Vittorio lifted his gaze as I walked into the kitchen. "Miss Shaw, good afternoon."
"Hi, Vit. I...what is all this?" I surveyed the island.
Vittorio leaned against the counter, doing the same. "Ingredients, Miss Shaw. For dinner tonight."
"That's...a lot of stuff," I pointed out. "You know I don't eat all that much." I grinned at him. He merely lifted an eyebrow.
"Master Laurent requested dinner in the dining room this evening."
"Is he having friends over?"
"No, Miss Shaw. Household only. Has Zola found you something to wear?"
I choked. "Uhm. Me? But..."
"You are expected to be there as well."
My mouth opened and closed as I came to terms with this. Again, my eyes darted over all the ingredients. What would it be like sitting around a table with vampires? I hadn't yet met everyone in Laurent's household. Would they look at me like dessert? Or would they be like Laurent? Consider me a useless human waste-of-space. The thought of sitting around a table them—with Laurent—left my skin tingling with anxiety.
"Can't I just eat in my room? I'm not part of his little vamp club."
Vittorio huffed. "You are part of House Sarkas now, Miss Shaw. Part of the family."
Part of the family.
Me?
My chest fluttered. Except, despite how nice those words sounded, they were a lie. Still, I swallowed and nodded. There wasn't any point in arguing. Not with Vittorio.
I rubbed my palms against my leggings. Zola still hadn't taken me shopping. I'd been here five days now and was still in the clothing she'd scrounged up for me. She promised to take me once my bandage was a bit smaller.
"So, do you need any help?"
Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.
Vittorio eyed me. "That bored, hmm?"
"All I've been doing is reading," I groused. "I know you don't really need it but...please Vittorio. Help a girl out."
"Can you cook?"
I made a noise in my throat.
"I mean, I'm not awful." He narrowed his eyes. "Okay, I'm not at your level, but I do enjoy it. Besides, look at all these veggies here. How about you put me on scullery maid duty or something."
He made a noise that almost almost counted for a surprised laugh.
"Scullery maid, indeed. Fine, Miss Shaw. Get started on the salad." He turned into a blur, moving around the island, until about ten seconds later, he'd siphoned off a stack of items that were all intended for the salad. "Knives are over there."
I stalked over to the block, looking over my options. I grabbed a large chef knife and waked around the island.
"Wait, I can't kill a vampire with one of these can I?" Vittorio's head whipped in my direction. "Hah! Kidding, Vit. Well, actually, sort of? What does it take to kill one of you."
"A bit of garlic, holy water, and a stake," he deadpanned. "Bonus points if you have a cross."
I stared at him, blinked, then burst into laughter.
"That's a joke. You just..." I laughed harder, clutching at my side with my free hand. He was so serious. I'd never seen anything of the sort. But it was a joke, and a good one at that. "Zola told you, didn't she?" I managed as I calmed down.
"Told him what?" came a feminine, smoky voice. There was a blur as a body materialized beside me.
I jumped slightly, still unused to their quick movements.
"Told him about my skewed understanding of vampire abilities."
"I might have let a few things slip."
"Zola!" I cried, slightly embarrassed, before turning to the items before me. The little beads of moisture on the lettuce told me it had already been washed. I set to work, positioning everything about my cutting board.
"My god, Vit. You're putting her to work? Does our fearless leader know?"
"She asked," Vittorio said, offering her a glare before turning away to continue his work.
"I did. I was bored."
She snorted. "Well, let's go figure out what you'll be wearing tonight. That won't be boring. I've already selected several gowns I think will fit you."
My chopping stopped, head whirling towards her. "Vittorio was being serious? I have to dress up for this thing?"
"Of course! When Laurent calls for a dinner party, it's a very serious matter."
"Ugh." I rolled my eyes. Zola looked over my progress. "Well, I want to help Vittorio first—"
"I haven't need of it," he called somewhere in the pantry.
"Yes, you do!" I called back.
"Oh, very well." Zola sighed. "When you're finished, come to my room. There is time yet. We have until eight p.m."
I glanced at the clock. It was only four thirty. Wow. Vittorio was really getting a head start. Then I considered the kind of meal he was intending. Given all the prep items sitting out, he'd probably have multiple courses.
