Page 70 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

A low growl built in his chest. Bastian answered with a long sigh. “It’s my final offer, Laurent.”

“Fine,” he snapped.

“And I swear to the gods, if any of your bloodsuckers so much as look at my girl with that fucking bloodlust shit in their eyes, I will destroy every fucking one of you.”

“You’re doing this as a favor to me. You know I’m good for it. No harm will come to either of you.”

“My girl’s pregnant,” Bastian added. Warning enough. Mates were protective, but even more so over unborn offspring. “I don’t want her near any of you fuckers. So you’d better be good for it.”

“Bastian,” he said, his irritation growing. “Five million. Fourteen days. I’ll send the jet. She comes, or we have no deal.”

“Agreed.” Bastian disconnected.

Marco shook his head, incredulous. “He doesn’t ask for much, that asshole.”

“His mate’s pregnant. I’m surprised I got him at all.”

“Well, he’s probably thinking about college funds…”

“For an unborn baby?!”

Marco’s lips twitched. “Parents plan early these days.”

“Get out,” he snapped. Seconds later, Marco was gone, and he was left to think it all over. But try as he might, his focus strayed to one thing, and one thing only. Lily. She’d become his greatest distraction. He hated it. He loved it. He needed to get her the fuck out of his head before he drove himself mad.

That was easier said than done.

As each day blurred one into the next, he found Lily occupying more and more of his thoughts. He continued with the cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate—which he could now make with his eyes closed. To put her at ease, he kept the same schedule, dropping by her room at ten thirty, so that his presence was never a surprise. He was patient, careful. He didn’t linger. He went out of his way to make her comfortable.

Eventually, he faced his first victory when she offered a soft, “Come in,” after he’d knocked. It was the first time she allowed him to enter on his own. He took that as a good sign.

Even thinking of it now left him hopeful, as he typed away on his laptop. Perhaps things would get better from here. Gods only knew he could use a break.

His fingers froze.

He smelled her first, then heard the anxious beating of her heart, the hesitant sound of her footsteps as she walked past his study. For a moment, he couldn’t move, too overcome by shock. Then he moved to the door, silently cracking it open. The scent of her hung heavy in the air, making his mouth water, making his gums ache.

Lily stopped near the end of the hall, just outside the drawing room. He waited and watched. She glanced around before entering with what suspiciously looked like his sheet music clutched against her chest. His ears pricked, listening to the faint sounds as she padded barefoot across the drawing room and slid out the piano bench.

The first notes of the piano startled him out of his thoughts. He gravitated down the hall, stopping just outside to lean against the wall. His eyes closed, listening to her play. Ever so slowly, his muscles began to relax.

She was no prodigy. Lio had been a true talent, with nearly a hundred years to perfect the art. Her skill was rudimentary but competent. She couldn’t have been playing for more than a short span. A few years, at most? And yet, her interpretation of the music was beautiful, compelling. He found himself sucked in, a slight smile growing on his lips, even after she stumbled over some of the notes, going back and ironing out various sections to perfect them.

She gave the piece the life it yearned for.

Vittorio appeared beside him to lean against the opposite wall. Moments later, Hassan came. He wanted to growl at them, to send them away. He wanted to keep each mournful note for himself.

The longer she played, the more her scent changed. Like it did the first time she played. It sweetened—a heady mix of pleasure and joy.

This simple moment felt like a monumental achievement.

Eventually both Vittorio and Hassan departed, but not before sharing a knowing look with him. It felt like a small victory. One they had all been working toward.

Time bled one moment into the next. Perhaps she played for a handful of minutes, perhaps hours. He let the wall support him, let his mind wander, until her playing stopped. Only then did he retreat to his study.

Later that night, he found himself in the kitchen at eight. “Sire, I believe you can manage on your own tonight?”

“That remains to be seen.” He pulled the folded sheet of printed paper from his pocket. “Found this online. I might need you to walk me through it.”