Chapter 27 #2
When I glanced back up again, there were shifters streaming around our table. Clan Bismyth, leaving the mess hall for the arena. The three shifters who had been bullying me went, too, and another clan was emptying from their tables.
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“Korren and his little friends are unclaimed, but he’s the younger brother of a dead Obsidian shifter. Lain. I imagine Obsidian and Bismyth are going to beat the shit out of each other.”
I twisted in my seat, my stomach dropping. Bismyth must despise having to fight to protect me. But I hadn’t asked them for help. “Fuck.”
He shrugged. “Clans fight. All the time.”
“Not over mortals.” If those shifters caught me alone, would they avoid me to avoid Bismyth’s further wrath—or would I pay for whatever punishment Bismyth meted out?
I was grateful that this shifter had tried to disrupt the growing tension without making things worse. “Thank you.”
“They’re irritating,” he said, as if for me, they weren’t far worse than irritation.
“I’m Cara.”
“I know.” He seemed willing to leave it there. When I stared at him meaningfully, “I’m Kiegan.”
“Are you part of Bismyth I haven’t met yet?” There were so many of them.
He snorted at that as if the thought were ridiculous.
“No.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “I wish. I belong here.”
It took me a moment to connect what he might possibly mean. “You’re unclaimed?”
He nodded.
“Well, that shouldn’t last long,” I muttered. He was my opposite, as terrifying as I was unprepossessing.
“None of the clans want me.”
“Why?”
He raised his brows at me, then lowered his face toward his plate, piling food in.
Around a mouthful, he mumbled, “Don’t think I like you enough to share facts about my life or my food.”
I held up the apple core in my hand. He’d shared food; he might as well share facts.
He managed to scoff, even while he was eating.
“Well, it’s been nice, but I’m going to go finish my book in peace.” I wanted to go back to the life dome, but I didn’t dare wander alone.
Fieran had seemed protective, but I wondered if he could have set up the bullying. The threat posed by other shifters served to keep me confined to his side or the clan’s quarters, where I was under his control.
“Get more food and eat.” He had his arm hooked around his plate as if he didn’t trust me not to take his, even though he was all but drooling into it. “You can read your book, but I’m tired of eating alone.”
“You’re bossy.”
“I kept you from an ass-kicking. I get to be bossy.”
“They were probably just going to ask me to mop,” I said airily. But I opened my book again anyway, because it seemed rude to leave him alone after he had rescued me.
“That’s not where that was going.” He ripped into a chicken leg. “Are mortals that bad at forecasting the future?”
Did he not know many mortals? “Where did you grow up?”
He gestured vaguely toward the west wall of the dining hall. That really cleared things up for me.
I decided to get another plate. Or rather, two, since I planned another pocketful of items to smuggle upstairs. I’d found my stolen bread moldy under my bed today, and I felt ashamed of it, but I couldn’t stop myself.
When I set it on the table, he glanced up at me, then returned to tearing into a prodigious mound of food.
He ate gripping an item in each hand, alternating big, almost desperate swallows of meat with an apple or half a roll at a time.
That was how I felt like eating after being hungry as a kid, but I restrained myself from the impulse.
I held the book up as I ate, trying to block out both the sight and the sounds of him eating: a smack of his lips, a half-choked cough, a slurp as he sucked grease off his fingers.
When I closed the book, Kiegan had finished eating and was sitting quietly across from me. I was surprised he hadn’t left as soon as he finished his meal.
When his attention fixed on something above, I knew who it was even before I followed his line of sight up to the mezzanine that ran around the dining hall.
I could feel his presence even as I searched for him.
Fieran leaned against the railing. He looked out across the mess hall as if he were the lord surveying his lands.
I glanced across the room to where Bismyth was once again seated—jostling each other, in high spirits, if rather battered-looking—and then checked for the other clan. They were still absent.
“Looks like Bismyth won,” I said.
“Of course.” Kiegan sounded dour about it, but perhaps he just always sounded that way.
“I think he’s watching us. No matter what he pretends.” I waved up at Fieran.
Fieran’s intense gaze swept over me, then over Kiegan. I rolled my eyes as I turned back to my table-mate, just as Kiegan winked at him.
I let out a surprised huff of a laugh as I glanced back up to read Fieran’s reaction.
To my amusement, he must have stepped back from the mezzanine, because I couldn’t see him.
I could definitely bear Kiegan’s table manners in thanks for both his kindness and for provoking Fieran.
Kiegan turned to me. “Why is he flirting with me?”
He was so deadpan that I wasn’t sure if he meant it.
“I don’t know,” I said, unable to suppress my smile at the question. “You are handsome.”
It wasn’t a lie. Despite eating as if he had a personal vendetta against the dignity of the dining room, he was handsome, but in a square-jawed way that felt unfamiliar after being surrounded by the sharp beauty of the shifters.
His broad forehead wrinkled almost comically thanks to Fieran’s attention; his features were heavy and symmetrical, with thick brows over mesmerizing green eyes, the color of trees in summer.
“He was staring at us like he was hungry.” Kiegan stood, still looking perplexed. “Orcs attract fear. That’s not normal.”
“Fieran usually isn’t.” I stood, too, ready to head back to the barracks and seek out Ander.
Two mortal girls, around my age, came past our table. One knelt to pick up the plate that had been thrown to the ground. The other set down a mop and bucket, and hastily fell to her knees and began to scrub the icing smear.
All my humor died away.
I wanted to talk to them, but I didn’t know where to begin, and both of them seemed to be studiously avoiding my gaze.
When Kiegan let out another cough—a heavily theatrical one—I realized we were being watched by a room of shifters curious how I’d interact with other mortals.
“Walk with me.” Kiegan picked up my plate and put it on top of his. One of the mortal girls reached to take it from him, and when he frowned at her, she shrank back, her eyes widening. He carried it to the bins at the end of the room.
I smiled at the mortal girl, but she averted her gaze, kneeling to help her friend with the mopping. Feeling stung, I moved to join Kiegan, who seemed to be waiting for me. I wasn’t sure why.
“Make him jealous,” Kiegan suggested.
I had no idea how seriously to take Kiegan. “Why? Do you want me to protect you from his terrible flirting?”
I reached out to take his arm, tucking my hand over his corded forearm. His arm was so thick that I was suddenly reminded of climbing trees as a child.
He froze for a second, his body tense. Had I misunderstood his invitation? Then he relaxed, squeezing my hand between his hard body and arm. The contact felt like being handled with surprising gentleness by a sentient rock. “That will definitely do the trick.”
Maybe he hadn’t expected me to touch him. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and I was relieved I hadn’t offended him. I liked him already.
Worrying about Kiegan had distracted me from Fieran. When I glanced up, Fieran was back at the mezzanine, his hands tight on the rail. I had the distinct impression of white knuckles and a livid face as I waved before we moved on.
Did Fieran want me out of a habitual need to be adored, as he was by his clan?
Or because he needed me to fall for him for his plans?