Chapter 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…”
“Be patient with her, Sarkas. Captivity isn’t easy for anyone.”
Laurent’s gaze snapped back to Hassan and his eyes narrowed.
He felt the slap of his statement. But if Hassan meant to wound, it was an effort wasted.
There wasn’t much that could hurt him these days.
He’d learned long ago not to feel—or at least, to feel very little.
The few times he’d let that lesson slip, he’d paid for it.
His mind flashed to Lio. He’d gone years without thinking of him, yet now, in the span of a single week he’d thought of him multiple times. Strange how the pain of loss could fade into the background, only to reappear as if it had happened yesterday.
He pushed thoughts of Lio down deep into the recesses of his mind. Buried it with all the other things that threatened to upend him. He couldn’t afford it. This was the only way to survive, century after century.
“Sire?”
He sighed. “I’m not torturing the girl, Hassan. Far from it.”
“Never said you were.” Hassan handed over both flutes, saying far more with his gaze.
Laurent took them and strolled across the room, eager for the excuse to approach the amplifier. “Miss Shaw,” he said, handing over her drink. “Cheers.”
She took the flute, her eyes lingering on his, widening a fraction when she noticed he held the same cocktail. Their glasses clinked. He took a sip, keeping his gaze fixed on her lips, watching the bob of her bandaged throat as she drank.
His mouth erupted with the flavors of citrus, gin, bubbly, and a hint of sugar. “Hassan has a gift with drinks, yes?”
“Yes.” She took a larger sip the second time.
“Good, then shall we make our way to the dinner table?” He held out an arm.
Her shoulders straightened like she was drawing herself up for battle before decidedly slipping her hand through his elbow.
He led her to the head of the table, to the chair at his right.
Her mouth opened, but she quickly snapped it closed when she saw the place setting.
The name card with Lily Shaw in Vittorio’s elegant calligraphy.
He pulled her chair out, gesturing for her to sit. He pushed her in before taking his own seat. The rest of his family followed suit. He’d only invited his best behaved, not wanting to risk anything so soon after Lily’s unfortunate disaster.
Vittorio appeared in the doorway, hands behind his back as he waited.
Laurent turned to address the table. “Before we get started, I’ll say a few words.
I wanted to take this opportunity to welcome our new guest, Miss Lily Shaw.
As I have only just been reminded, captivity in any capacity is no easy matter.
” Lily’s breath hitched. “Thus, I hope you will all make her stay here pleasant.” He turned to Lily, offering a small nod.
Her lips pressed into a tight line. She didn’t give him any sort of thanks—nor did he expect it.
“Well then,” he lifted his flute. “A toast—to our new guest, Miss Shaw.”
Glasses were lifted into the air. He caught sight of Lily’s flushed cheeks and was immediately intrigued. After taking a sip, he said, “Let us eat.”
Vittorio was a blur of motion. Thirty seconds later, they all had bowls of soup in front of them.
A vegetable medley in a rich broth. Lily inhaled then lifted her spoon, only to be elbowed by Zola with a hissed, “Wait.” She paused, her spoon frozen.
Vittorio took up a position at Laurent’s elbow, waiting.
It was an old tradition. Vampires were, after all, traditional. He took a bite. Flavor erupted on his tongue. He savored it, then nodded. Vittorio took his seat, three down on Laurent’s left, while everyone began digging in.
“The master of the house always takes the first bite,” Zola explained. “In ages past, it was to ensure the food was of adequate quality for the guests at the table. Now…it’s more just habit.”
“Oh.” Lily began eating.
It was impossible to miss the soft sigh of delight that fell from her lips.
He’d requested several reports from Vittorio over the past few days.
Miss Shaw hadn’t refused food. She’d cleaned every plate Vittorio had prepared.
She’d gone so far as to tell Vittorio it was the best cooking she’d ever had.
Was it a lie?
He took another bite, noticing the diced carrots and celery floating in the broth. Vegetables she’d cut earlier. Another surprise. That Vittorio had allowed her in his kitchen when he didn’t allow others.
He glanced at her again, more curious than anything. He had never made attempts to get to know or even befriend past amplifiers. Not when he knew their fate. Already, he was treating Lily better than anyone who’d come before.
She should be grateful he was going so far out of his way to protect her, even if it served his interests. Her fate could be far worse than this. If his enemies got ahold of her…
Naturally, she didn’t see it that way.
The salad came next. Vittorio had their bowls cleared and a small, delicate garden salad placed before each of them.
Once again, he stood at Laurent’s shoulder, waiting.
Laurent paused before saying, “I believe we have Miss Shaw to thank for the beautifully prepared salad this evening.” His words made her flush. “Thank you, Miss Shaw.”
“You’re welcome.” She stared at her plate.
He lifted his fork to his lips, taking note of the vinaigrette dressing, then nodded. Once more, they all were eating. He finished half of his salad in silence before saying, “Is cooking something you enjoy, Miss Shaw?”
She froze, then swallowed. “I suppose it is. But then again, I’ve never had much choice in the matter. I’ve always had to cook or go hungry.”
He tapped his finger against the stem of his cocktail glass. “I see.”
When she didn’t look at him, he finished his salad.
Next came their main course. Vittorio moved around the table pouring everyone a glass of red wine before he deposited a beautifully arranged filet mignon a la Oscar at each place setting.
