Page 53 of Claiming Sarah

“I have never been much for decorum, Jac,” Rex said, meeting his gaze. “Or don’t you remember?”

Jac merely clenched his jaw tight.

“So, how do you three know each other?” Sarah asked while the food was brought out.

I closed my eyes, my stomach pitching. I could not bear the weight of Sarah and Jac’s shock, and possible revulsion, when Rex told them my secret.

"We fought in the war together,” Jac said. “Well, sort of—”

“I was Deacon’s commanding officer,” Rex interrupted.

“But not Jac’s?” she asked in surprise.

“No. That was…who again?” Rex asked.

“Hurried,” Jac said of the man who’d been in charge of his unit. “At least, back then it was.”

“Right, that knob.” Rex shook his head in disgust. “I hated that guy.”

Because he had principles.

The scent of food wafted up my nose, and I did my best to eat with the rest of them. It was always strange to see a ghost eat—they did not need to. Most did it only for the pleasure of the taste, as I understood the matter. When they ate, the living could see the food as it was chewed and swallowed, before it vanished into the nothing of the ghost.

But not so with Rex.

His food, and come to think of it, his drink, all vanished the moment he closed his mouth. As though he was still alive. That realization jolted me with trepidation.

What sorcery is this?

I had questions I knew he would never answer. I wondered whether Jac or Sarah had noticed. But I didn’t want to draw attention to anything Rex did—he would only use it to torment me somehow.

“Rex, your home is quite elaborate,” I said instead, opting for casual conversation. “I am surprised.”

“You know I enjoy the finer things, Deacon. Why so surprised?”

“I would have thought you more of a spartan sort of ghost.”

He laughed. “You thought I would live in a hovel, like your father?”

His insolent tone grated on my nerves. “His cottage is nicer than half the homes on Orhon,” I said in my father’s defense.

“That’s not saying much, now is it?” he asked rhetorically. “I enjoy the lavish nature of what I am allowed in my death—”

“Andhoware you allowed it?” Jac boldly asked. “Last I heard, your family hated you.”

A hint of anger flashed in Rex’s eyes, and I cursed Jac for antagonizing him when we had no guards or protection with us.

Our host simmered down and said in a more reasonable voice, “Now, now, Jac. Where are your manners? There is a lady present.”

“Such things never stopped you,” he pointed out.

Rex’s laugh was brash. “Too true. Regarding your inquiry, I am not on the best of terms with my family—you’re right about that, Jac. But I have always made it a habit to befriend those who can beverygood friends to me.” His narrowed gaze shifted to me. “Isn’t that right, Deacon?”

“You have always had a skilled tongue when it came to diplomacy,” I replied. “On the rare occasions you wanted to be diplomatic.”

Satisfied with my answer for now, he nodded once and drank more of his whickler. “Sarah, how is your food?”

I hated the way she beamed at him. “Exquisite, thank you, Rex.”

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