I never thought I’d find myself in a faded apron—too small for my size—a ladle in hand, and a line of disheveled mortals staring up at me with eager eyes.

I scooped another helping of the nauseating dish in front of me and dumped it carelessly into the bowl held out by the male at the front of the line. He gave me a disgruntled look, annoyance flashing across his features.

I snarled in reply.

He paled, clutching the bowl tighter as he scuttled off. The sight of his retreating back drew a smirk to my lips. After several encounters with that maddening female, I’d been afraid I’d lost my touch.

The thought of her dragged her image to the forefront of my mind.

Scowling, I shifted my gaze to the tiny female in question. She darted from place to place, offering greetings and smiling cheerfully at every returning one, all while handing out plates of food with a speed and grace that made her seem untouchable. When she barged into my home just after dawn, I’d expected something entirely different—certainly not a setting that had me reduced to a waiter for these malnourished mortals.

But the little female had proved herself unpredictable, once again.

After centuries spent observing her species on this plane of existence, I’d learned well how greedy and self-centered they were. So, when she declared that I owed her, I expected a demand for compensation—gold, land, or some other foolish mortal notion of wealth.

But she asked for… my time.

Of all the things she could’ve demanded, she chose that.

Perplexed—and more than a little intrigued—I accepted.

I am an apex predator. When mortals encounter me, fear is instinctual, primal. But after she’d brazenly climbed into my home, grinding herself to another orgasm—one I had no hand in, mind you—I gave up on trying to intimidate her. She had pursued me with a vigor and persistence that would’ve been flattering… to my kind. And still, she went on to do things even more perturbing.

I shook my head. Clearly, the idea of self-preservation had evolved—or disappeared entirely.

I dished another serving as my gaze remained fixed on the infuriating female. It was impossible to live as long as I have and not witness some truly baffling things, but this tiny creature? She topped them all.

Where others tensed at the sight of me, shrinking back in instinctive dread, Darra tensed only at the peak of pleasure—arched and trembling, head thrown back, exposing her pale shoulders as though presenting herself like a willing offering. Where others would flee and ignite my prey drive, she ran… straight into me. Where others would gape at my estate and ask for treasure, she asked for something mundane, something utterly unreasonable.

Goddess help me.

I didn’t want to admit it—not even to myself—but her life’s blood was the most nourishing thing I’d tasted in centuries. And that shouldn’t be possible.

When I drank from her, drawing deeply from her essence, she should’ve remembered nothing. My abilities should’ve erased the experience entirely.

But they didn’t.

I scoffed at my current state. If she knew my true status—my title, my bloodline, my rank—would she still subject me to this madness?

Reduced to serving weak, smelly, destitute mortals.

A pungent odor slammed into my nostrils, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. My heightened senses had endured many horrors, but this… This was new. The stench curled in my stomach like rot. In all my years, I’d never been more thankful for my nature.

Not needing solid nourishment meant my stomach—though revolting—had nothing to purge.

I eyed the male in front of me with no small hint of disgust. A stout, rotund, disheveled older male with graying hair mostly gone, leaving the center shinning obnoxiously and smelling like he was very allergic to a proper bath. He thrust out his bowl again, further upsetting his under arm because a more putrid odor arose with his movement.

Why, in the goddess’s name, am I putting myself through this ordeal?

Was my gnawing curiosity about the little mortal enough to have me honor-bound to this torture?

Instinctively, my eyes searched the hall for her. She stood behind a counter lined with fruit, smiling radiantly as she chatted with a young, dark-skinned male. A sharp flare of annoyance coiled in my chest. How dare she abandon me to this foul-smelling, dirt-caked mortal who clearly didn't understand the concept of soap, while she laughed and basked in light—untouched by this torment?

I didn’t want to admit it, but having her so far away made me irritated beyond reason.

And just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get worse… the old man opened his mouth.

His breath carried the foulness of something long dead… and inexplicably reheated.

I fought not to recoil. It was an assault of decay and heat, like someone had unearthed a corpse, put it in a microwave, and decided that’ll do.

“You gonna do your job, boy? These old bones ain't what they used to be,” he croaked, more demand than request. When I didn’t move—just continued staring at him—he raised his voice so the rest of the room could hear.

“You young folks these days got no respect for your elders! This generation—barking and snarling at your betters like our years mean nothing!” he wailed, clearly winding up for a full dramatic performance.

The ladle in my hand bent beneath my grip, metal groaning its protest as I contemplated how it might look embedded in his skull.

I was moments away from finding out when a small hand slipped over mine.

With practiced ease, she extracted the warped utensil and slipped in front of me. I was too stunned to resist. She bent slightly—just enough to press her backside against my hardened length—then dipped the spoon into the pot, serving the old man with a serene smile.

A seemingly innocent act.

Deliberate in its deception.

“So sorry, Mr. Jay,” she chirped. “My boyfriend’s still getting the hang of things around here.”

She handed him an extra roll, and the ancient relic puffed out his chest in smug triumph.

“I keep telling you, Dar girl—you’re too good for these kinds of males. My son would treat you right,” he grinned, his chest still barely noticeable under the bulk of his threadbare coat. “A provider, that boy. He runs a farm, y’know—just like your good ol’ dad. May he rest in peace. A match made in heaven, if you ask me. You’d be better off with the likes of him, I tell ya.”

He leaned forward and gave her shoulder a heavy pat. “Now where’s that bread I was promised?”

Her false smile never faltered.

“Coming right up,” she replied with practiced brightness.

She leaned across the table far more than necessary, her body once again pressed flush against mine as she fished out a single roll. The stretch of time it took to pick it felt almost intentional.

By the time she handed it off, I barely noticed the old man’s exit—only that the air had cleared somewhat.

An older woman approached. She was tall, silver-haired, with a tidy bun and a flour-dusted apron tied around her narrow frame. She smiled kindly at the little female, who remained at my front, still pretending to work—while keeping her warm, maddening body nestled against me like it was her rightful place.

“You did well, Darra,” the woman praised.

“Thank you, Emily,” she beamed. “Please forgive him—he’s still getting the hang of things.”

“Nonsense,” the woman said with a wave. “Charles has always been a real piece of work. Your dad would’ve been proud.”

“Thanks. Eh… we’re gonna head out now. We’ve got other plans.”

Emily’s smile widened. “You go on. No one wants you young folks cooped up in a place like this. Take that gorgeous hunk of a man you snagged and go relieve some tension.” She winked, not at all subtle.

Darra flushed, then turned to me. She wrapped her arms around my waist, untied the apron, and looked up into my eyes. Then—still holding my hands—she asked something no one had ever asked me before.

“You okay?” she said gently.

Two words.

A simple question.

But it shook something loose inside me.

She didn’t know what she’d just done—how those two words fractured something deep within. How easily she’d crumbled a part of me I hadn’t realized was still fragile. It was in that moment I knew I was doomed.

Maybe that’s what pushed me.

Maybe that’s why I gave in to the question, burning a hole inside me.

“What are you after?” I asked. The words barely left my lips, but they were loud enough—inside our tiny bubble, she heard them.

She looked at me, and for the first time, it felt like someone actually saw me. Her eyes dug through the mask I wore like it was smoke, peeling back layers I thought were stone. She carved out a space for herself inside me without asking permission.

For a moment, I was open. Bare.

Understood.

And that was precisely why the walls snapped back into place. The familiar mask of indifference slid down like a shield.

I didn’t wait for her answer.

With no thought beyond retreat, I marched out of the hall—abandoning the strange, suffocating sphere of intimacy she’d wrapped around us.