The Bid by Jax Page B

flexed into definition as she walked. The grace and reflex of someone who had trained a very long time, perhaps her entire lifetime as he had, to defend herself.
    And that meant she had either a cause or a need to do so. Very few could make the type of commitment it took to be a lifetime warrior just because they craved it. Often it was need, like self-protection…or cause, like revenge against aliens who were destroying your home, that drove them to the top of perfection.
    But she was the powerful head of a respected House in this culture, surrounded by guards and others who would protect her. Why would she feel the need to train herself to such an extreme? And protect her from what? The only danger he could see was himself, and he’d only just recently become an issue.
    “Are you going to sit and eat with me or would you prefer to roll around on the floor some more first?”
    The way she arced a single, slim black brow as she squared off with him with one hand on a curved hip, a smile he could only label taunting toying over her dark lips, was just shy of a challenge. She wasn’t afraid of him, and it was just dawning on him that it had nothing to do with the band around his arm.
    “Do you own even an ounce of self-preservation?” he asked her gruffly. “How do you know this thing isn’t beatable?” he asked, flicking a finger at the band.
    “Oh, everything is beatable,” she agreed, “and if anyone can defeat that band it will probably be you.”
    “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” The demand was out before he could check it, and he gripped his teeth together when he heard the frustration in his tone. She didn’t mock him as expected, though. She’d walked to the table and finished her task of removing trays and arranging them like a buffet.
    “Who says I’m not afraid?” she countered.
    “You don’t radiate fear. I have a sense for it and you don’t give it off, not even when fighting.”
    “People fear different things, Jhon. You’re talking about fear of pain and fear of death. I don’t fear those things for myself, it’s true. My fears are quite powerful in other areas, though, I assure you.” She ran her jewel blue eyes over him briefly. “Perhaps that knowledge will please you enough to sit and eat with me.”
    She took a seat, smoothing her dress along her body first, and indicated the seat across from her over the table. He had to admit he was surprised she offered him the distance. He had almost expected her to have the audacity to pat the chair nearest her in invitation.
    Not wanting to stand around looking indecisive, Vejhon quickly took the offered seat. He ran his eyes over the alien foods, searching for familiarity. Before he had even finished his survey, she was drawing up a curved plate and serving generous portions of meats and what looked like root vegetables smothered in glazes and sauces. Then she leaned over the table to offer him the serving. She met his eyes as he hesitated, then reached onto the plate for a round something and popped it into her mouth. She chewed and cocked a brow, again a silent challenge.
    “Not poisoned. No aphrodisiacal or stimulant drugs. Just borta, odji, and grigi meat, as well as some huss, frita, and porta roots. I chose these because…they tend to be favorites of nonindigenous people on this planet.” She grimaced. “Slaves,” she corrected herself, tilting her head and sighing. “Please, try some.”
    Vejhon took the offered plate and picked up a utensil for eating. He dug into the food as quickly as he thought his stomach could tolerate, casting increasingly curious glances at Hanna. She served him something to drink, folded a linen, and handed it to him. Then she sat down and began to serve herself.
    If he had been confused before, now he was completely mystified. What sort of master waits on her own slave? And it didn’t even look as though she’d given the act much thought. It was as comfortable on her as though she were serving an