“I have a better idea,” she purred. “I keep moving around however much I wish, and I wear whatever look I choose, and you deal with it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m parched. Bottoms up.” She toasted him with Zion’s canteen of water, then drained the contents.

Once her thirst had been satisfied, she dunked a rag in the pond and cleaned her face. She brushed her teeth and anchored her hair into a messy bun.

“Going to pretend I’m not here? Wonderful.” Bane pinched her chin and tilted her face this way and that. Rage darkened his features, frightening in its intensity, yet his touch remained gentle. “You’ve lost weight. Has Zion starved you?”

“I told you. I’ve been sick,” she said, and this time the admission embarrassed her. Bane was a warrior to his core, who admired strength in others. Therefore, he would never admire her. I don’t care. I don’t. Whether human or alien, all people were inherently flawed, including Bane. Why should his opinion matter more than her own? “Strangely enough, I feel better—healthy—when you’re around.” And hungry. Where could she find chocolate? No, sour gummies. No, butterscotch.

He grated, “You draw strength from your warriors, just as we draw strength from you.”

Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. “My warriors?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I will explain everything, but only when you are safely tucked inside my lair. Here, we can be overheard. Trust me when I say Zion will desert you if ever he learns about your origins. Other combatants will want your head.”

She shook her head. Zion already suspected something was amiss, yet he’d still aided her. “You’re wrong. I stabbed Zion, and he never retaliated.”

Bane arched a brow, all the little mortal gave the big, bad warrior a boo-boo? How adorable. “A combatant saves a human for one reason, and one reason only. The human can be used to win the war.”

Maybe, maybe not. “Is that why you’re interested in me?” Either way, Bane and Zion would fight to the death when Zion returned, and she would be at fault.

Guilt torched her calm, leaving her shaking.

“In part,” he replied. “But again, you’ll get no explanations outside of the lair.”

“Good thing we need to leave, then.” And yeah, okay, she was serving Zion a big bowl of steaming crap pie, and he deserved better. He might not have been an A+ host—he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time with her, or answered her questions, or aided Vale—but he’d hadn’t been an F-host, either. He’d kept Nola safe. But Bane kept her pain-free, so there was no contest.

He brightened.