Page 33 of Born for Silk
Aster pulls me from my dark recall, when she says, “After I convinced the Endigo boy that I was just like him?—”
Clever girl… “How did you do that?”
“I told him that I would survive The Cradle… with him,” she confirms, and I don’t like where this is heading. My muscles tense, and my spine steels in agonising preparation. “I kissed him, and let him touch me and?—"
“You what?”
“The leader said my tongue can’t be trusted anymore, and he started to cut it with a knife, but then, I don’t know…” Her eyelids bat, heavy. “His hand slipped. We both fell. I hit my head. I cannot feel my body right now, my king. Am I dreaming? I feel strange. Can I touch you again so that I know you’re real? Can you touch me again so that I know I am?”
The gas…
Shock, too.
I stare at her, hard. “You're not afraid of me.”
“Yes, but not for my life.”
“Why?” I ask, thinking about the men I have just killed, their blood still drying on my leather armour and their pleas for mercy still echoing in the dark chamber of my soul. “I could strangle you with one hand.”
“You have no reason to.”
I measure her up, noting the scarlet hue rising beneath her cheeks. I make her blush. “Perhaps I'd enjoy seeing your life leave your eyes, little creature.”
Matching me, she looks through me. I stiffen as her gaze pokes around inside my mind. I fucking hate it. “I don't think you're really like that. Deep down.”
“And how would you know what I'm like?”
“I felt it.” A bead of sweat forms on her brow, but it’s not from nerves. “When you held my hand, you didn't want to hurt me then. Or did you?”
No, I didn’t want to hurt her.
She is right.
“You may touch me,” I say smoothly. “But don't get misguided thoughts about me and kindness. We do not exist together. You’re the property of The Cradle— my property. Your body, your womb, is what matters to me.”
“I understand, my king.”
“More reversing gas, Sire?” the gunner asks, passing the mask back to me.
As she sways with the movement of the tank, I pull her to my lap. I cradle her entire body to my chest. Her little legs dangle over my thighs and her head nests in the crook of my arm on a pillow of her onyx hair.
She is flawless, pure—life.
And I am bloody, bruised—death.
“You’re hurt, my king.” She reaches up and presses her hand above my heart where my armour weeps with blood and a bullet hides deep in my flesh. “You’re bleeding.”
My chest tightens.
I hold the mask over her mouth and nose. My hand covers most of her face, so I part my fingers and watch her eyes flicker as she inhales.
A cruel smile moves across my face. “You let him kiss you, little creature?” Her eyes widen, but she nods into the mask. “And touch you?” I don’t know what those words make me feel, but it burns a path in my muscles. “Where?”
Her eyes close on the answer.
“Show me with your hands, which parts of my property were played with,” I order. “Do it now.”
I gaze down as her arm lifts, her finger touching just below her ribcage, a supple spot. I track her finger as it moves upward, over her expressed ribs to the crease between her breasts. She cups a small, pert mound in her hand, her eyes never leaving mine, and squeezes it. I hiss.