cold shower.

What am I doing?

Cozying to this new version of Léandre? Comparing them?

This isn’t healthy.

And this isn’t going to help.

Half lost in my thoughts, I plaster an amused smile on my lips and shoo Léandre to the shower.

It’s time to make a hachis Parmentier.