"I'll come find you later," I assured her.
"Very good, darling." She disappeared.
I continued my cutting: four different types of lettuce, baby tomatoes, cucumber, red onion. Everything was placed in separate bowls so that Vittorio could build each salad individually. After that, I worked on yellow onions, celery, and carrots for the soup. Those were also placed in bowls beside the others, until I had a nice display for my efforts.
I had just moved on to the asparagus, trimming the ends for our filet mignon Oscar style, when the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I knew without looking exactly who stood in the doorway to the kitchen.
I didn't like that—knowing. Having this strange sense of his presence. An awareness that left my mind jittery and my insides mushy and scrambled.
It wasn't Stockholm Syndrome. I wasn't in love with the guy. Far from it. I was just...
"Master Laurent?" Vittorio looked up from his work.
"What's she doing here?" His voice was flat, the question making my hackles rise. My gaze swung in his direction, the best glare I could muster.
"She wished to assist, Sire."
"And she knows what she's doing?" His voice held equal measure of surprise and doubt.
Angry heat washed my cheeks. Let him think I was useless. He'd already made his thoughts known.
"Spoiled party girls are plenty capable of wielding knives," I snapped under my breath, turning away to continue my chopping. My grip tightened, and I wondered how much—despite my comment earlier—it would hurt if I plunged it straight into his chest. Maybe it wouldn't kill him, but damn, it would still be worth it.
I braced for his retort, felt his eyes on me, felt him looking over the bowls spread around me. His footsteps sounded, crisp and heavy on the kitchen tile floor. I kept my face forward, ignoring him, pretending to, as he came up behind me. So close, I could smell the musk of his scent. Instead of an urge to flee, my eyes fell closed, just briefly, and my chopping faltered. If I backed up a single step, our bodies would press together. If I so much as turned my head, I'd find his face there, looking over my shoulder.
An arm shot out around me, brushing my shoulder. My entire body tensed. His sleeve was rolled to his elbow, showing off a beautiful forearm with ropy veins along his skin; my gaze glued itself there, fixed on his wide palms and long fingers. I swallowed. He snatched up a cucumber medallion from the bowl in front of me. I didn't dare turn, as he placed it in his mouth. But I heard the muted sounds of his chewing, powerful jaw working. I felt the unnecessary exhale of his breath along my neck. It lifted the hairs along my skin.
"Delicious," he purred, lips so close to my ear, heat dumped into my core. He wasn't referring to the cucumber. My breaths shortened.
The presence at my back vanished. I exhaled, my breath shaky and weak.
"I'll see you at dinner, Miss Shaw." I didn't bother turning to acknowledge him, didn't watch him depart. Instead, I finished my cutting, then set my knife beside the sink and bid Vittorio farewell.
The entire encounter had thrown me. When I returned to my room, I plopped down on the sofa, trying to straighten my thoughts. I hated him so much—or, wanted to—and yet, each time he got near me, I was cast adrift, stuck in the vicious currents dragging me one way as I fought to go another.
I scrubbed my hands over my face, groaning. Why couldn't he be grotesque? Why couldn't he smell like blood and death? It wasn't fair.
I thought of my bubbly other half. An ache formed deep in my chest. Ania would know exactly what to do, what to say. I hated the thought of her worried sick. I'd tried my luck, looking for a way to reach out to her. I'd checked for phones, expecting to find at least one. But these vampires all used cell phones now. No one kept a landline anymore. I'd attempted to break into Marco's office, which had been locked every time I'd tried it.
The one time I'd found Laurent's unlocked, I'd been dismayed to discover his laptop was password protected. Even more dismayed when the door had clicked open and I'd quickly acted, by pulling out drawers like I was searching for something.
"What the fuck are you doing?" That question had been cold and calm. He'd known.
"Looking for pen and paper," I'd still said, keeping my face hidden, hunched. I had been prepared to lie through my teeth.
"Get out." That low command had sent me scuttling, and I hadn't been able to look up at his face as I'd fled. Had I done so, I would have seen those soulless eyes glittering with all the things he thought of me.
Every effort had been a dead end.
