Even Angels Fall (Even Ever After #1)

by E.V. Sauvage

To all the girls who thought they were too different to fit in, I see you and the dragon too.

“There’s no extraction plan. Do what you need to survive and never come back. I’ll find you. In this life or the next,” he whispers so low that I barely hear him.

😱

Elhyor, You can’t refuse her now that she’s in your care. Do whatever you want with her, but don’t bring her back to me. She had etiquette lessons, bedtime lessons, and she’s still a virgin. Enjoy. What the hell? Those words sound like Michaël doesn’t care one bit about his daughter. He could have gifted me a dog or a mare, and I’m sure he would have sounded more loving. I’m pissed off on her behalf and I don’t even know her.

😤

I’m pissed. I’m mad. And above it all, I’m scared as shit. I can’t go back. I can’t be there again. I’d rather be gone before tomorrow. I’d rather die trying to complete my mission than go back to my father. That’s it. I’ll die trying.

Elhyor is sending me back to my prison. And I’m scared of what torture my father will find to punish me for not being able to kill the dragon. A dragon who can’t be killed. Did my father know he was sending me on an impossible mission?

“Who did this to you?” I growl. I still see red, my control hanging on by a thread. She raises her chin to look down her nose at me. I don’t know how she can manage that, with me being at least twenty centimeters taller, but it somehow works. “You. You did this to me.” She spits the words as if I’ve lost my mind or I’m dumb. She thinks I’m talking about her hand. “I’m not talking about your hand,” I say, anger seeping through my pores.

“Your back.” I growl once again without meaning to. Truly, I don’t know what is wrong with that damn dragon side. “Really? I’ve got my hand shredded, and all you can see is my back being sunburned?” she asks in disbelief. I want to growl some more, but her words bring me back to the problem at hand. “Why aren’t you shifting? It would solve everything.” I try to soften my voice as much as I can, but I know I still sound gruff. She’s back to looking at me in disbelief, then something snaps in her eyes. “I can’t shift, you fucking pig,” she yells at me, like I’m a moron. And maybe I am, because it hadn’t crossed my mind that, if she came on foot and hasn’t displayed her wings since she arrived, there might be a deeper reason than not wanting to have the only feathered wings around. Fuck. Did I want her to hurt because she almost managed to kill me? Yes. Did I want her to lose the use of her hand in the process? The thought that it would teach her a lesson crosses my mind just for a second, and then it’s gone. No, I don’t want her to lose her hand.

“You tried to kill me. How did you expect me to react?” I ask her with a pointed look. “I thought I’d be dead,” she answers me without an ounce of emotion. Wait. She knew there would be a high chance she wouldn’t manage to kill me. She thought I’d either kill her for the attack or maybe that, if I died, some of my men would kill her in retaliation, and yet she jumped, anyway? She expected it, and yet she did it, anyway. What kind of desperation is this? “And yet, you’re still here,” I answer. “And yet, I’m still here,” she repeats before adding, “wondering why my back matters when you just added to my collection of scars.” There’s more than the back? “Who. Did. This. To. You?” I ask again. “I thought you said you wouldn’t repeat yourself,” she says with a devious smile, still not answering my question. “I’m tired. May I go to bed? You can lock me in if you want. I don’t care anymore.” She sounds so defeated that I almost tell her she can go.

She looks at my hand still holding her, and with a defeated sigh, she says, “If you’re not happy with his handiwork, you can tell him yourself in three days.” I’m frozen where I stand, and I don’t even feel it when my hand slips from her arm. I don’t even want to hold her back. Her father did this to her. Her father did this to her, and I told her I was sending her back to him. If there was ever a fresh row of scars, they would be my fault.

Elhyor looks at the tiny underwear as if it could eat him before he realizes what it is and then he schools his face. “I think that’s pretty obvious. And yes, I wore it all day. And no, I don’t like it. Why? Because that thing hasn’t been made for comfort. I’m not even sure it has been made with women in mind. I’m not going to wear any of them and since I’d hate for them to go to waste, I’m bringing them back to their rightful owner.”

😂

“Who are you?” The man I saw vehemently talking to Elhyor earlier is almost stuttering his question, and I find it almost comical that he didn’t even know who to look for when he asked that I was handed over to him. I open my arms, and my wings behind me, to show exactly who I am. “I’m your worst nightmare, and you asked for me,” I say in a voice that drips with smugness. I know I shouldn’t. These clothes can only do so much. They’re bulletproof, sure, but some of the men have firelances, and I sure as hell won’t try to test if the clothes are fire repellent, too. “You?” the man asks in a shaky voice as he looks behind me. “You can’t be.” “Tell that to my father. I think he’ll love your point of view,” I answer back.

😂

I’m also not a damsel in distress who needs saving. I can do the damn saving all by myself.

