Page 50 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

Her pulse began to slow. He watched as her lips gently parted. The eyes beneath her lids grew less frantic. It would take time for her to heal, for her mind to recuperate.

Would she make a full recovery? Would she ever be the same? His fist clenched against his thigh. He forced the thoughts to stop. He didn’t care—he didn’t. He couldn’t be bothered. She was a weapon. A tool. A human. An asset to be protected⁠—

“You’re a fucking prick, Laurent,” came the smoky hiss behind him. He tensed. There was only one woman in the world who dared speak to him like this. She’d bottled her reprimand, disgust, and anger into a single statement. He’d always let her get away with far more than the rest. “You knew the risk and you did it anyway. You handed that poor, broken girl to the wolves thinking you had everything under control.”

He frowned, grinding his teeth together.

“Normally, I’d let it go. But I cannot. Not this time. I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you admit it, you bastard.”

“Fuck off, Zola.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Admit it or I’m out—I’m done.” He went completely still. “You don’t think I’ll do it? You don’t think I’d leave this family?”

A fraught silence stretched between them before he finally said, “I made a mistake.” Words he’d never say to anyone else. They tasted bitter on his tongue. Their relationship had always been different. It was said that fathers had soft spots for daughters. He’d had many daughters over the ages, some still alive, others lost. Zola had been different. She’d been his creation during a dark time, and bringing her immortality had brought him a simple joy that he’d almost forgotten in those days.

She stepped from the shadows. “You’ve done some fucked up things in your lifetime, Laurent. But this? It’s hardly the worst of it, and yet it feels like the biggest mistake you’ve ever made, if only because at this point, you should know better.”

His whole body jerked as if she’d struck him. The hands he tangled in his own hair were bloodied. “Fuck.”

“Yes. Good. I’m glad you understand.”

His chest rose and fell. He didn’t need to breathe. But sometimes, his body resorted to old habits.

“Tell me,” she said. “When you brought her here, did you take the time to run a background check? To dig into her past?”

His brows furrowed. “Why would I? Marco looked into her.”

“But you couldn’t be bothered?”

“No. She’s a tool, a weapon, nothing more.”

“Is that really what you believe?” Zola stepped closer, her voice deadly quiet. “Is that why you went to so much effort to get her back? Why you risked everything?” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Laurent, you risked inciting an entire fucking war between vampires and witches. You stormed their compound.”

“I killed everyone on the premises. There won’t be any witnesses, no evidence⁠—“

“That’s not my fucking point!” she roared.

He sagged, still crouched beside Lily’s naked body. His eyes fixed on the brand, the witch mark, marking her as their property. Red spots prickled his vision. He blinked them away. The deal he’d made he’d gotten in writing. Despite that, it had always been his intent to double cross them. But now, now there was evidence of what he’d done right here on her flesh…

He didn’t fucking care. “She’s mine,” he snarled, as if that explanation put it into simpler terms. The words came out possessive, primal, surprising them both.

Silence fell between them.

At last, Zola said, “Would you like me to take her upstairs? She needs a bath. I can get her settled.”

He stood, stepping away. “Thank you.”

Zola swept over, bending to scoop her up. Lily made a tiny sound that had him darting forward, reaching for her. But it was only a sound made in sleep. Her eyes remained closed.

“It’s okay, darling,” Zola cooed. “I’ve got you. No one will ever hurt you again. I promise.”

Something sharp and unfamiliar twisted in Laurent’s chest.

He waited until Zola climbed the stairs out of sight before he followed after, heading for his study. Zola would wash her, care for her, tuck her in. A tiny prick of possessiveness needled him, because he knew it should be him doing it.

“You’re above this,” he muttered, willing his emotions away. But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Squaring his shoulders, he strode to his study.

He calmly shut the door and surveyed the mess.