Page 21 of Shadow King
His eyes narrow and he grimaces. “How?” he says, ignoring my barb.
Good question. Excellent question. I have no idea.
The obvious solution would be to push someone into the circle with him. Let him feed properly. Let him do whatever shadow beings do when they’re drawing sustenance from a willing participant.
But who?
Dis is watching me with those impossible blue eyes. Reading my expression with the ease of someone who has spent millennia learning how humans work.
“Are you going to give me that little blond one?” he asks.
“Hell no!” The words come out sharp. Furious. “Brian is off limits. Completely and utterly off limits. You don’t touch him. You don’t look at him. You don’t even think about him.”
Not Brian. Absolutely not Brian. The very idea makes something hot and furious rise in my chest. I am not feeding him to a shadow king.
Oh my god. I care about Brian. This is ridiculous. I’ve known him for three whole days. Urgh, personal growth. How annoying. At this rate, I’m going to turn into a nice person. That’s a hideous thought.
One elegant eyebrow rises. “How protective.”
“He’s a good person. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this.”
“And yet you have dragged him into this.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
I glare at him. He gazes back with infuriating calm.
Then his eyes run over me. Slowly. Deliberately. Taking in every detail with an attention that makes my skin prickle.
“Are you going to feed me yourself, Little Witch?” he asks.
His voice is low. Gravelly. The kind of voice that does things to my nervous system that I absolutely do not have time to process right now.
My mouth goes dry. My brain goes blank. All my carefully constructed defences crumble in the face of those blue eyes and that voice and the very clear implication in his words.
Feed him myself.
Which would mean getting close to him. Touching him. Letting him draw energy from me in ways that are definitely not platonic and definitely not safe and definitely going to complicate everything beyond repair.
I open my mouth to respond. Nothing comes out.
Dis tilts his head. The movement is cat-like. Predatory. “No answer, Little Witch?”
I still can’t speak. The hot guy effect has struck again and rendered me completely useless.
This is humiliating. I’m a witch. I trapped a shadow king. I’m emo. I should be able to handle a simple question.
But no. One appraising look from someone with good bone structure and I’m reduced to standing here like an idiot while my brain screams static.
“I,” I start. Stop. Try again. “You can’t just.”
The words dissolve. I give up.
I turn on my heel and storm out of the living room. Back to the kitchen. Away from those eyes and that voice and the impossible situation I’ve created for myself.
Behind me, I hear nothing. No laughter. No comment. Just silence.
