Chapter Seventeen
L eonard walked out of his bathroom after his shower, rubbing his hair with a towel, another slung low around his hips. He’d been to visit Balin earlier, happy to see him on the mend, albeit still slowly, but he’d still not gotten over the fact that Luc seemed to have a thing for Sophia. She was lovely, but with her being a witch, she should be the last kind of immortal (even though technically still human as not mated), that Luc should tangle with. After all, it was a witch who’d cursed him to live as a caricature statue form of a gargoyle during daylight.
Shaking his head, Leonard sat on the end of his bed as he dried himself, thinking about Jill and how she worked for Thomas, especially as Thomas was a lion shifter. She was already part of the immortal world and didn’t know it. He smiled at the thought as he padded, naked back into the bathroom and threw his wet towels into the hamper beside the shower. He may have a cleaner, but there was no need to make the poor woman go searching for his dirty laundry. Especially as she was a troll, and he meant that in the literal form, not in ugly. Although trolls weren’t exactly pretty, both the men and women had beards; strange as hell to see, as you could only tell them apart as the women had breasts. Nora was okay though, so long as he didn’t annoy her, and her husband, Burt, was his gardener, so it worked out well for him. Plus, having immortals on his staff meant he could relax when he was at home. They also didn’t live on his property in the small bungalow; which he kept as a guest house, preferring to stay in their small home back in Lunaton Woods.
Back in his room, Leonard walked over to pick his watch up off his nightstand, when he noticed the message light on his phone. Picking it up, he sat back down on the bed and opened the message from Jill, and read it.
Sorry, can’t make tonight, I’ll call, Jill.
Blinking, Leonard re-read it, thinking he’d not understood. But, no, that was all she’d written, no reason, nothing. Just, can’t make it. His first instinct was to just let it go, her loss, not his. He’d planned to take her to the movies. Him, at the movies, in a room full of humans. Stuck in a confined space, overpowering scents, heartbeats, and no windows. The sacrifices he’d made for this woman, this human woman, who drove him fucking mental. He’d given her a mind-blowing orgasm last night in a restaurant, followed by a fabulous meal, but apparently, it’s not good enough. How does she repay him, with thanks and a nice evening together, no, she blows him off without a damn explanation?
He’d planned to sit through a chick flick because she’d wanted to see it, sacrificing his own feelings. He dropped the phone on the bed and stared at the wall with a scowl. He’d been dumped by her, again, what was it with her? Angrily, he picked the phone up again and re-read it, nope, nothing else had miraculously been added to the disgustingly short text. No deep and meaningful apology. No, the world has ended and that’s why I can’t go out with you tonight to see the movie that you were so graciously going to take me to watch.
Okay, technically, she didn’t know he’d planned on taking her to the movies, he’d told her it was a surprise, but that wasn’t the point. He hated chick flicks, loathed them in fact, but he’d swallowed his pride; and revulsion, and had booked god-damn tickets for it so they could have decent seats. He deserved at least a phone call with an explanation as to why he was being blown off.
He then flicked through his calls, checking to see if she’d left the message because he’d not heard his phone ringing over the water in his shower. No, nothing since he’d spoken to Jaden yesterday. Again, he dropped the phone distastefully and got up, pacing around his room. Then mouth twisting, he headed over to his walk-in wardrobe. Pulling out a pair of dark jeans and a woollen jumper, he quickly slipped them on before grabbing a pair of socks out of his drawer, and a pair of dark loafers off the shelf. Then, he took his favourite, black leather jacket off a hanger and made his way back to the bed. Sitting, he pulled on his socks, and slipped his feet into his shoes, then grabbing his brush off his bedside cabinet, quickly pulled it through his wet hair.
If she was going to blow him off, she could damn well do so to his face, he fumed, storming out of his room. He tucked his phone into his jacket pocket, grabbed his wallet and keys off the occasional table in the lobby as he left. Slamming the door, he locked it and set the alarm. Hitting the fob on his keys, he walked down the steps. Then, jumping into the Maserati, he turned over the engine and peeled out of his driveway.