Page 39 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

Our own home.

Those words made my chest tighten, considering what I had planned. My eyes dropped to the floor, because when I thought about it, I couldn’t even look at her.

“Now, let’s go drown ourselves in alcohol.” She took my arm and led me downstairs.

I heard the soft music before we reached the first floor. Beautiful, classical, symphonic. I recognized the song: Váradi Endre’s Nocturne No. 15 for Strings. There were four sets of double doors leading into the dining room. They were thrown open, making the space look even larger.

The first thing I noticed was the table, like something from a dinner party dream. Two glittering chandeliers cast light over it. It was laden with elegant place settings and floral centerpieces. It seated twenty. Had Vittorio really managed this by himself?

I was impressed.

Next came the vampires who stood mingling—enough to fill the table. They all fell silent upon my entry before returning to their conversations. I hadn’t met more than a couple so far. I spotted Hassan at the bar—because of course there was a fully stocked bar—which sat on its own raised platform on the far end of the room. He stood mixing drinks.

“These dinners are always an affair,” Zola said, noticing my look of wonder. She squeezed my arm—a warning.

Because I felt his presence, that uncanny awareness, before I heard his rich voice. “Good evening, Miss Shaw.”

I whirled out of Zola’s hold, turning to face Laurent. My lips parted, eyes darting over him from head to toe. His beautiful hair was braided down the back, displaying his gorgeous bone structure. His bespoke charcoal suit was accentuated by his proud, powerful body. He wore no tie, and the top button of his crisp white shirt was undone, showing just a glimpse of his clavicle.

I couldn’t pull my gaze away. A tiny tick in his jaw meant he noticed. He probably thrived off of this sort of attention, even from insignificant humans like me.

He was just…utterly gorgeous.

11

The bandage at Lily’s throat was a reminder that left him tense and on edge. He’d almost lost her. Seconds later, he would have been too late. It was her scream. That had been the only warning—one he’d instantly reacted to.

Lily stared at him now, unblinking. She was exquisite, showing off feminine curves and so much skin. Alabaster skin that begged for his bite. Begged to be tasted. Her tantalizing scent intensified. His head tilted, intrigued. Usually, all she offered him was her ire, scents of anger and hatred. This was different. Something about his presence had rendered her speechless. His chin lifted, mildly satisfied.

“Miss Shaw?” he prompted. “Can I get you something to drink? A cocktail, perhaps? Or something stronger?”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll have a gin sour.”

“A gin girl. All right. Consider it done.” He lingered a moment longer, then strode to the bar. Behind him, he heard Zola’s low voice as she offered to introduce Lily to the other members of his household.

“Hassan,” he said in greeting.

“Sire?”

“Two gin sours.”

Hassan hesitated, looking amused—perhaps even a little impressed—then set about mixing. Laurent listened to Lily moving about the dining room, meeting the others, but mostly he focused on her breathing, her heartbeat. His gaze remained fixed on Hassan, watching closely, taking in each of his movements.

“Your concern over me is unnecessary, Sarkas.” Hassan poured the contents of his shaker into two separate champagne flutes.

Laurent’s eyes widened. “Concern? Is that what this foreign feeling is?” He pressed a hand to his heart.

Hassan’s lips thinned. “You’ve been hovering for days. It’s annoying.” Laurent made a dismissive sound, showing exactly what he thought of the lie. Redirecting the conversation, Hassan said, “Miss Shaw appears to be adjusting.”

Laurent turned until he caught sight of Lily. She wore a small smile on her lips, speaking with Astrid. His ears sharpened enough to know it was a conversation about their favorite books. “Yes,” he decided, “but I’m not fooled.”

“Oh?”

“She hasn’t accepted the reality of her situation.”

“Right. I heard about what happened with Henrietta. You think she will try to run again? Surely once was enough?”

“I want to believe she won’t, but…”