My breath caught, and I turned back to Elias.
He didn’t seem fazed. Just offered a courteous bow, then handed over the box. “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to reach out. My number’s inside.”
I blinked at the package, confused. “I don’t have?—”
“Mr. St. Germain included a phone for you,” Elias interrupted smoothly, as though expecting my response. “He wanted you to have a direct line in case something happens. You’ll find his number programmed into it.”
Of course I would.
With that, Elias turned and strolled down the street, his hands tucked into his pockets as though he didn’t have a care in the world. I stood in the doorway a moment longer, blood box in hand. Then I stepped back inside and shut the door.
This time, I locked it.
Lucien would be proud.
I snorted at that thought and carried the box to the bar. Setting it down, I opened the lid and took stock of the bottles, all while considering my options. The bar had a fridge, but I hadn’t cleaned it yet, since I had nothing to stock it with. Except now, I did.
Sighing, I grabbed a pair of gloves and cleaner and got to work. Not exactly how I pictured ending the night, but I didn’t have much of a choice. If I left the blood sitting out, it would spoil. And I absolutely refused to put anything inside the fridge until it sparkled and smelled of nothing but bleach.
I was halfway through scrubbing the second shelf when a soft chime rang out behind me.
Not Bernard. This sound was sharper. Mechanical.
The phone.
I peeled off the gloves and tossed them onto the counter, then dug through the box until I located the phone. I pulled it free, unsurprised to find Lucien’s name lit up on the screen. Because of course it was. No one else knew about the phone.
Nerves fluttered in my stomach as the memory of our kiss rose to mind again, annoyingly vivid and deliciously tempting. I bit down on my lower lip, drew in a breath, and swiped a finger across the screen, then set the call on speaker.
“Hello, Lucien,” I said.
“Good,” came his immediate reply. Apparently, that counted as a greeting in his eyes. “The phone is yours to keep. Share the number if you’d like, but I’d advise discretion—given your current circumstances.”
I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see it, but kept my sarcastic response to myself. He was doing me a kindness, after all.
“I expect you to use it,” he added, voice firmer now. “If anything happens—anything at all—you call me. Understood?”
I sank onto the nearest bar stool and reached for one of the bottles Lucien had sent. I uncapped the lid and took a small swallow. “Just so you know, I don’t like being told what to do.”
“I’m aware,” Lucien said, with a hint of dry amusement. “But just this once, please do as I ask.”
I didn’t respond, but I also didn’t fight the small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
Lucien was silent for a beat. Then he cleared his throat and asked, “Are you all right?”
I froze with the bottle halfway to my lips. Such a simple question, but no one had really asked me that, not since everything went to Hell. Not even my parents—though to be fair, they’d had their own problems to deal with, too busy trying to salvage what remained of our name, our estate, and reputations. Still. The question caught me off guard.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then tried again, really not sure what to say.
“I don’t know,” I finally admitted. “I think I’m okay. I’m…here. That has to count for something, right?”
“That counts for everything,” he said.
Something in his voice softened. And damn it, I felt it. That little tug behind my ribs. A voice whispered in my head, telling me he clearly cared about me. He’d even admitted it. But was I ready to take the plunge into a new relationship?
Gods, I hadn’t been with anyone but Trystan in a hundred years. That accounted for half my life. And before Trystan, I hadn’t cared much about relationships.
“Try to get some sleep,” Lucien suggested. “I’ll call you in the morning to check in.”