Laurent took the first bite, gave the nod, and everyone dug in.
There were murmurs of appreciation and compliments paid to the chef. Vittorio preened.
“I take it you are responsible for the asparagus, Miss Shaw?” Laurent said, attempting to draw her back into conversation. It was a redundant question since he’d seen her chopping them in the kitchen.
She pinned him with her gaze. “Are they to your liking, sire?”
The room went silent.
He ignored her biting tone and said, “Indeed. Fine work.”
It was clear she had no intention of backing down. He lifted a brow in challenge, then tucked into his main course.
Several bites in, Marco said, “I received an answer from the witches.”
He swallowed. “Go on.”
“They do not accept.”
His jaw tightened. “Not even for—?”
“Not even for two million.”
Beside him, Lily stiffened.
“They’re foolish if they won’t accept such a sum.”
“They were insulted,” Marco clarified.
The voices around the table quieted. Zola said, “How could such a sum be insulting?”
“Why do you think?” Marco drawled, setting his sights upon Lily.
“They are uninterested in money, then?” Laurent asked, having a good idea of exactly what they did want. His amplifier. As if he’d ever hand her over. And yet, they were at a dead end. The trail had gone cold. He was hardly closer to saving his family from the disappearances plaguing them.
“That appears to be the case.” Marco shrugged.
He took a sip of wine and said, “Their loss.”
“Yes, sire,” Marco agreed.
They both felt the emptiness of his dismissal.
Their discussion turned to more neutral matters.
Zola launched into an update about some of their rival houses.
There had once been numerous vampire houses.
Now, there were five in total: Houses Bardanes, Galca, Holland, Saifi, and Sarkas.
Each one had an original country of origin.
Yet, over the centuries, Italy had become the vampire capital of the world.
House Sarkas had originated from Italy, giving it an automatic position of power and prestige.
Soon, dessert was brought forth. Bread pudding in a whisky cream sauce. Each small plate was beautifully constructed, with little mint and raspberry garnish. Vittorio took up his place at Laurent’s shoulder, waiting.
“Miss Shaw,” Laurent said, “I am told you have a sweet tooth. Perhaps you would care to do the honors?”
Around the table, eyes flashed with surprise. In all the centuries of his long life, he had never—not once—allowed another to take the first bite.
“Me?” Her brows pulled together.
He gave a small nod. Lily lifted her spoon, breaking into her dessert.
She brought it to her lips. Every fiber in his body went still.
He watched, mesmerized, as he took in the way her head tilted back, the way her eyes fell closed.
A breathy sound escaped her. He found himself leaning toward her, wanting to hear more of those sounds.
Her eyes popped open as she swallowed. But they didn’t fall on him. Instead, she looked right past him as if he didn’t exist and said, “It’s wonderful, Vittorio, as always.”
Heat spread over his skin, morphing into anger. The emotion was stronger than anything he’d felt in a long, long time. Curious, since her dismissal was a tiny thing. And yet, it triggered something ugly and uncontrolled.
He clenched his jaw, attempting to rein himself in.
“Very good, Miss Shaw.” Vittorio sounded pleased. “I’m glad you approve.”
“I do. It’s perfect.”
Laurent dug into his dessert with enough force to nearly bend the spoon. Vittorio returned to his seat as conversations resumed. He waited for his irritation to dissipate. It only ballooned.
The dessert was, indeed, spectacular. He took a few bites, watching Lily, attempting to catch her gaze. Surely she was aware of his attempts, even if she pretended otherwise.
“I wonder, Miss Shaw, if your love for sugary delights will make your blood sweeter on my tongue when I decide to taste you.” The words slipped out possessive and unfiltered. There came several tiny snickers around the table.
“Excuse me?” Her spoon clattered to the table.
“Shall I repeat myself?”
“How dare you?!”
“Oh, I dare.”
“Fuck. You,” she snarled, her skin flushing darker.
“Is that what you want, little flower? To fuck me?” He leaned forward. “I might allow it if I’m feeling generous.”
Lily blinked as if she’d been slapped. “You’re a disgusting pig.”
Perhaps it was a step too far. He didn’t really care. She was nothing more than a tool at his disposal.
“Don’t listen to him, darling. He’s only baiting you.” Zola attempted to diffuse the sudden tension.
“I’m sure he is. I guess when you’re an immortal, you’ll do anything to feel alive. Even if it means picking on someone weaker than you.” She turned back to her dessert, dismissive.
His jaw ticked. “How utterly philosophical. What could you possibly know of life?”
“More than you think,” she spat without so much as looking at him.
He huffed. “If I wanted sage advice, I certainly wouldn’t search for it in a helpless creature like you.”
She surged to her feet, her chair scraping behind her. He blinked, momentarily stunned by her explosion of motion. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Meek submission?
“Enough,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ve had enough of you.” She made to leave, then hesitated and picked up her half-eaten dessert. She threw him a dismissive glare and grabbed her glass of wine, too.
Without another look for anyone, she strode from the room, her head held high, bare feet pattering gently across the floor.
“Let her go,” Zola warned.
He simply leaned back, watching with feigned amusement as Lily disappeared. Except, he didn’t feel amused. Not at all. Humans weren’t supposed to get under his skin. He didn’t have the capacity to care. Yet, she had already burrowed too deep, so deep he could feel it in his very bones.