Page 31 of Born for Silk
I hiss, “I thought you wanted a damn heir.”
“I do. If this is how it happens then good. I only want to make sure you see the big picture every time. Not just the pieces but the player, too. What do you know about this Silk Girl?” Suspicious, Kong gets inches closer, but instinct forces my hand out, stopping him before he gets anywhere near the fragile girl in my arms.
He lifts his hands. “Easy”—his cunning gaze measures my expression— “I was going to take her to the other tank for you, Sire.”
“I’m quite capable.” I don’t like the idea of handing her over for reasons I do not know, and don’t care to dissect at present. It’s simple. Surely. She’s my property, and her current condition is unacceptable.
The CR Guard follows me, focused on capturing such a moment of pure altruism from their king. Yeah, I hate every fucking second. I stride to the tank, using my body to shield her from the winds.
I stare straight ahead, but feel her eyes mapping my face, hear her heart’s rhythm race, fearful or anxious, so I hold her tighter.
“Close your eyes,” I demand, and she does.
Needing to focus, I climb the outside of my tank with her scooped to my chest. The wind blows her black hair around, whipping it through the red gale.
Talons scrape on metal.
On top of the tank, Odio opens his enormous wings to hit the desert skies, but stops. Intrigued by the creature in my arms, he hovers on the current.
She has her eyes squeezed shut as he looks her over, head cocking, beady gaze shuffling. He blocks the wind to get a better view.
I climb inside and shut the hatch.
Chapter Seven
Rome
She opens her eyes just as the hatch closes. Her head rolls with the gas, seemingly heavier than her neck can handle.
I set her down on the green cushioned bench and ignore the backward glances from the Gunner at the front. This is foolishness. Bringing her into my space. She has already occupied too much of my interest and now I am practically alone with her. This isn’t good.
The first time I saw her at the parlour, she walked backward into me. I thought she was pathetic in that second, a small, insignificant little Common girl who would never be selected for my Collective…
Then she looked up at me.
Those eyes…
She didn’t drop to her knees; she leaned into me, spoke out of turn, and touched me without asking. She rambled about flowers and cities, too many damn spare thoughts, and I wasn’t bored at all, a rare state for me, especially in the company of silly, little girls.
So, intrigued as I was, I felt the need to thank her for that, for making me feel something.
And now I know.
She is bound to the fibres of my last human cells, the parts of me that dwindle from nearly two decades ago when I was an idiotic boy who wanted to be a saviour.
She stares at me as though keen to map my bone structure. Blinking the cloud of gases and dust from the warehouse, my nictitating membrane slides across my cornea. She follows the sweep of the eyelid, seemingly fascinated.
I clench my teeth. Hate it. A shiver rushes the length of my body. The intimacy she presses without knowing is utterly torturous.
“Have you been inside a tank before?” I ask, sliding down the bench, adding space between us. Space that adds a much-needed reprieve from the intoxicating way her scent rouses my cock.
She is slumped backward against the inner wall, barely propped up, and I notice she holds her wrist protectively. “No, my king. Never.”
I frown. “Were you not taught to address me as Sire?”
“Sire.” She swallows, her tongue moving around her mouth in an odd way. “I’m sorry.”
I prefer my king from her lips.