Glancing at the food, Claire felt wholly disillusioned. She began to comprehend what was going on, what he had arranged for himself. This, the meal, was a show—a show where she was not spectator, but entertainer. She was expected to perform for the man lowering himself into the seat across from her. Reminding herself their agreement only required she initiate sex, nothing more, she picked up her fork and chose not to argue. Instead, Claire focused on the beautiful dinner, the male mirroring her movements and tasting the food.

It seemed awkward, the silence, and out of habit and good manners, Claire found herself wanting to make small talk, knowing it would be both pointless and something Shepherd would not respond to.

Except, he began it. “I have been told this is one of your chef’s most famous dishes.”

Cocking a brow, Claire looked up from the steamed fish and nodded, momentarily confused. “My chef? You do not eat his cooking?”

“Her cooking, and no.”

That seemed strange. “What do you normally eat?”

“What my men eat. Communal food amongst those who’ve endured the Undercroft bears an importance I do not expect you to understand or submit to.”

There were a great many things about the man she didn’t understand.

Seeing that the woman was puzzled and still tense, Shepherd offered a modicum of explanation. “After years subsisting off mold, our digestive tracts have altered. Followers’ diets must be bland, and the required nutritional additives have an unpleasant taste and smell. The bulk of my meal was consumed before I returned to you. This is… supplementary.”

Was that why he never ate in her presence? She looked at the beautifully arranged plate. “Well, considering all your other physical attributes, I think it’s only fair you have one restriction.”

The male smirked, gratified. “Physical attributes?”

“You are very tall,” Claire quipped flatly, taking another bite, not at all interested in padding the Alpha’s ego.

His foot bumped hers under the table. “List another attribute.”

Dodging Alpha pride was something Claire had years of experience with. “You are bald. It must save time not combing your hair.”

Narrowed eyes matched his agitated reply. “I shave my head.”

Claire sneered, pleased her slight had pricked him, and took another bite of dinner.

“You are playing with me, little one,” he added, intrigued, once he saw her mischievous expression.

Gesturing with her fork, Claire explained. “You’re arrogant enough. I am not going to feed that beast.”

Shepherd countered, his own evil smirk appearing. “You will later. When I move inside you tonight, you will hum about my prowess and strength… You will want to say all those things and more.”