I get why she hadn’t been taught how to shift now. Those wings are pure beauty, but they’re also as dark as the night and shimmering like the stars. She’s coated in her own blood and moves like a demon. She’s a sight to behold. She’s magnificent. And, as her kind calls them, she’s one of the fallen. She looks more like a queen than a fallen angel. A warrior queen. My queen.

“What. Did. He. Do. To. You?” Elhyor enunciates each word one by one, his breath choppy once again and his eyes the color of molten lava. “What do you want me to tell you?” I ask with disdain. “Do you want me to tell you how I’ve trained up to twelve hours a day every single day of my life since I first shifted? Or do you prefer that I explain to you how many times I have fallen or burned myself? Maybe you’d prefer that I explain how I already know the pain of a bullet when it’s shot from close range and the only thing you’re wearing is a bulletproof outfit? Or maybe you want to know who hurt me personally? They were all just pawns. There’s only one person behind all my suffering, and he won’t stop at that. You were preparing for a war tonight against the humans. Now, you should prepare for one against my father. Because he won’t stop at sending me to you. If by Monday you’re not dead, he’ll burn down Notre Dame, because if he can’t have it, then no one can. You’re just a means to an end for him. You need to die for him to take it, but he can raze it to the ground, too, if he so pleases. So, yeah, you want to know who did this to me. You want to hurt them and make them pay, but are you really ready to do what it takes? Because it’s far more than you were preparing for tonight. It’ll mean the deaths of people you care about. It’ll mean so many deaths that you won’t sleep at night anymore. It’ll mean the end of things as you know them.”

Sadly, expectations are just that—expectations—and they’re often so very wrong.

“I’m not the only one with a short memory here. Remember Lucifer.” He pauses and kisses the side of my head. “Even angels fall, Michaël. Even angels fall.”

“Please, we both know ‘wife’ is just a name. We’re roommates at best,”

😂

“I know what your father expects of you. I think I knew even before you tried to attack me. I just didn’t want to believe he could be like this.” Why is he telling me all of this? I don’t want to hear any of it. I’ve barely slept, I’m on edge, and I’ve been holding tears inside since Michaël departed after the wedding. Elhyor has no right to talk about any of this. Yes, I planned on killing him, but I’m not completely sure I could still do it. I love Léandre, I do. He’s my best friend, my brother, my confidant, and I know I’ll suffer more from his brain being erased than he will, since he won’t remember, but am I ready to let him forget me? If his memories aren’t here anymore, I’m losing him the same way as if he died, and if I lose him, am I going to survive another year, another week, or even another day in this world? If no one knows what happened to me, does it make it any less real? I don’t realize I’m crying until Elhyor’s hand comes into contact with my cheek and softly wipes the tear away. “I know how much you care about him,” Elhyor says as I feel him press against my dagger. His shirt now has a hole in the middle, and like the single tear traveling down my other cheek, there is a single drop of blood dripping from the wound my blade has started to make, but Elhyor isn’t moving away. If anything, he keeps pressing against my dagger, his hand over mine. “I know how much you care about him,” he repeats. “And as much as I’d like to live, I’d much prefer for yo...

“Yes,” he answers. “You can kill me now and everything is over. But don’t go back to your father. Run with Léandre. Run as far as you can and never come back. Travel. Live. Love. Don’t waste the life I’m giving you. Live it to the fullest.”

“We’ll find a solution,” he says after taking a deep breath, and I want to believe him, but the tears won’t stop. “Together,” he adds as he bends to get our foreheads into contact. I close my eyes, leaving my tears to slide freely over my cheeks. He takes another breath and kisses my right eyelid. “Whatever comes at us, we’ll face it together.” He kisses my left eyelid. “As husband and wife.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “We’re stronger together.” He helps me tip my chin up, with his hands still softly cupping my face, and kisses my lips. It’s barely a whisper over my lips, but I feel it deep inside of me. It only lasts an instant and then he’s looking at me like I’m his world.

“You can’t have a second breakfast; we’re not hobbits.”

She was supposed to be nothing when that marriage started, but all I want now is for her to be my equal. “I married you. Everything that is mine is yours. My men, my house, my body and even my heart.” Maybe I’m not just starting to fall in love with my wife. I’m an idiot. I know I’m in love with my wife, and if those last words don’t give me away, I don’t know what would.

“What I mean,” he says, as he gathers my hands between his and starts kissing each of my knuckles, “is that I wouldn’t want to take your choice away. What I regret is not the fact that you became my wife, but the fact that you felt you didn’t have any other choice.” He pauses and then starts kissing my other hand as he moves me so I’m sitting against the headboard, and he kneels between my legs. He still has both of my hands in his when he looks me in the eye. “What I mean is, divorce me, Little Devil, so I can ask you properly to marry me.” “You’re a big idiot dragon,” I say with a thundering laugh. “We don’t need a divorce, but if you want, when everything is back to normal, I’ll marry you again.”