Page 62 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

I filed his words away, hoping someday they might mean something.

He never overstepped, never asked for the details of what I’d been through. I didn’t ask him, either. It’s like we knew, from one wounded person to another. We both gave each other space, but we did it together. His quiet presence became something I could tolerate, even found oddly comforting in my current state.

The manor became a place of...not healing, exactly, but existing. Surviving day by day.

There were a few occasions that Zola suggested we take a trip into the city. Each time, my body locked up, perspiration tickling my skin. I always declined. Part of it was fear, yes. And part of it was simply too overwhelming. It would be too much to handle, too soon. I didn’t want to see evidence of normality outside these doors. I didn’t want to know that despite what had happened, despite this monumental thing that had changed me forever, the world still turned and people still carried on.

I was left behind.

Is that what becoming a vampire felt like? You froze yourself in a certain time, and you were forever stuck? Forever forced to watch time race past you? Forever forced to watch people grow and change, move forward, move on?

Perhaps only metaphorically speaking. These vampires had not stopped. They adapted. Used new technology, changed their manner of dress, the way they spoke.

Worrisome things were happening within their sphere. I mostly knew due to Zola’s information. More and more vampires had disappeared. Not just from House Sarkas, but others. There were rumors that another vampire house was attempting to rise to power, a sixth. There were also rumors that the demons were behind everything. Rumors that the shifters might be involved, and that the witches definitely were.

But that’s all they were, rumors.

Zola was absent more than she was here. She never forgot to check on me. We’d spend brief stretches of time together, and then she’d disappear again. Those moments provided brief respite from the emptiness. A strange and unlikely bond was forming: she was becoming something that toed the line between friend and mother.

I didn’t see the master of the house for an entire week after waking up. He hadn’t left the manor entirely. I knew, because I’d hear his voice from down the hall, or from the entry, or hear Vittorio mention him to Zola in passing. But we never crossed paths. I counted it as a blessing. Especially because I looked around every corner, glanced into every room, ensuring that I avoided him.

When he finally did appear, I knew it was intentional.

I sat in the library working through a particularly long proof, already three pages in, when the library doors opened. The back of my neck prickled and I knew without moving, who it was.

I went rigid, a response I could no more control than my need for air.

“Forgive me, Miss Shaw. I came in search of a book.” His voice was calmer, quieter than I had ever heard it. Even calmer than those first moments, when I thought I had died, only to open my eyes and find him next to my bed.

“Please, do not let me disturb you,” he added.

A wave of dizziness crashed over me. I didn’t turn to look at him, because I couldn’t. I barely managed a nod, my eyes unfocused, the variables blurring on my page.

His steady footsteps echoed against the metal stairs that led to the second landing. I worked up the courage to lift my eyes. Seeing him made it worse. He moved along the wall of books, his broad back to me, muscles bunched under a bespoke suit. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck. His steps were slow as his fingers trailed spines, searching.

I couldn’t—couldn’t do this.

My throat closed up until each breath was harder than the last. I glanced down at my proof, only half finished, then jerked to my feet and fled. My legs carried me down one hallway after another. The entire manor passed me by without a shred of realization. I didn’t blink until I was out in the bright, summer sunlight. Then I took in gasping breaths, placing my hands on my knees, fighting the vasovagal reaction that tunneled my vision. Blood rushed back to my head.

Finally, I stood up and blinked. I was in the garden. I walked to the nearest bench and sank down, gripping the wood. I counted each breath, holding it for three seconds before releasing. My skin was clammy. The fact that I couldn’t control my body’s response to him was just another way he’d stolen my agency.

It’s not my fault, I reminded myself.

I wouldn’t let myself feel ashamed for something he’d done. Even thinking his name sent another wave of nausea coursing through me. He was just a vampire, a single vampire. I couldn’t let him have this kind of power over me⁠—

“Miss Shaw? Everything all right?”

Vittorio’s shadow fell over me. “Oh. I…” I exhaled. Vittorio’s nostrils flared and I knew it would be stupid to lie. These creatures had an excellent sense of smell. “Just…you know…having a little panic attack.” I tried to sound calm but my voice came out overly cheery and fake.

“Ah. But of course. How about some herbal tea, then?”

I glanced up, relieved. “Chamomile with honey, maybe? Could you make it iced?”

“Consider it done. Shall I bring it out here, or would you like me to escort you inside?”

I kept my voice steady. “Here is fine. Thank you.”

“Give me a moment.” He moved off, rounding the garden’s flower beds, then disappeared. I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d found me. The kitchen was on the far side of the manor, out of view.