Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(9)

“Thank you.”

His nail must’ve had a high polish with all the attention he was giving it.

Shanti increased the amount of comfort, imagining him in front of a crackling fire, completely alone in a familiar room. “Then what happened?”

That extra dose was all it took. In a torrent of words, she got the full story: His desire to cure her in an attempt to rid him of the pain of losing his mother to disease. The fear of Commander Sanders’ attention. How he didn’t fit in with the other Cadets, but focusing on her made him at least feel needed. Liking some girl called Canella but too shy to talk to her.

Shanti held up a hand to stop the verbal flood when he started talking about his first kiss.

His face dropped immediately, allowing her a few minutes to pick through the tumult of strange words—slang, most likely. If only she wasn’t so tired, or using precious resources to mentally manipulate these people. She wasn’t up for any of this.

“When you first came in the room,” Shanti said softly, trying to get back on track, “you seemed afraid of me. Why?”

He gave another blush. “Well, I thought you hurt Xavier somehow… He screamed, then dropped you. Your eyes were open. And…and glowing…”

Frost crept up Shanti’s spine as those words sank in. Her muscles tensed. Did he know what it meant? Who she was?

As she attempted to summon strength she didn’t have, her hold on his mind wavering, he laughed to himself. “But that sounds silly, of course. I mean, eyes don’t glow, right?” He scrubbed at his nail and lowered his eyes, shrugging. “Commander Sanders blames it on my love of stories.”

Sweat beaded her brow. “Did anyone else see my eyes glow?”

“Oh no. No one believed me. And now, after having met you, I can see I don’t know nothing—“

Shanti shook her head and cut him off. “Don’t know what?”

“I mean, I can see that I was wrong,” he clarified. “That Commander Sanders was right. I just wanted to be sure, though. I thought I’d check, you know?”

The small muscles in her back started to relax. The ice in her shoulders thawed. Air worked into her lungs. She backed off her mental touch.

“But you do have weird eyes,” Marc blurted.

“Yes. Compared to you, I do have weird eyes.”

“Are you albino?”

Shanti shook her head again, not understanding the term.

“Do you have skin and eye…you know, problems?” Marc tried. “No color in them? Is it a genetic thing, I mean?”

Shanti nodded slowly. It would lead to uncomfortable questions if she told him that a huge release of power at five years old permanently burned her retinas. Incriminating questions. With the Graygual marching east, conquering, pillaging, and destroying along their way, all they needed was a whisper, a rumor, and the Being Supreme’s dogs would be on her trail. They’d already gotten closer than she wanted to admit, and that was when she’d been in perfect health. At this stage in the game, she was ripe for the plucking, vulnerable and defenseless in some strange land.

No, the less this kid knew, the better. It had been a long, lonely road so far, but she was almost there. She could confide in someone when the journey was done.

“Oh, so that’s it.” Marc gave a relieved smile, completely missing her inner contemplation. “Genetic problems. Well, that makes sense. Anyway, I should probably go. I have to get back to training. I’m failing, but they keep trying.” His chest heaved in a sigh. “I’ll probably end up cleaning toilets or something. Goes to show intelligence test scores aren’t always accurate.”

“Do you know what happened to my things?”

Marc’s head tilted. “That nasty dress you were wearing?”

“My baggage. My knives and weapons. My personal affects. My ring…”

Mark scrunched up his face and shook his head. “We only found you. I don’t remember a ring… You had that sheet, and some holey leather shoes—not well made, either. The leather was ruff—“

Startled, Shanti sat up. “You did not find my bag?”

The bed dressings fell to her waist. Marc’s eyes fastened on bare skin immediately, having a stare-off with her ni**les. His face turned a furious shade of cherry. He gulped and stammered, unable to look away.

“Look at me,” Shanti commanded as she clutched his mind, feeding him a blast of urgency. Marc’s eyes slowly found hers, the blood in his penis fighting logic. Fighting any sensation she could supplant.

Wanting his undivided attention, and realizing the impossibility of that within this setting, Shanti intertwined lust with her urgency cocktail. It was a terrible time for that “can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” philosophy, given his age, but she didn’t have much choice.

It did the trick. Marc’s eyes were burning, slightly embarrassed, but staring at Shanti with fervor. She hiked up the sheet and said, “I need that bag, Marc. I need you to take me to it, okay? Please?”

“Yes.” It was more a sigh than a word. “I will. I will take you to it. Right now?”

Dangle sex in front of a guy and he was like the walking dead. Typical. But effective.

In this situation, also gross.

Shanti’s mind raced. She was naked, she was starved, and her head was swimming from sitting upright. She wasn’t going anywhere. But she needed that bag. Badly. It was everything. Being without it meant failure.