Page 22 of Shadow

“Yes,” he finally admitted.

“Exactly,” I said, shoveling eggs into my mouth with little regard for manners. “When all you’ve had to eat tastes like dirt and starch, stuff like this makes it impossible not to think about food.” I shrugged, wiping a crumb from the corner of my mouth, and went back to my eggs.

Sexy clothes be damned. The Federation’s attempt to dress me up as a tempting emissary was a lost cause at this table. My current manners would’ve made my mother cringe, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Good thing King wasn’t interested in me any more than I was in him. Sure, he was wall-to-wall muscles and lethal intensity, but I had seen what lay beneath the surface: arrogance, authority, and a heavy dose of aggravation.

Liar, liar,my subconscious taunted, dragging my thoughts back to the scattered dreams I’d had over the past few days. Dreams where King’s muscled, naked body loomed over mine. It confused the hell out of me and did nothing to help my sleeping problems. I shook my head, forcing those thoughts into the darkest corner of my mind, and focused on finishing the amazing meal.

If he was willing to kill me, it was clear sex wasn’t part of the negotiation strategy. The fact I allowed the thought to enter my mind surprised me most. Every nerve in my body felt inexplicably drawn to him, and I was determined to keep that stupid tidbit buried deep.

“Are you okay, or do I need to use the Heimlich maneuver?” King’s deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

I blinked, realizing I must’ve let something slip across my expression. “No choking, I promise,” I muttered, covering my lips. Then, without thinking, I dropped my hand and shoveled another bite of food into my mouth.

He sat back, cradling his coffee cup, watching me with quiet amusement. I didn’t care. What I did notice, however, was how the hard lines on his forehead eased as he relaxed. I wouldn’t say it made him look softer. Nothing about King was soft, but it did make him less menacing.

He was dressed in black military pants and a snug black T-shirt that hugged his chest. When he lifted the cup to his lips,his bicep flexed, and I caught myself staring. The lack of straps across his chest didn’t make him any less imposing. My brain kept looping one uncomfortable truth: this man had threatened my life, and I believed him. Yet, strangely, I felt no fear.

It wasn’t like me. Maybe it was the food. Something about having a full stomach made impending death seem less concerning. Or maybe I had hit a point where fear had run its course, leaving me a tiny bit stronger or at least numb. Who knew? For now, I’d take it.

I ate until I was completely stuffed, leaving no room for guilt about the indulgence. Back home, I would’ve felt bad about consuming more than my fair share. Here, guilt was oddly absent, just like fear. I knew it would return; both always did. But for now, I savored being alive and full.

“You haven’t eaten much,” I said, breaking the silence. King had been staring at me far too long, his gaze dissecting.

"Why are you so unsteady on your feet?" he asked, sidestepping my question entirely.

I shifted slightly in my chair, pushing my legs out from under the table and extending them in front of me. “These sticks are too long for me, and my feet are too big. It’s been that way since I turned ten. Maybe neither is the right size for my body.” I smiled, hoping to lighten the comment, though King didn’t look embarrassed to ask, so I wasn’t sure why I bothered softening the moment.

His expression remained unreadable, his tone matter-of-fact. “Your father was a good warrior. He was capable of killing hellhounds.”

The statement caught me off guard. I laughed, shaking my head. “You make it sound like hellhounds are easy to kill. I know that’s not true.”

King gave me a slow, deliberate blink, his lashes sweeping down before lifting again, revealing those piercing blue eyes. Hewasn’t traditionally handsome, but something about his relaxed posture in that moment made him striking. I felt that unwanted pull deep in my core and forced myself to ignore it.

“For your father, they were easy to kill,” he said calmly. “He was the one who figured out we had to sever the head to stop them. Nothing else worked as quickly.”

“My father severed heads?” I asked, incredulously. Not because I doubted he could, but because it didn’t fit the image I had of him. He had been older when he got his promotion, and while I knew he had stayed with his troops, I always thought of him more as a leader, someone who strategized rather than engaging in hand-to-hand combat.

“He did. And he was good at it. I’m surprised he didn’t train you.”

I laughed again, this time covering my mouth to keep it from echoing too loudly. “I’ve never been much of a fighter and never will be. As you know, before my recent promotion, I worked in analytics. It was a job my father arranged to keep me off the battlefield. He knew my coordination limits better than anyone.”

King took another drink of coffee, sitting back even farther in his chair. “You have no desire to fight, even if it means humans may not survive the next attack?”

He had pegged me, and by the look on his face, I disgusted him. I had no intention of lying, and so far, the truth had worked better anyway. “I’m not fighting material. If they need fodder in battle, I’ll put my red stripe on and close my eyes to wait for the inevitable.”

“Why?” he grunted.

He couldn’t be serious. “You’ve seen me walk and trip over nothing. You’ve seen me fall down stairs. I’m not exactly what you’d call graceful.”

“I’ve been watching you do those things all week. You could try something different.”

He’d been watching me. The jerk. And most likely ignoring my requests to speak with him. I laughed, annoyed in spite of myself. “Fighting mode for me will never happen, and anyone who tries would be very disappointed.” The Federation had learned this the hard way, and the fading sunburn that had tanned my skin proved the point, but I wasn’t about to tell King about my humiliating failure before coming on this so-called mission.

“I don’t think so. You hunch when you walk, which throws off your balance,” he said. “You don’t use your core strength to ground yourself because you’ve never been trained.”

“So, train me,” I said on impulse. The words had slipped out before I even thought about them, proving I was an even bigger idiot than I had already demonstrated. But, even if it was a losing proposition, at least I’d have something to do besides twiddle my thumbs, which was boring as hell.

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