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A slow smile spread across his face, making her heart do that uncomfortable fluttering thing again. "Wine does get better with time, but fifty years is just a brief moment in the cellar for our kind."

"Speaking of wine," Fenella said, holding out her glass for a refill, "I think I'm going to need more if we're getting philosophical about immortality."

Din obliged, the rich red liquid catching the overhead kitchen lights as it cascaded into her glass, and as their fingers brushed during the exchange, Fenella felt a jolt of awareness.

There was chemistry between them— had been from the moment they'd reconnected.

As Din topped off his own glass, Fenella contemplated a possibility that would have been unthinkable just days ago. The wine was excellent, the food delicious, the company surprisingly engaging. The evening had taken on a decidedly date-like quality, so perhaps this night could lead to more?

She was good at the game of seduction—had played it countless times over the decades, though never with any emotional investment. With Din, it would be different. He wasn't some random guy she'd never see again after a night or two of mutual pleasure.

He was part of her world now, connected to her new clan family.

More significantly, though, Din was perfectly safe.

She didn't need to worry if there was a monster hiding under the pleasant exterior, and whether he harbored malevolent intentions. She could trust him to treat her right.

He also knew what she'd been through. Not the details, perhaps, but enough to understand why intimacy might be a little difficult for her, or maybe a lot. She hadn't tried anything since getting free, not even self-pleasuring. How could she fantasize about sex after what had been done to her?

On the flip side, depriving herself of pleasure would be like handing the monster a victory, and she wasn't willing to do that, no matter how hard she had to work to overcome her aversion to intimacy.

After all, if Kyra had managed to get over it in order to be with Max, Fenella could do that, too. She might not be a rebel fighter, but she was a warrior in a different way, and she wasn't going to hide and cower because she'd been hurt.

She'd been hurt so badly, though.

Thankfully, Din had never treated her as damaged or broken, only a little fragile and worthy of patience and respect.

He was offering her exactly what she needed, not just physical comfort but emotional safety, a way to reclaim what had been violently taken from her, to create new memories that might, in time, overlay the traumatic ones.

Din was speaking about some archaeological expedition in Turkey, his deep voice weaving a story about ancient temples and unexpected discoveries. Fenella wasn't fully following the details, too caught up in her own thoughts, but she found the cadence of his speech soothing.

When he paused to take a sip of wine, she made a decision. Reaching across the space between them, she placed her hand over his on the countertop.

Din stopped mid-sentence, his eyes meeting hers with a question in them.

"Thank you for dinner," she said. "It's been a lovely evening."

He looked alarmed. "Are you leaving already?"

"Not planning to anytime soon. We haven't had coffee yet." She winked.

His expression softened. "I thought we could have it on the terrace. There is a decent view of the mountains. I just need to figure out how to raise the automatic shutters."

"You probably need to turn off all the lights first, or they won't go up."

"That makes sense. I should make the coffee first, then."

"Yes, you should," Fenella said, but didn't remove her hand from his. Instead, she stroked her thumb lightly over his knuckles, a deliberate gesture that couldn't be misinterpreted.

Din's breath caught. "Fenella..." he said, his voice rougher than before.

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence though her heart raced.

"I don't want to misread the situation or rush you into anything you're not ready for."

His consideration only strengthened her resolve. Here was a man who wouldn't take advantage, who was putting her comfort above his own desires even when she was clearly signaling interest.

"I'm not made of glass, Din," she said, meeting his gaze directly. "I know what I want."