Page 93 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

She inched forward. “I’m…what?”

“Nothing at all what I expected.”

“So, all this,” she waved a hand toward the tray and the sleeping puppy on the rug, “isn’t just because you feel sorry for me?”

“No. At first it was because I couldn’t stand your fear. I couldn’t stand the way you panicked in my presence, the way you couldn’t be near me for two seconds, the way you looked at me. I couldn’t stand knowing I was the cause of so much distress. It shouldn’t have bothered me. I enjoy when others fear me. But not you. Never you.”

“And then?” She readjusted her position, tucking her legs beneath her on the sofa, turning so that she completely faced him. Pinning him with those deep blue eyes. He stilled under the full attention of her gaze.

His eyes fixed on her hot chocolate, untouched. She seemed to make the same realization and reached for it, cradling the mug between both hands.

“And then I realized that I enjoy our evenings together. I…” He swallowed. “I hope you do too.”

“Why?” She stared at him, her gaze full of challenge. “I’ve offered you nothing. Certainly not my blood. What do you get out of this?”

“I enjoy your company. Is that not believable?” The look she gave confirmed as much. “All right. I like the way you smell.”

It was the understatement of the century. He wanted to bury his nose against her skin, hold her against him, wrap her body around his so that it was the only thing he ever smelled⁠—

She tutted. “We already know that.”

“And…I like your voice.” Her voice was slightly lower than most females. It calmed him, listening to her talk.

“Go on.”

“I like it when you pay attention to me,” he admitted and her eyes softened. “Even if it’s to glare at me. I like when you glare at me. I like it when you snap at me, too. When you get angry with me. I shouldn’t, but I do.”

He needed to stop, but a quick glance in her direction showed her cheeks flushed, so he continued with his honesty. “I especially like when you look at me. Everywhere. When you look at my body. I like it when you smile. But especially when you laugh. I like trying to learn you. Trying to understand what makes you happy, or angry, or content. I like being the one to give you blood—my blood. I like the way you make my body hum. For the first time in centuries I feel… I…feel.”

Shit. The realization struck him hard and heavy. A long silence followed.

“How…how old are you?” She licked her lips, watching him.

He swung his head in her direction, working up the courage to gaze at her. “Don’t make me answer that.”

“I want to know.”

“Very old.”

“Marco said you were one of the oldest vampires.”

“I am.”

“How old?”

He rubbed his thumb along the fabric of the sofa. “I don’t remember.”

Her mouth opened⁠—

“I’m old, Lily. Very old. That’s all you need to know.”

She took a sip of her hot chocolate. “Is that why your hair is so white?”

A shocked bark of laughter burst from his lips. “No. It’s always been white. My biological mother was half-elven, so I am a quarter. Or I was, before I was turned. Many elves have white hair—pointed ears, too. Hence—“ He tapped the point of his right ear.

“I wondered about that—why you had them all the time when the others don’t.” Her eyes sparkled. “I guess my assumption about your cosplay for Taegan wasn’t so far fetched after all.”

He sighed and let his head fall back against the sofa. “Lily…” Her name was ground out for no other reason than to simply enjoy the sound of it on his tongue.