Getting up, I sought Zola in her chambers and found her stretched out on her sofa wearing another glitzy gown, because I'd never seen her in anything else. Had the woman never heard of comfort clothes?! "Ah, darling, there you are."
"Is that...are you eating chocolate? What book is that?"
"Yes, and I'm rereading the Claimed series."
I sputtered. "The...the werewolf one?"
"Mmm..." she made a distracted humming sound, not looking up as she lifted another chocolate, plopping it into her mouth. The book rested upright on her chest.
I moved over and took a seat on the armchair nearby, leaning forward to grab the box of chocolates and pick through it.
"Which one are you reading?"
"Claimed by Dane," she murmured.
I snorted. "You do realize, that whole series is about humans and werewolf mates. Wait—" I sucked in a gasp. "Werewolves are real too, aren't they?"
They'd mentioned demons and witches. Why hadn't I considered other supernatural creatures? There were probably elves too. And fae? What about mermaids? My head started spinning.
"They're all real, darling," she said, still sounding distracted, but reading my thoughts nonetheless.
I huffed. "You're in the middle of a smut scene, aren't you." I jumped up and snatched the book.
She screeched but failed to get up. I was one hundred percent sure she could stand and come after me if she wanted. Could stop me before I blinked. But she didn't.
I let my eyes drag over the pages, because yes, I'd read this series too.
"...and he spread my thighs, dropping his face to lick upwards along the length of my slit. My, my, Zola." I waggled my eyebrows at her.
"Oh, please. As if you're really shocked, considering..."
I grinned and returned her book. We weren't quite close enough for me to ask her about her love life. So instead, I said, "There is something so hot about a helpless female being dominated by an alpha male who is all gooey and soft on the inside. Isn't there?"
She shrugged, and for a moment, I saw a quick slip of her expression. A brief flicker. But it was enough.
When was the last time she'd been helpless? Could she even remember a time? Certainly not now. She'd never quite find herself in the same situation as the women in the books we both enjoyed. A tiny pang twisted my chest. I could hardly fathom what it was like to be her, to be an ancient vampire with unmatched strength.
"I almost feel guilty for throwing my feminism out the window every time I pick one of these up," I added, smiling at her.
She merely chuckled, then set the book down to stare at me. "You know, darling, I almost look at you and see this sort of woman." She shook the book at me. I scoffed, because as nice as these stories were, I wasn't interested in being helpless. She hesitated, perhaps reading my expression. "Laurent has been cold for a very, very long time. But he wasn't always so. Sometimes I wonder..."
I waited.
"Sometimes I wonder if he's ready to pass on." My brows furrowed. "Old vampires, ancient ones, they reach a point where first, sex loses its luster, and then, even life. And finally...blood. When that time comes, they discover there's really nothing to keep living for. I wonder, sometimes, if Laurent is close to that."
"He does seem like a cold asshole," I muttered. "It's the soulless eyes."
At that, she laughed.
I couldn't help but feel a pang of...something, deep in my chest. Despite my complicated feelings towards him, I almost pitied him. To feel like life was no longer worth living, to simply wish to give up...
"I've been fighting all my life," I found myself saying. "I've been through a lot of really shitty stuff,"—I'd leave it at that—"but I've always found so many reasons for living."
"I didn't lie when I said things were going to get more interesting now that you are here." She lifted her brows. "Come, let's get you sorted."
I wasn't sure exactly how to take her meaning, but I nodded and followed her to her giant walk-in closet. I should have been mentally prepared for what she revealed. Still, I pulled in a gasp of air.
"My friend Ania would lose her shit, literally lose it, seeing your collection."
Racks of shoes, purses, gowns. There was even a giant mirror with a pedestal across from a circular padded seat. Which she pushed me down onto before she began riffling through gowns.
"Now," she said, "what we need is something that will make you stand out—"
"No, and absolutely not. The last time I tried to stand out, look where it got me. Right here. No."
"Oh, darling, I can promise you it wasn't how you were dressed, or what you looked like, that landed you here."
"Gee, thanks for reminding me." I gave an exaggerated eye roll. "Nothing makes a girl feel great like telling her looking good didn't matter."
Zola only grinned before lifting a gown, then holding it up.
"This one," she decided. "You're tall, yes, like me. And it doesn't have sleeves for your broad shoulders."
