Page 114 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

Mammoth double doors at the far end of the room, opposite the door we came in from, swing open then with a great woosh of air, and my brows shoot up at the number of people who come in: chefs and servers carrying trays piled high with hundreds of different scents that immediately sink into my stomach and provoke a growl from it. My widened eyes take in as many of the dishes as I can, and I can’t track them all, but what I do see has my mouth watering: tender chicken drenched in silky gravy; golden potatoes that look like they’d have the perfect crispiness when you’d take your first bite, before they’d melt on your tongue with the softness inside; there’s every kind of vegetable I can think of, with a wide range of dips situated on their platters so there’s something for everyone; other serving trays contain breaded fried chicken, pizza, chips, potato wedges, burgers, tacos, and corndogs; bowls are overfilled with pasta, spaghetti, rice, noodles, and smaller ones hold various sauces for us to choose from, some more rich and creamy, others so spicy I can smell the biting scent from here, the strength of it making my nose tingle; and then there’s crackers, cheese, butter, bread, sushi, kebabs, ham and turkey slices . . . everything. It never stops.

And they don’t just have savoury options: sweet cherries and caramel waft over to me with a wave of new servers; large cakes, small cakes, chocolate cakes, caramel cakes . . . all decorated with icing, fondants, and fluffy swirls in a multitude of colours; more bite-sized treats are scattered throughout, platters filled with every flavour of macarons and cute chocolate-covered things that I can’t even begin to guess what they are; I see éclairs which are the vanilla shade of custard, the pink and red of strawberry, the rich colour of milk chocolate—every flavour imaginable; and there’s other pastries bathed in white powder, as well as gingerbread and shortbread, cookies and brownies, fudge cubes and whipped cream and turkish delights, and an array of sweets that’ll leave my brother’s teeth rotten by the end of the day, no doubt. There’s just more, more, more, and I give up on trying to catch a glimpse of everything.

I never thought I’d see so much food, so much colour in one place. And it’s a good thing the table’s the size of a football field, because otherwise there’s no way all of that would fit on it.

I can only gape as the last round is brought out, with servers carrying empty glasses for the array of non-alcoholic beverages in the jugs in their hands—I’m not even going to try to learn what each of those are, but a glimpse tells me they range from water and milk to fizzy drinks that could burst your head off—and gleaming plates, far too much cutlery, and napkins.

When the large doors finally close with a soft thump after they leave, a thick silence envelopes the room.

Before my brother, of course, blows through it.

“OH MY GOD! Ezzy, I love you! Please marry me!”

He launches himself at her, and she calmly steps to the side, causing Tate to grunt as Tiger slams into him instead. “Get off, little fucker. This body is for Havoc’s hands only.” He shoves my brother back, who pouts.

“I wasn’t aiming for you! Wifey is playing hard to get!”

Tiger then swivels to face our Bonded and attempts to bite his lip off.

Okay, no. I need to give him some pointers on that because that’s difficult to watch.

“Don’t worry, Nightshade, I’ll be your hubby one day!”

“Eat.” Her voice is toneless.

“Yes, ma’am!” Saluting her, he hurries over to the table with hearts in his eyes, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s more excited about the food than he’s ever been to see me after our years apart.

I am not jealous over food.

Following at a much calmer pace that belies my eagerness to tuck in, I roam my eyes over everything once more before grabbing a plate—which is actually one of the few things in this region that are as commonly white as they are black—and getting to work on loading it up with my first helping, because there’s no way I’ll be leaving this room without trying everything I want to. Half of what’s here I’ve not even tasted before, and not because they’re rarities, but because even if my meal plan is more flexible than Alby’s ever was, it’s still pretty rigid. I don’t mind too much since it helps me keep fit for the Games, but I definitely wouldn’t say no to a wider variety sometimes.

And once again the woman my heart aches for is the one providing that.

I flick my eyes up as Ezla grabs her own plate, then watch her almost as obsessively as Tate always does as she loads it up.

My heart gives a whopping thump, a pleasant fluttering sensation spreading through my stomach.

It’s such a mundane thing from her, and although I know logically she must do normal things like this all the time, I’ve never seen her anywhere other than in training or the Games, kicking ass like the deadly goddess she is.

When her gaze shifts up, it locks with mine, and I feel my composure slip, cheeks warming yet again because of this woman. I never used to blush before her, hardly knew the meaning of the word, and I quickly look away, clearing my throat, embarrassed—another thing I’m not used to being.

She’s ruined me.

And I can’t say that I mind.

Once we’ve all got crowded plates and have filled our glasses with the drinks we wanted, we find our seats, Ezla taking her place at the head of the table while we pull out the chairs on that end, Tate all but hurling Cooper out of the way to get to the one closest to her.

“There’s another one right there,” Cooper huffs in irritation, gesturing to the chair opposite on our Bonded’s left.

Tate scowls. “I want this one.”

“Whatever.” Cooper rounds the table to take the seat he’d pointed out, and I put myself in the one on his left. Tiger falls on my other side, while Alby ends up next to Tate, whose crazed, intense hungry eyes are boring into Ezla, tracking her fork’s movements, then her mouth’s as she wraps her lips around the meat at its end.

Great, and now I’m staring, too.

Licking those luscious lips, I watch her tongue drag across the naturally rosy surface, imagining my mouth there instead, sucking her flesh between my teeth. Cock already leaking, I remain fixated as she picks up her napkin and dabs at the corner of her mouth, even though there’s nothing there. It’s clear from the small action that her upbringing was nothing like mine, as I already knew with the Game Master as her father.

Not that it makes me think of her any differently. In fact, it’s rare I even think of her in relation to the creator of the Games; she’s grabbed my attention way more than he ever has on television, and that was before I even met her, before I had any of these feelings I do now. Even with his title, she outshines him by far.