Fangs of a Butterfly

CHAPTER 19

The three of us seemed to stand there in stalemate for minutes until my tears subsided and Yves finally spoke.

"What do you want from me?"

"Your rifle," Uriel said.

Yves inhaled deeply, clawed the air, obviously frustrated, but then returned to his usual face.

"You knew?"

"Dr.Gregoire assured us because you had one and knew how to shoot. We were all banking our lives on you."

"That's why I usually went with Karl and Marcel, Gregoire knew I could protect them."

"Yes. And you watched out for me, too, I know." Uriel smiled. "Thank you, Yves."

Yves only stared at him. He wasn't touched.

"You're welcome."

"You can teach Margery how to use the rifle. Or you can plan something if you'd rather do something else, I'm sure you can do it. You were always the brain of our group."

"I'll see what I can do. But I need to talk to her alone." There was no more 'Miss Margery', just 'her'. His whole demeanor had changed.

I turned to see what Uriel would do, but he looked at me to make my choice. I forced a smile. I wasn't afraid.

"Sure, Yves. Uriel, would you mind leaving?"

Uriel headed out to the door and then gave the two of us one last glance before heading down the stairs, closing the door behind him.

When the doors were firmly closed, I turned back to Yves, who had began walking to me. I swallowed hard before straightening my back as we were taught to. We weren't afraid of humans, even if they were vampire hunters.

"I'm a Derosier," he said. "I'm sure you've heard of us."

"It's vaguely familiar."

The Derosiers have always been hated," he said nonchalantly. "Despite killing vampires and saving thousands, they saw us as monsters because we killed monsters. How ironic."

"Then maybe you should've betrayed the humans and killed them," I offered. He laughed hollowly.

"You're so stupid."

You're the stupid one. I didn't dare voice it, though, because I needed him for Uriel and my plan.

"Anyways, when I went to University, I had no friends. However, when I joined Dr.Gregoire's team, they befriended me. Night after night we stayed up reading folklore and studies on vampires. We went to many places, museums and strange countries, before we finally came here. They mean a lot to me. They mean more than my family."

What kind of horrid life did he go through to make them so important to him?

"Do you understand?"

"Yes. I love my sisters, too. We grew up together and everyone hated us."

"Because you all kill."

"Like Uriel said, I couldn't tell right from wrong."

"Were they crying?"

"What?"

"What faces did they have on when you killed them?" Yves came closer until his face was looking down at mine, only a feet or so away. I stepped back, and he followed. "Did you forget?"

"No—"

"Tell me, was it a face like that?"

His hand went down and I looked as he retrieved something, silver and glistening, engraved with roses. It was so much thinner than I'd imagine, and it was light in his hand as he gave it a practiced spin. I tried to run but my legs couldn't move.

I could die from this, Uriel had told me, it was faster than the eye could see.

I could die from one bullet.

I could die at the hands of a human.

Yves pressed the gun to my neck, and smiled, that always playful smile of his. His eyes glinted, but besides that, there was no malice in his his face. He was a better actor than me.

I inhaled, but my knees threatened to give out beneath me. I could not hold myself up, and slowly sank down, the gun the only thing pressing me to the wall. I felt like I was getting crucified.

I didn't believe in the Lord, but for the first time, I wanted to pray.

"What a nice face. I missed seeing this."

"What's wrong, Yves? Feeling a bit murderous today?" My voice didn't show any sign of fear, but the words came out sharper than I planned. Stay calm, Margery. He can't kill you. He wouldn't hurt Uriel.

"Tell me, do you love Uriel?"

What kind of question was that to ask while holding a maiden at gunpoint? What did he want me to say?

"Yes," I said. It was a bet.

"So you will take Uriel with you and your sisters? Make him your prey, and have him chained to you for all his life? Make him your blood servant?"

I had guessed wrong.

"I don't love him that much."

"Then you don't love him. You are simply using him."

"What do you want me to say?" I growled.

"I don't know," he admitted, still smiling, then he tilted his head to one side in thought. "But Uriel likes you. I can't tell. What did you do to him?"

"Nothing. It's not my fault I'm beautiful." He only sniggered a little, as though I had said a joke.

"You're real funny, Margery, but I don't want him to get hurt. So tell me, what do you plan on doing with him?"

"I don't plan on doing anything to him—he's not a dog." He didn't budge. "Will you remove the gun from me, at least?"

Slowly, he pulled back. I had to steady myself before standing back up, and stepping back from him. His face was like a doll's. I could not read it at all.

"I like Uriel, as a human," I slowly said, rubbing my throat. Bastard had made an imprint on my delicate skin. "I won't kill him, no matter what, because he's helped my sisters and I. I will let him do whatever he wants, whether that means coming with us, or returning to Dr.Gregoire and you."

"I'll do something about this," he said. "But after you leave this castle, stay away from us. Promise."

"I promise."

"Good."

Yves slipped the small thing, the rifle, into his trouser pocket. It was hardly visible, and could easily be mistaken for a pen or notepad. And he had been carrying it the whole day—was it because of the meeting and in case Agnes went too far? Or had he been carrying it every single day, as he flirted with us at dinner, during interviews and tours?

He opened the door, but just before he left, he turned to me.

"Have a nice day, Miss Margery."

I had thought Uriel was cocky—but Yves was on an whole other level.

Only when I was sure he had left, I collapsed on my bed, knees weak. The clan was done for. Yves has came to end us, or at least if we displeased him. If I displeased him, by hurting Uriel.

He likes you, I can tell, he had said.

I thought back to Uriel's scowls, quiet nods of his head at dinners, his worn jacket and satchels, and then the way he had wrapped the butterfly gently in his handkerchief.

It was only pity, I had been convinced.

He had told me I wasn't like a butterfly, stood up for my murders although his father died at our hands, and he went out in the rain with me that day. He was distant but he was—not. He was close.

Did he truly loved me?