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“Sometimes.” He continued to stir the soup, never taking a bite. I glanced at Lucius and Lorian, both drinking glasses of red wine, ignoring the food.
“Is there a reason you don’t like this particular dish?”
Morgon men had healthy appetites, so something was up. His expression showed surprise for a split-second before settling back into nonchalance. “You’re quite observant, Moira.”
“I’m a journalist. A writer. We tend to be watchers.”
“Ah.” He smiled, leaning closer to whisper, “Well, don’t tell the cook, but meat cooked this thorough actually turns the stomach of most Morgons.”
“Really?” The flank steak was tender and delicious, but it was indeed cooked completely through. “Why is that?”
He shrugged one shoulder, his wings relaxing a fraction. “I suppose it is the dragon in us. We like our meat bloody, I’m afraid.”
“Interesting. I’ve never heard that before.” I lifted the heavy glass goblet and took a sip of water.
“It’s not something generally known or, should I say, confessed in mixed company.” By mixed company, he meant humans and Morgons. “Not everyone likes to be reminded of our less civilized ancestry.”
I glanced over his shoulder at the giant silvery wings shining by candlelight. “Well, it’s kind of hard to miss.”
He laughed. A very pleasant laugh. “True.”
I shrugged. “My sister wouldn’t care. Seems like something she would’ve picked up on by now.”
“It can be easily overlooked. Humans and Morgons consume everything just about the same.”
“Except red meat,” I amended.
He nodded, smiling politely. The second course was pasta with a seafood cream sauce. All the dinner guests started to devour the appetizing dish.
“So, Kraven, do you ever work the Vaengar Games?”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin, sitting back. “I don’t usually. Not anymore, anyway. Have you ever been?”
“No.” I sipped my water, angling toward him, considering some of the information Bennett Cremwell had given me about what goes on at the after-parties in the Vaengar Stadium. “Do you go and watch fights in the Pit after the Vaengar Games?”
Silverware clinked against a plate as someone dropped a fork. The low conversations shushed altogether. I glanced down the table.
I shrugged. “What?”
“How would you know about the Pit?” asked Jessen, frowning.
The level of scowling by every pair of eyes at the table, except Sorcha, put me on edge.
Sorcha flipped dark-red hair over one shoulder. “Someone’s been more involved in extracurricular activities than she led on.”
“No. Actually, I haven’t.”
“What’s this about?” Jessen’s lips tightened into a grim line, the same look she had given me when I was a little girl doing something dangerous, like playing too close to the lake or the woods.
“I need some help with something. Some Morgon help, and I hoped Kraven was the one to give it.”
Kraven angled toward me. “Would you be more specific?”
“Wait. No.” Jessen tossed her napkin on the table, flipping out, just as I thought she would. “How the hell did you find out about the after-parties in the cellars of the Stadium?”
“You know,” I accused.
Sorcha giggled.
