“Just keep your door locked at night. I hear they like to feed at night. Maybe you should put a little garlic powder in your lotion, too,” she advises me.
A giggle bubbles from my throat. “Now those sound like stereotypes. How about this, I’ll do lots of research about vampires, so you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be super careful.”
“You better be. You’re all I’ve got.”
“So are you, sis.”
After she catches me up on how everything is going at college, and we compare notes—no, neither of us has heard from Mom in months—we end the call.
Just hearing her voice lifts my spirits though. It sounds like she’s doing really well. But damn, I miss her. I’ve never been one for making friends, but Libby and I, despite our age gap, have always been really, really close.
Now I just have an hour to kill until dinner. Perhaps I should do some of the research that I’ve promised Libby, but I don’t think it necessary. Reign seems perfectly tame. I think. I hope.
Since I’m feeling a bit greasy and dehydrated from my flight, I decide to make good use of the bathtub—complete with a bottle of vanilla-scented bubble bath I find in a basket on the dresser. If I’m going forward with this insane assignment, I decide I may as well make the best impression possible. Even if the person I’m aiming to impress isn’t a person at all, but a vampire.
Chapter 4
Reign
I take a seat at the dining table across from Tressa.
Vanilla.
I sniff again. Peaches. And vanilla.
She smells of human. And female. And of vanilla and peaches. The scent is warm. Comforting.
It’s as though someone has made me a proper cup of English tea, something I haven’t had in such a very long time, but I’m not permitted to have any.
If she expects me not to bite her, maybe she could… I don’t know… not smell like actual food.
Get it together, Reign. And for God’s sake, don’t let yourself go inexplicably hard again.
Mrs. Potts is watching me curiously from her spot in the butler’s pantry, and I growl out my frustration.
Tressa jumps in her seat.
My eyes drop lower, assessing her, and her face heats out of excitement or fear, I’m not sure which.
In terms of bad decisions, this one takes the top prize. Though it is Mrs. Potts who has hired Tressa, not me. So, it’s really her who deserves the award. Yes, but I’m the one who has to live with the consequences.
Her being here complicates things for me, sure, but I don’t need to be a complete asshole.
She keeps her gaze downcast as her pulse thrums out a steady and satisfying beat. Her refusal to meet my eyes is evident, and something about that grates at me.
“I trust your guest suite is to your liking?” I say somewhat stiffly.
I’m trying to be welcoming. Non-threatening. And a scratchy feeling at the base of my throat and aching incisors are the reward for my efforts. Fantastic.
“Yes, thank you. It’s lovely. The entire estate is.”
I nod, absently.
Sharing my living quarters with a vulnerable mortal never has struck me as a problem. But I’m realizing what a delicate situation this is. I’ve never imagined being so attracted to a human before. It’s more than just her blood I find myself wanting, and while controlling my appetite has always been something I pride myself on, this hunger is different. It’s darker. More insistent. It claws at me with need. I think of a word that starts with f and ends with k.
Mrs. Potts serves the first course, it’s a shallow bowl of creamy soup with a swirl of truffle oil glistening on the top.
“So, the man here earlier…” Tressa begins, lifting her spoon from the place setting.
“That was my brother, Alastair. He’s younger by three years, and a bit of a handful.”
Her cheeks turn rosy.
I know then that she overheard me shout to him about enjoying the whorehouse. I probably could have phrased that better, but it is too late now.
Introducing Alastair to Tressa will be a bad idea no matter which way you slice it. Her thinking poorly of him may not be such a bad thing. With any luck, she’ll keep her distance.
As I gaze upon her, unbidden warring emotions stir inside of me.
Longing.
Loneliness.
Desire.
“This is delicious,” she says, swallowing a bite of soup. The delicate working of her neck shouldn’t excite me, but a dull ache forms in the base of my throat. I’m suddenly craving something much different than the food that’s been placed before me.
I have a question about my attraction to Tressa. And that question is—what the fuck?
“Mrs. Potts does wonders in the kitchen,” I manage.
Tressa clears her throat, looking unsure. “And you… eat, I see.”
I chuckle darkly at her naïveté. “Yes, I eat.” The caloric intake from food alone isn’t enough to sustain me, but I do maintain a somewhat regular diet. Truth be told, eating is a bit of a nuisance, but it is one of those things I occasionally force myself to do, if only to please Mrs. Potts.
Food is the last thing on my mind right now.
Unfortunately, the mouthwatering human is not on tonight’s menu.
Pity.
Chapter 5
Tressa
I exhale one long shaky breath. I survive dinner, but only barely. Being in Reign’s presence is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I feel a sharp throb deep within my chest as his eyes lower to my throat. And maybe it’s because of my past, but the confusing emotions that twist and dip like a merry-go-round are more than I can handle.
I retreat to my bedroom, and am pacing the floor when a knock on the door interrupts my thoughts.
“Miss Porter?” It’s Mrs. Potts on the other side of the door. For a moment I imagined it was Reign, and I had no idea what I’d do or say.
I cross the room and pull open the door.
“We need to talk,” she says urgently.
I nod and let her inside. I sit down on the edge of the bed while Mrs. Potts takes a seat on the bench across from me. Her look is one of worry, and deep lines are etched across her forehead.
“Something… unexpected has come up, and Reign needed to go out for the evening.”
I have no idea what that means, but I nod again. “Okay.”
“And I wanted to check in on you, see how you were feeling.”
Did she sense that the dinner was an uncomfortable and electrically-charged disaster?
No? Just me?
I could practically feel his hunger and arousal. It had pulled between us like a primal urge.
All the breath in my lungs leaves in a long sigh, and I rise to my feet to begin pacing again. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure this is going to work. My being here.” Despite what I’ve told Libby about all of this being not a big deal, I sense that I am dead wrong.
Mrs. Potts works her lower lip between her teeth. She looks nervous, worried even.
I gesture to the hallway. “He’s a…” I can’t even say the word. Just like I can’t look directly at him without forgetting how to breathe.
“Yes,” Mrs. Potts murmurs softly. “But he’s really not so bad once you get to know him.”