Page 9 of Iris
The only reason I’m down here really is because I was passing by the room when a glint of shining white caught my attention. There, on a shelf, in a stream of moonlight, was the thing that now sits in my pocket.
It’s probably worthless to the fucks who own the house, so he won’t miss it.
In all honesty it could be trash, and Emmie wouldn’t care. She doesn’t care about cost. The kid’s four. She just has certain likes, and I happen to love that little kid more than anything else. So I took it.
Emmie will love it.
Simple as fucking that.
Then I found the girl dressed in what looked to be mourning clothes.
Iris.
A pretty name for a pretty girl. And I say girl because she’s young, maybe twenty, twenty-one.
I take a breath. The stars seem to seep into me, swell.Iris.
Pretty isn’t the right word for her name or the girl. Iris is an unusual flower, and it fits that brief momentary glimpse of her. And pretty? More like beautiful.
Those are semantics. A pretty girl and a dance in a room.
I almost laugh. I state that like it’s ordinary.
Like she’s ordinary.
But she isn’t, is she?
I know what the fuck she is.
A perfect society Omega.
One with attitude and a little more personality than most, but still a society Omega.
One I wanted to taste.
That’s the kicker.
I wanted to taste her the moment I touched her, smelled the lightest hint of fresh flowers and musk, something almost not there. Blockers? Must be. Who the fuck knows or cares.
But she was warm, beautiful, and I wanted to kiss her.
Her skin, as I held her close, made me want to run my tongue over its warm silk.
Too chatty, though.
I drop the cigarette with a sigh.
Not like I’ll be seeing her again, anyway. I don’t mess with the upper assholes.
I grind the cigarette out, turn, and walk back to the Black Briar.
Guess I’ll never know what she tastes like.
Probably for the best.
A fantasy of endless possibilities is better than the bitter letdown of reality.
There are debuts, my hive, and there aredebuts. Andthatwas a debut.
