Page 27 of A Sweet Destruction

Anderson’s responding laugh was cut off by the sounds of conversation picking back up, people to focused on food and the still-potent anxiety from yesterday’s attack to pay my odd behavior any mind.

Okay. This was safe.

Surely Ford wouldn’t do anything—

The next thing I knew, I was looking at a line of tan skin between the hem of a shirt and low-slung cargo pants.

Oh—Ford had—I was…

Mortified. Mortified by the immediate and intense rush of warmth that poured through my body at his touch, overwhelmed by all the points we were connected. My legs to his hard chest, my abdomen plastered to his back, it was all too much.

“Ford,” I squeaked out, fighting a cringe at how utterly terrified I sounded.

I didn’t know what was happening, and the Bond was—

Well, the Bond chose that moment to increase the volume of its inarticulate scream of pleasure in my head.

A second later, I was back down on the ground, staring up into Ford’s face. He was frowning, his eyes a little dazed like he didn’t know what was happening either.

“I don’t care what is going on, but we are HUNGRY!” someone yelled at us, making me realize that we’d taken some steps forward and we were now at the front of the breakfast line.

In a demonstration of rank that always made me uncomfortable, paranimas got to eat first. Since there had only been two of us before, it hadn’t caused much of a ruckus, but it never ceased to make me feel weird.

Everyone was risking their lives out here, some of them against their will. I was no more important than them just because I had a parasite living in my head.

I forced myself to look away from Ford, even though his expression still seemed a little distant, and reached for a plate.

“Go sit down,” Ford said, snatching it right out of my hands. I thought about taking it back, and as if he could sense my intention, simply lifted it in the air over his head.

“You are not going to feed me. You don’t even know what I want,” I protested, the back of my neck itching uncomfortably. I did that myself. It was easier that way.

Let him take care of you, the Bond snapped, angry that I was trying to ignore the barest hint of kindness from him.

“You can throw it in my face if I mess it up,” Ford said casually, turning towards the food to survey what had been laid out for us. It was simpler than normal, more of a porridge spread than the usual hearty food we were given to make sure we had the energy to work well into the nighttime. “Sit down or risk everyone else’s wrath.”

“I liked you better when you weren’t speaking this much,” I snapped at him, making sure my frown was as deep as it could go. By body was still buzzing an uncomfortable warmth that made it hard to actually feel mad at him, but I’d learned long ago how to ensure my mind stayed stronger.

“I liked you better before I knew you were taking pills to quiet the Bond,” Ford said calmly. So calmly that I didn’t realize what he said for a few moments.

I stood there, stock still and mute as Ford moved on down the breakfast line, shoveling things onto my plate with quick efficiency.

“Fine,” I snapped, though it held little fire. “You want to make my food so bad? I’m going to sit down.”

I turned and stomped toward the table that Bellamy and Soren were seated at, relishing in the harsh rattling of my joints.

Joining them in a heap of limbs as I shoved myself between the bench and the table, I looked at Bellamy’s plate, which had a healthy serving on it.

“Are you going to eat all of that?” I asked, pointing specifically at the pastry. I did tend to have a nasty sweet tooth. “I’m hungry and I plan on throwing my food at Ford.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Bellamy said, her voice filled with the sort of sly happiness that could only come from being truly content. “I am quite hungry. I worked up an appetite—”

“EW!” I yelled, right where I realized where she was going. I pointed at Soren in accusation, who was smiling like a wolf behind the rim of his coffee mug. “He’s rubbing off on you.”

He wasn’t, really. Maybe in the sense that being with him made Bellamy happier, but they had started out quite similar. Not just because they were both raised as Royals, but because they had the same fierce protectiveness for the people they loved and the same whip-smart instincts.

“I welcome it,” Bellamy said, her words slow and confident.

“Goddess help me,” I muttered under my breath, dropping my head to my hands.