Page 11 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

“Right. Yes, all right.” She disappeared.

The pressure at the base of my spine increased, pushing me forward. I had only a few moments to gawk at our surroundings—checkered floor, giant stone staircase, gaslit sconces, elegant chandelier—before I was ushered upstairs.

I was vaguely aware of Vittorio’s footfalls on the marble behind us. We strode down a dimly lit hallway. I absorbed everything and nothing all at once.

We stopped before a door. A pale hand reached around me, opening it, then pushed me inside, following after. “Vittorio, have Miss Shaw’s guest room prepared—“ My captor’s soulless gaze passed over me. “The red room, I think.”

“Yes, Sire.” Vittorio, several inches shorter, backed out of the room.

We were suddenly alone. I gulped, my emotions ping-ponging between anger, fear, and defiance⁠—

“Have a seat, Miss Shaw.” He said it like he was conducting a business interview.

I glanced around. It was an office. In the center was a desk, its surface home to a sleek laptop, small stack of papers, and a single fountain pen. There were arched windows behind the desk, thin black mullions separating glass panes that glittered in the darkness. In them, I saw my ow reflection, pale and frightened. The walls of the office held rich wooden shelves, some with books, others with small items, figurines, trinkets.

“Miss Shaw!”

I scrambled into action, moving over to the nearest chair, sinking into it. He went around the desk and took a seat, facing me. I spent a few moments looking him over. In better light, he was even more striking, infuriatingly so.

“You never told me your name,” I bit out.

“I didn’t, no.” His low voice skittered over my skin.

“Well? Do you expect me to call you Sire like everyone else?”

“You may, if you wish.”

“I would never.”

He hesitated. “My name is Laurent Sarkas.”

“Laurent Sarkas,” I repeated. It was the kind of name that rolled easily off the tongue, tasting just as good spoken as it sounded.

He watched me, unmoving, not so much as breathing. It was unnatural.

I cleared my throat. “What was that about the amplifier thing⁠—?”

“Sarkas.” A voice interrupted, entering the room. I craned my neck, turning. Another vampire. I knew it immediately, simply by looking at him. He had olive skin, black hair that curled about his head, and the same sharp features I’d seen on Laurent and Vittorio. His ears weren’t pointed, either.

“Sit, Marco.”

Their names… Italian. I’d always wanted to go to Italy. Enjoy some pasta, take a gondola ride, study the architecture. Many famous mathematicians had come from Italy⁠—

“Zola wasn’t lying,” Marco said, taking a seat beside me. “An amplifier? Here in Braxton? How is that possible?” He didn’t take his eyes from me. The longer he stared, the more I itched. His pupils blew wide, poisoned veins shooting across his skin. My instincts kicked in. I gripped the arm rests, glancing toward the door, judging the distance.

Laurent had warned me not to flee.

The moment sharpened, the severity of my situation fully sinking in. Vampires existed. They existed—they were real. I was trapped in a room with two of them, lethal predators, and they looked ready to devour me.

4

Lily Shaw looked as if she might bolt at any moment. Vampires loved prey. Laurent couldn’t afford that here.

“Settle down, Marco,” he growled. “You’re stronger than that.”

The smell of Lily’s fear riddled her sweet scent—so sweet. He’d smelled many like her over the centuries, each unique, each impossible to forget.

Marco mastered himself, turning away. Laurent’s muscles relaxed. He trusted his second completely, but instincts were instincts.