Page 125 of Born for Silk

“She what?” I repeat.

“Degrades.”

“Say that sentence again.”

Sweat instantly mists his pasty skin. “We should keep the babe in the Silk Girl for as long as possible, even if it means she— She degrades.”

I spin the blade in my hand, using the rhythmic motion to soothe myself. A mild comfort. “You pull the heir out as soon as she feels any discomfort.”

His brows weave. “But, Sire, there are other silk gir?—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Eyes gape at me as I carve a scarlet smile into his throat. Blood rushes from the flapping slit, the crimson fall chasing gravity’s inevitable draw.

Thick, hot blood blankets him.

Quick, so my sweet creature doesn’t see, I drag him through the courtyard gate, position his swaying body on the outside wall, and watch him slide down the limestone. Stare at his wide, startled eyes. That is the energy… Neck down, he is a blood-dyed mannequin.

He flops to the side. Dead. “And there are other doctors,” I hiss.

Odio lands beside him, talons already extended. His keen, piercing eyes lock on the corpse, his curved, sharp beak slightly open, ready to pull pieces from it.

“I’ll watch her,” I state, leaving him to pull the old man apart, and walk back inside the courtyard.

What the fuck?

I halt. Really agitated now—Kong and Turin Two, both dishevelled from the hunt, are standing opposite the gathering of tiny girls, speaking words I cannot hear.

The world around me fades, channels, as Aster offers them both a flower from her bunch. Leaving me with only the pulse of my possessiveness, the energy of the kills, of my claim, of my need, of my desire for her, I scowl.

I let her play with her Collective, not pick fucking pointless flowers for them. For other men.

Where are my flowers?

Rational thought drowns in territorial rage as I stride toward the small gathering and stop behind my little creature, a shadow at her back. A warning and an accusation.

The Silk Girls quickly duck away.

From over Aster’s head, my eyes target Turin Two and then Kong. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Turin chuckles. “Accepting a token.”

Fuck him.

I glare at him through my lashes, mirthless.

Aster turns around, a sweet smile on her lips. I don’t need to look at her to see her mouth flatten and thin when she sees my scowl.

“Are you unhappy? They are aster, my king,” she offers, soothing me with her melodic cadence. The same sweet vocals that moan a lullaby when she climaxes on my face. “The petals are so soft, so open, and smell so sweet.” She blushes.

Why are you blushing?

Heat hits my temples.

My Aster. My flower. My sweet, soft, open little… She gave them aster flowers to wear on their armour or put in their chambers? To smell, to look at. Like hell they will!

“Drop the flowers,” I order, staring at them.

---