Page 63 of Even Vampires Bleed (Even Ever After #2)

Cassiopé

H e wants me, but he doesn’t know.

My throat is tight, as if constricted by all the words that want to tumble out of my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Then where his hand is going starts registering in my mind.

I want him.

Oh, how I want him.

My body is strung like a live wire under his touch. It comes alive and answers in a way only he can trigger.

But my heart—my heart is a whole other monster.

I don’t know what this is for him.

I don’t know what he is expecting out of this.

I don’t know, and it’s killing me.

Actually, I know.

And it’s killing me even more because he wants me—my body. He wants our bodies to come alive together.

But this is all it is.

I’m not even sure he wants me. I’m the only woman available here, after all.

Of course, I know I’m a hypocrite because I want him, too.

I can’t forget how hard I came earlier in the shower, just because he was the one on my mind.

And yet, I can’t do it.

At the first brush of his thumb on my breast, I jolt away.

I don’t have any shoes on. Hell, I don’t have anything to cover myself with, and I don’t have any idea what I’m doing, but I don’t care.

I run.

He might try to catch me, but I’m a bat, and I can run faster than a bird. So, he can’t stop me.

Did I say earlier that I was a coward?

Yes, well, here I am again—running from the conversation we need.

Because, yes, I know we need to speak about this attraction and how it both makes my heart soar and crash all at the same time. I know we need to speak about the past we share, but he has no clue about it.

I know that we need to talk.

But at the same time, I’m not ready.

I feel tears run down my cheeks as I run to nowhere in particular.

It’s when I reach the clay house that I realize I wasn’t aimless after all.

I only discovered the place from this afternoon but it already feels like a haven to me, a place to feel at peace in.

At least I’m not lost in the middle of the forest.

I’ll know how to get back to the house when I decide… If I decide to go back there.

With tears that won’t stop crawling out of my eyes, and with my heart bleeding, I don’t really know if I want to go back.

I might just stay here until Angie or whoever arrives and plead with them to take my place here.

But that’s five days away, and I’m not sure my heart can take it.

I’m not sure I can live in the same house as Léandre and give up more of my heart in the process.

I’m not ready to let myself fall again and get myself hurt when this awful brain chip is triggered again.

Because I know deep inside of me that those damn archangels will stop at nothing, and if they can, they will trigger it again.

And then what?

Then I’m not sure I’ll get back up this time.

And I had any doubt I fell in love with Léandre the first time around?

It can only get worse if we get closer.

It can only get worse if I let myself relax in his embrace.

No.

I’m not going back.

I know that I might get a bit cold, but this is the middle of the summer. It’s the south of France and the temperatures are more than warm during the day. I’ll survive.

I’ve got the well close to the clay house. I’ve got a roof if it rains. And I can forage the forest for berries if I’m hungry.

As if I’ve summoned it with my thoughts, lightning strikes the sky to announce the beginning of a storm and seconds after, rain starts falling heavily.

I’m drenched in under a minute, but I don’t care.

The rain mixes with the tears on my cheeks, and I feel lighter.

I face the sky and open my arms as I let the rain take away my heartache.

It’s not really working, and my tears keep falling from the corner of my eyes, but it feels freeing until I start shaking from the cold.

Did I say it was warm in the south of France during the summer?

I must have forgotten how bad rain and the lack of sun mixes, because I’m frozen to my bones.

I go back inside and sit on the ground.

What am I supposed to do with myself now?

I shiver and wrap my arms around myself before I tip my head against the wall.

I’m just going to wait here—and maybe sleep—while I cry my heart out.

Except I can’t sleep.

I’m too cold, and I can’t stop hearing suspicious noises outside of the house.

The walls were so thick in the other house that I couldn’t hear the wildlife from our bedroom, but here, it’s different. Each crack on the ground or rustle of branches seems to put my whole body on alert, and I can’t really say what noise is coming from where and if it’s threatening or not.

It also doesn’t help that the rain is smothering most of the sounds.

At least, with my mind on high alert, my tears have stopped falling even if my eyes still feel very scratchy and I bet that they are bloodshot.

Crack.

One of the cracking sounds resonates closer than all the others, and then the door is wrenched open.

“Who did this to you?” he asks vehemently.

I’m not sure what he means by that. I read romance books and that’s the kind of sentence the female main character hears after she gets wounded or after the male main character discovers scars on her body, but there is nothing here that would warrant that kind of question.

I must look at Léandre like his question is freaking dumb, so he speaks some more.

“Who made you so emotionally damaged that you can’t even enjoy someone’s attention? Who made you so scared of intimacy that you had to run away so as not to endure my caresses?”

He’s demanding answers, but at the same time, his voice sounds so deep and soft compared to the harsh sound of the heavy rain outside.

His voice is softly trying to coax answers out of me, but his questions? His questions are incisive. They’re painful. They’re raw.

And I hate them.

I hate him just for uttering them.

I was sad and in pain just a few minutes ago, but now?

Now, I’m raging because he’s probing where it hurts and that’s what I was scared the most of until now.

Because he’s picking at scabs that haven’t healed yet.

Because he’s pouring salt inside wounds that were already refusing to heal.

Because he’s forcing me to say things that I don’t want to talk about.

And I explode.

“You!” I yell, but I don’t give him enough time to question my answer.

“You’re the reason why I can’t let myself fall into your arms. You’re the reason my heart is broken; you’re the reason my heart shatters every day a little more.

And you know what’s worse? You don’t even know.

Because you forgot. Because your brain was erased, and with it, any trace of me, any trace of us.

Because in an instant you got a clean slate and I had to mourn our happiness, and I still have to face you every day.

I still have to face you and you don’t know.

You’re oblivious to what I went through with you.

You’re oblivious to what I went through because of you.

I fell in love with a man who disappeared, and you’re inhabiting his body.

And it’s hard. It’s freaking hard because I still have feelings for the old you and also for the new you, but all you seem to want is my body.

Maybe it could be right, but I don’t know how to dissociate things.

I don’t know how to take pleasure without pouring a bit of my heart into it.

And you freaking don’t know what you’re asking of me.

It seems simple to you? For me, it's the hardest thing ever, because you still have that damn brain chip, and what is going to happen when they trigger it again? You might lose some of your abilities in addition to your memories, but you’ll forget you ever had those.

It’s going to be normal for you because you won’t know any better, but for me?

For me, it’ll be hell again. Because you have no idea how hard it was to just start living again when you forgot all about me.

How just getting out of bed felt like climbing a mountain, how getting out of my room felt like running a marathon, how seeing you smile like nothing was amiss felt like a truck was driving over my heart.

So you ask me who did this to me? Maybe it’s mainly those damn archangels who decided they could play god with your memory, but it’s mainly you.

It’s always been you. So please, if you have just a bit of love or respect for me, you’ll stay away because I won’t survive a second time with my heart being crushed. ”

I stop, and barely above a whisper, I add, “Please, don’t do this to me again.”