Page 120 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

“Oh, but of course. His memories. You have seen him, then?” I nodded. “Lucky girl. Then you know what has shaped him.”

“His father used to kill Laurent’s creations when he got too close to them.”

Zola faltered. “Bastard,” she hissed under her breath. “It is a difficult thing for him. Laurent doesn’t get close to anyone. He never has. His relationship with me, well, I never found it surprising until I saw the way he interacted with his other children.”

I knew what she meant. His interactions with everyone in the manor were often cold, detached, even distant. He ruled with a firm but fair hand. But he kept himself apart.

“He harbors a fondness for me, yes, but that’s all it will ever be. Lily, I must warn you—“ She stopped, turning me gently by the shoulders to look me in the eye. “Be careful, yes? To fall in love with a man like Laurent would be…dangerous. Vampires…we do not feel the way humans do. Our capacity to care for others comes sparingly, if at all. And love?” She sighed, her mouth flattening.

“You don’t think he is capable of it? Love?”

“I wish I could give you that answer. My instinct is no. I have never loved a single soul since becoming immortal. I do not believe he has, either.”

“So this is your way of saying he wouldn’t ever love me. Not that I—I mean—I wouldn’t⁠—“

Her face softened. “There is nothing wrong with how you feel. Feelings makes you human. That is a precious thing, no? Have feelings. Embrace them—embrace him. Just…be careful with your heart. Be careful of what you expect in return.”

A ball of ice dropped into my belly. All my logical thinking, all my need for neat solutions, suddenly felt useless. How do you solve for love when one variable might not even exist?

“Thank you—for telling me,” I said, knowing she cared, knowing she didn’t want to see me hurt. She hesitated, then nodded. I appreciated her honesty.

But what if… What if this was different? What if this thing Laurent and I shared wasn’t like anything he’d had before. What if…?

No. I stopped those thoughts immediately. This wasn’t like the romances I enjoyed. Did I really believe Laurent could forsake his nature because I’d come into his life? Zola was right. Falling in love with an immortal male was dangerous.

He cared for me, even coveted me. I believed that with every fiber of my being. But love? No—if anything, it was possession. A dangerous need for it.

Could that be enough for me?

A sour taste filled my mouth. I began to feel a little ill. All of my excitement from earlier slipped away as I adjusted Cinna in my arms, rubbing my cheek against her head.

Zola bid me goodbye outside my bedroom door. I slipped inside and crawled beneath the blankets with Cinna cuddled in my arms. Sleep was quick to find me after the exhaustion of the day. I napped for the remainder of the afternoon. It was better than warring with my own emotions.

For dinner, I donned a simple black dress. It was sleeveless with a turtleneck, the choice intentional. The gown hugged my curves and ended just below my knees. I slipped on a pair of flats, braided my hair back, and brushed some makeup over my face.

The dining room was a murmur of voices and soft music as I emerged. Zola found me immediately, linking her arm through mine. “Let’s get a drink,” she said, as if she could see the toll her warning had taken. I spotted Laurent on the other side of the room, his eyes locked on me. I nodded—a distant greeting.

“What will you have?” Hassan asked from behind the bar.

“Do you always play bartender at Laurent’s dinners?” I grinned at him.

“Usually. I’m good at it, and it gives me something to do. I’m not the mingling type.”

“How lucky for you,” I teased. “I’ll have a…” I trailed off, looking over the little chalkboard menu Hassan had obviously crafted with cocktails. I’d never heard of any of them, and assumed he’d made them up. “Give me a holy temper,” I said as my mouth twitched.

“You got it.”

I felt a presence at my back, a finger’s width behind me. “Hm…interesting choice, little flower.”

“Why is that?”

A possessive hand ran the length of my side, lingering against my hip. Both Hassan and Zola didn’t miss the action.

“Because it’s another gin drink.”

“Well? Aren’t you the one who called me a gin girl?”

“I did indeed.”