“I haven’t met anyone as remotely interesting as you in the past hundred years.”
She swallows and her eyes flash with understanding.
“What do you dream of?” I ask her. Of all the mortal things I miss, dreaming is one of the more pressing ones. My nights are bleak and uneventful.
Maybe my brother was right. Maybe the boredom and monotony has gotten to me. Maybe I need this human—Tressa—to breathe some life into my tired existence.
She has this way of making me feel as though she really sees me. The real me. The one I never let others see. It’s equal parts unsettling and thrilling.
“Dream?” She tilts her chin, considering my question.
She’s asking if I mean for her to tell me her goals and aspirations. I guess I should be more clear. “At night. When you sleep. I haven’t dreamed since I turned.”
She blinks in surprise, surely cataloging another difference between us. “Oh.” She looks down at the floor like there’s something she’s ashamed of. “My dreams are not very pleasant.”
“Will you tell me?”
She stiffens. “Maybe. But not now.”
I decide not to press her. We’re all allowed the occasional off-limits subject.
Chapter 8
Reign
In the days that follow, I do my best to give Tressa her space. Our little chat leaves me feeling more unsettled than I expect. I don’t normally swap secrets with humans, and I don’t engage with my employees. But Tressa seems to possess a unique ability to draw things out of me.
Today, though I don’t want to stay away.
I find Tressa in the library, working and having her lunch. That’s no surprise. Since hiring her, her work ethic has been impressive. She spends most of her time in the library and leaves time for fun.
Her head lifts when she hears my footsteps against the marble floors.
“Reign…” She looks nervous. About what, I have no idea.
I get my answer when I wander closer. Approaching the table where she’s working, I find a half-eaten sandwich along with a fashion magazine that’s been flipped open to a quiz entitled, “What’s Your Sexual Style?”
She’s nibbling on the end of a pen, and I gaze down at the quiz. She’s already answered the majority of the questions. There are little blue check marks beside each box. A slow smile uncurls on my lips as my eyes scan the page.
“You’ve really never done number 7?”
She fidgets as I gaze down at the magazine. I can tell she wants to close the pages, or toss it across the room, but she doesn’t. She remains perfectly still.
“No.”
“Not even by yourself?”
“No.”
All varieties of kinky, unbidden thoughts leap into my brain.
Plundering my way through the buffet that is Tressa’s body sounds pretty fucking fabulous.
Rein yourself in, dude. Not happening.
She’s still fidgeting, and her wide eyes hold a wild look—panic and the excitement of being caught.
“One truth. Are you a virgin?”
“Reign,” she murmurs, and I hate myself for loving the way her tongue sounds moving over the word.
Before she can confess her truth, we’re interrupted by Mrs. Potts, who I’ve never once considered murdering until this very moment, but as she approaches, I imagine it in a hundred different bloody and violent ways.
“You’ve been in here working all day,” she chastises Tressa, carrying in a pot of tea on a tray with two mugs.
There are scones and muffins and when she gets closer and sets down the tray, I see it contains a decorative china set with delightful pink filagree swirling around the teapot and along the top of each mug.
I didn’t realize I owned this china set. What is Mrs. Potts up to? Is injecting some level of romance into this moment her motivation? I give her a curious stare and she chuckles nervously, fiddling with the tea bags.
I’m being set up by my caretaker. Like falling for Tressa would be some great hardship. I already know she’s got me under her spell. But I also know, she’s much too sweet and innocent for a man like me, and I would never allow myself to sully her.
“Wow, this is beautiful,” Tressa says, admiring the spread, her gray eyes sparkling in delight.
Currant scones and lemon poppyseed muffins. Dried apricots and a small dish of shortbread cookies. I’ve never been treated so well at teatime before. Tressa’s been here a week and already has Mrs. Potts wrapped around her finger.
I lift my brow at the old woman, who smiles demurely before darting away.
Most of me wants to press Tressa for the answer to my question from before we were interrupted… my curiosity about her past is potent. But the gentleman in me decides to let it go… for now.
And so, when Tressa helps herself to a shortbread cookie, and says, “Describe your perfect day.” I let the sex quiz go. I’m sure Tressa will be relieved by that.
I help myself to a spot of tea and consider her question. “Intelligent conversation… about a variety of topics.”
Tressa nods. “That is important. Someone with whom you can talk.”
My mouth twitches with a grin. “Indeed, Miss Porter.”
“What else?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
She nods.
“Feeding from a beautiful woman,” I admit.
Her eyes widen, but only slightly. Certainly, she expects the truth from me, given how forthcoming our previous conversations have gone.
We quietly sip our tea for a moment and Tressa eats a second cookie. There’s something very peaceful about this moment. I connect with her on a level that I don’t with others.
“What about you? Your perfect day…” I’m more curious than I care to admit.
“Let’s see…” She taps her chin. “Time spent lost in a book. That’s a given.”
I nod. I can’t say I’m surprised by this, given her proclivity for my library.
“An environment where there’s no judgment. About me. About my past,” she adds. “And a place, a moment where I can just forget about everything else, and just… be.”
Something deep inside me pinches in recognition of what she must have been through in her past to feel like she needs to disappear.
It’s not lost on me that everything she desires is something I’m uniquely in the position to provide her. The urge to meet all of her needs, no matter how big or small flares inside of me. I’m not sure how or why, but seeing this human smile, ensuring she’s okay just became a priority. Oh, and not biting her, or fucking her and stuff.
Obviously.
Chapter 9
Tressa
I've spent every day for the past three weeks doing the same thing. Wake for the day at seven, enjoy a coffee and a light breakfast that Mrs. Potts sets out for me, and then I do fifteen minutes of light exercise—sit-ups and pushups and the like in my room while my bathtub fills. Then I bathe and get myself ready for work. Apparently, I’m a bath person now, because I can’t seem to pass up the chance to soak in this luxurious tub, even when there’s a beautiful glass shower in my ensuite bathroom too.