Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
"Oh. You can't see me now, can you?" she asks, her voice soft.
"No," I growl. "I don't like it."
She slips her hand from mine, and then I hear her steps as she moves across the room. A few seconds later, we're plunged into darkness. It's not the same as true dark. Light still filters in through the curtains, but after a moment, my vision adjusts, and she becomes more than just a hazy shape in a field of shadowy blobs. She's blurry, fading in and out of sight, but I see her again to some extent.
I exhale in relief.
"Are you blind, Draven?"
"Only by the light of day."
"What's it like?" she asks. "Living in darkness, I mean?"
"Tiresome." I stalk toward her across the bedroom, my leg brushing against a sheet draped across the settee to protect it from dust. "Imagine walking through fog every day of your life and only seeing the shapes of things. That's what I see most of the time. At night, it's different. My monster senses kick in, and I see the world as if it were midday."
"Can I ask…what happened? I mean, I've seen photographs of you as a young boy," she hurries to say, her cheeks stained pink. "You were different then."
"There was an accident in town. It changed a lot of things." I scowl at the memory and then quickly brush it aside like I'm swiping at a gnat buzzing around my horns. "It was a long time ago. I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh." She swallows audibly and then stares at me for a long, silent moment before she smiles again. I wish I could see her more clearly. I want to see all of her, not these blurry flashes as if I've been staring into the sun. I like looking at her. "Well, accident or no, Draven Woodburn, you can't keep skulking about the mansion, following me around."
"I'm not following you," I growl. "We're simply going in the same direction."
"Oh, really?" She laughs in delight. "And do you always go so slowly? That's hard to believe with those big, strong legs of yours."
"Yes," I lie.
"And make frequent long stops?"
"I get distracted."
"By things you can't see."
"You're teasing me," I growl.
"Only a little," she says, laughing again.
She's lucky I fucking love that sound, or I'd have her bent over the bed, showing her what I think of her teasing right now. Instead, I reach for her hand, tugging her forward. She falls into my chest with a startled cry of surprise, making me grunt in satisfaction.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to tempt a beast, Beauty?" I growl in her ear, wrapping my tail around her waist to trap her against my body. I press my nose to her throat, breathing in her delicious scent. My cock thumps against my zipper, aching for release. "Keep teasing me, and you'll be the one pleading for mercy."
Something wholly wicked prompts me to nip her ear with my teeth.
"Draven," she gasps.
Before she can demand that I let her go or tell me off for daring to put my filthy hands on her, I do exactly what I did in the library. I retreat.
"No, no, no," I growl, slicing my hand through the air. "She still isn't right. Her hair should be the color of burnished copper and her skin the color of porcelain." Even that isn't quite right, but I don't know what I'm missing. I need to see her again—really see her—to get her just right.
I accepted my limitations long ago. They've been part of my life for twenty years. But since meeting Dahlia, they've begun to chafe in a way they haven't in a long time. I ache to experience every expression that crosses her face, to investigate every nuance of emotion in her eyes. What makes her blush? What makes her scowl?
I need to see her in true darkness when my sight is strongest. But asking her to join me in my nocturnal wanderings feels…shameful. Why should a beauty like her be relegated to darkness when she deserves to live in the light?
Bah!
"Jekyll, send my notes back to the art department. Tell them to think of the most beautiful woman they've ever seen and then to draw someone more beautiful than that," I growl in frustration. "With burnished copper hair, porcelain skin, and eyes so blue you could drown in them. She should be all the best parts of humanity. And she should have curves. We aren't catering to the Hollywood standard here."
"Understood, sir," my virtual assistant—an AI program I wrote years ago—replies in his monotone. He's my eyes when mine don't see, helping bring the screen to life for me. Most would say a partially blind man—or monster—has no business in the video game business. But I'm nothing if not stubborn. "Should I include anything else?"