Page 128 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

“Can we have pasta for dinner?” I whispered, pulling back until my face was nearly nose to nose with Laurent’s. Zola chuckled. Laurent stopped mid conversation at my interruption, giving me his complete focus. His lips twitched as he studied my eager expression. “Sorry. I’m just excited.”

“What kind of pasta?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“Any kind. I don’t care. Just lots of it. And bread. And cheese. And wine.” I bit my lip. “I’m really hungry,” I confessed, still hushed, as if that made our conversation private, despite there being three others in the vehicle.

His expression softened as his fingers caressed my cheekbone, coming to rest beneath my jaw. “Pasta it is,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips against mine. “And whatever else needed to satisfy your hunger.”

Blood—his blood.

I shivered, then turned back to the window. The conversation picked up again, Laurent’s hand continuing its soothing motions along my back. We came to a stop outside a three-story town house that looked similar to all the others, a combination of stone and cement walls, with arched windows.

“Here at last.” Laurent unbuckled me from the middle seat before I could do it for myself, then climbed out and helped me down. “Don’t worry about your things, Vittorio will manage.”

Vittorio climbed out of another SUV as two unfamiliar faces emerged from the large arch leading inside. They stood aside, hands clasped behind their backs, waiting.

“Is this it?” I looked up, taking in every detail.

“It is. You will be comfortable here, I think.” Laurent took me by the hand, pulling me forward. “Catina,” he greeted, leaning in, kissing Catina’s cheeks. “Paolo.” He shook the male’s hand, then pulled him into a one armed hug.

Both our hosts were stoic and richly dressed. Like all the other vampires I’d met, they carried an otherworldly aura about them, sure to draw eyes like a magnet. While Catina had obvious Italian features with olive skin, Paolo looked more Eastern European. Their eyes fell on me with obvious curiosity.

“So, this is her,” Catina said, appraising me.

“Lily, this is my sister and brother, Catina and Paolo.”

My lips parted, eyes darting between them. “It’s good to meet you,” I managed. I’d caught glimpses of their faces in a few of his memories.

“A bold move, Sarkas, bringing her into the heart of the vampire world,” Paolo said.

Laurent didn’t answer.

Catina and Paolo’s attention shifted over my shoulder. Catina smiled, open and joyous. “Vittorio! Little brother,” she sighed, opening her arms.

“Cat,” Vittorio growled, stepping into her embrace before greeting Paolo similarly.

“Come,” Catina said after the reunion was finished. “Let’s get inside before we attract attention.”

We emerged into a marble foyer about a third the size of the receiving hall back in Braxton. My eyes flicked over everything, noting the obvious age of the place. It looked like a museum, with statues and vases. A thrill shot through me at the realization. Everything in here had to be hundreds of years old—no, older than that—original artwork, original everything! I wondered how many vampires had walked these halls, what secrets these walls had witnessed over the centuries.

I stole a peek into an adjacent room with sofas and floor to ceiling tapestries. This place was a historian’s dream. I didn’t know where to fix my gaze.

“How about a tour?” Laurent murmured against the shell of my ear, his thumb stroking the back of my hand.

“Yes,” I eagerly breathed.

“Vittorio, have our things deposited upstairs, please.”

“Yes, Sire.”

More greetings between the others were exchanged as we moved deeper into the home. We left them behind as Laurent led me through several rooms on the bottom floor: a receiving room for guests, a kitchen, dining room, and small ballroom. The second floor had a private drawing room for the family in residence, which served many purposes, including the house library. There were also three suites. The third floor had six smaller guest chambers, with bathrooms split between them. A small attic was neatly filled with boxes and other discarded, forgotten things. I had an urge to come up here later and explore. It felt magical to stumble upon a place like this, lost in time.

The townhouse was cozy, lived in.

“This will be our room,” Laurent said, bringing me back to the second floor. My pulse surged. Our room. I tried to tell myself it was because he wanted to keep me close, not because there were a limited number of accommodations and we were being economical.

The suite he’d showed me earlier now held my luggage, right next to a small suitcase of his. He strode to the double doors and pulled them wide, heading out onto a balcony that overlooked the waterway below. I glanced around, taking in the massive bed, large desk set into an alcove, the set of bookshelves, the sitting area, fireplace, and antique armoire.

There was an open door leading to a tiled bathroom. I peeked in, glancing over the aqua tile and massive claw foot tub. It was charming, vintage.