My broad shoulders.
I sighed and stood, taking it from her. Since I didn't exactly feel shy around her, I stripped off my leggings and then my T-shirt. I'd been going barefoot around the house, since I still needed to get some shoes. I probably could have had Zola order me some. With my tall frame, I was a size nine and a half, and she was an eight.
"I suppose I shouldn't wear a bra with this one," I said, eying it.
"No need, darling. You're endowed, but not that endowed."
I snorted, slipping into the gown. It was black and silver and accented my black hair beautifully. The back was open, and dipped low, where the zipper stopped right above my lowest vertebrae. The narrow straps held everything up. The front was modest, with a blunt straight neckline just above my breasts. It hugged my body, flaring just below my hips.
"It sets off your curves nicely."
"Which is a great way of saying it's a bit tight in the ass. You've got a narrower bone structure than me."
"You'll manage. The fabric is stretchy. Now, let's accessorize, and figure out your hair."
She led me back into her main room, sat me down at a vanity, then spent the next thirty minutes fussing over my hair. A necklace of diamonds—I was certain they were real—was placed about my neck, with earrings to match. Then she did my makeup.
Teenage me was literally doing her happy dance.
"Whoa," I said, looking at the full effect standing before her mirror in the closet. Even despite the white bandage at my neck, I looked pretty. "You can't even tell my shoulders are too broad."
"No, the gown hides it nicely."
I appreciated that she didn't give a fake, they're not too broad, sort of comment that many "friends" my age would have given. I stared at my dark locks, done up with a few wisps framing my jaw. My eyes were smoky, making the color pop.
My throat tightened. "Thank you," I croaked. Because the way she'd fussed over me for the last two hours felt like something I'd craved for my entire childhood.
Unlike me, she didn't need to do anything to get ready. She was already gorgeous. And just to make me feel better, she decided to go barefoot too. "We are in our own home, after all."
Our own home.
That also made my chest tighten. Especially considering the small plan that I had hatched over the past few days. My eyes dropped to the floor, because when I thought about it, I couldn't even look at her.
"Now, let's go drown ourselves in alcohol." She took my arm and led me downstairs.
I heard the soft music before we reached the first floor. Beautiful, classical, symphonic. I recognized the song, Váradi Endre's Nocturne No. 15 for Strings. There were four sets of double doors leading into the dining room. They were open, opening up the entire hallway wall.
The first thing I noticed was the table, like something from a dinner party dream. Two giant, glittering chandeliers cast light over it. It was laden with elegant place settings and floral centerpieces. It seated twenty. Had Vittorio really managed all this by himself?
I was impressed.
Next came the vampires, mingling—enough to fill the table. They all fell silent upon my entry, before returning to their conversations. I hadn't met more than a couple of them so far. I spotted Hassan at the bar—because of course there was a fully stocked bar—which sat on its own raised platform on the far end of the room. He stood mixing drinks.
"These dinners are always an affair," she said, noticing my look of wonder. Zola squeezed my arm—a warning.
Because I felt his presence, that uncanny awareness, before I heard his rich, shivery voice. "Good evening, Miss Shaw."
I whirled out of Zola's hold, turning to face Laurent. My lips parted, eyes darting over him from head to toe. His beautiful hair was braided down the back, displaying his gorgeous bone structure. His charcoal suit was expertly tailored, accentuating his proud, powerful body. He wore no tie, and the top button of his crisp white shirt was undone, showing just a glimpse of his clavicle.
My throat bobbed. I couldn't look away. Not even when a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips meant he noticed. He probably thrived off this sort of attention, from insignificant humans like me.
Women were probably lined up to throw their panties at him. He was just...utterly gorgeous. Naturally, despite how much I despised him, my brain picked this moment to short-circuit.
Laurent's intense focus was directed upon me as he looked me over. I didn't miss the way he lingered at my throat—expression unreadable. He licked his lips before finding my eyes and said in that same disarming voice, so low it was almost hard to hear, "Can I get you a drink?"
All I could do was blink. My traitorous mind latched on that word. Drink. And suddenly, all I could think about was what it might be like to have those perfect teeth latched onto my neck, enjoying a drink of his own.