Born for Silk (The Cradled Common)

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Rome

Breathing heavily, I stride into the courtyard, desperate to see her—just for a moment. Blood paints my leather vest, the crimson guts of cats drying under the crown-light.

Usually, my time in the forest flies by, but these days, away from her, they crawl on all-fours.

It’s been long enough. She has had time with her Collective, as requested.

But now, I am wired; tight muscles tremble with endorphins; my mind reels in the death calls of animals, in the silence before a kill, in the climax of the blank stare. It is tangible energy, and it fuels the black parts inside me.

It is hard to snap out of…

Then I see her.

She strolls around the gardens, a cape of dark hair swaying gently down the back of her silky white dress.

I drop my gaze.

Grin.

Fuck me.

From hip to hip, her swelling womb shows beneath the silken fabric, pulling it taut as she leans to pick another flower, feeding the purple bloom into the bunch in her hand.

My attention is literally paralysed.

Her Collective strolls alongside her, gathering flowers of different colours. Aster’s side brushes the hip of Darwin’s Silk Girl, the round one, mere days shy of birthing. Such a pity Darwin opened her before Bled or Medan had a chance. I look at her large stomach—she has carried the babe with ease. My eyes war to get back to Aster… I look at her as she smiles and converses, unaware of my watchful gaze.

Above me, a winged silhouette hovers in the red haze. Odio maps a grid of sky, every inch of land near her is within a second of his descending razor-sharp talons.

My body vibrates, being too far away, can’t smell her, can’t feel her heat, but she begged me this first-light for time with them, and I allowed it. I will always grant her… anything.

Despite my approval, the distance meant I needed to kill something. So, I hunt… Something that used to be my preferred pastime, but now. Fuck. I can just stare at her.

I lean on the courtyard wall, watching her.

A screech from the depths of the haze alerts me to... In my peripherals, I note one of our Trade doctors approaching me from inside the Silk Girl Wing. An older Common man, intelligent—and castrated. That’s important if he is to touch what is mine. Might cut his hands off one day… Maybe. Keep them in a jar beside my father’s head.

“She is swelling fast,” he advises in a quiet tone, stopping beside me. Not in front. He wouldn’t dare block my view; I would cut a window into his flesh.

I’m in a volatile mood.

I smile at his words—she is swelling fast—my attention roaming her swollen abdomen again, my cock thickening inside my pants. I am certain he can see it. Of that, I am glad.

I adjust myself, my bloody hands palming my cock to the thought of her smooth skin, stretching to grow my heir, matching the smooth, strained pussy that I fuck and lick. I’ve never felt more ownership. Never felt more possessive greed.

“What I mean, Sire, is that the baby grows fast. A high Xin De genus. I am certain. We should keep the babe in the Silk Girl for as long as possible, even if it means sh?—”

Now you have my fucking attention.

My stare snaps to him. “She what?”

His eyes widen on my fist, and I realise I have reached for the gutting knife in my belt, and now I hold it erected in front of me.

“Sire.” He swallows and takes a single step backward, as if that distance will aid him. My arm is longer.

“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.

They both chuckle, but the sound dies on my snarl.

“I said drop them.”

Shaking his head, stifling amusement that only he and my brother can get away with, Kong hands back the flowers.

Turin Two laughs, returning the blooms to her. “Good luck with him, Aster.”

My little creature takes the flowers, confused, blinking over and over as she sorts her thoughts. “I don’t understand. I wasn’t trying to soften them, or make them less focused on the hunt, or… I don’t understand.”

“Give them to me.”

I watch as her eyes roam my leather vest, taking in the brutal dashes of red, before stopping on the thick blood drying, akin to cracked paint, on my fingers and knuckles.

She swallows, clearly nervous. “I didn’t think you would want… flowers, my king.”

I’m insane; I fucking realise this.

I don’t want fucking flowers.

I want her flowers.

Dropping to my knees, I meet her eye to eye. “If you pick the flowers, they are mine. Give me the damn flowers.”

The simmering of uncertainty in her gaze blinks away softly. Slowly, a sweet smile slides across her lips, as if she understands me. “You’re jealous, my king.”

I laugh coldly. “Unbearably, so.”

“Don't underestimate my obsession with you.” She repeats my words back to me, her playful smile stirring my monstrous soul with her purity, diluting the black, taming the claws and teeth.

Well, fuck.

I drop my forehead on her shoulder, sighing hard. What the fuck is wrong with me? I place my palms on either side of her hips. The white silk sliding over her lithe body. I glide my palms forward, low on her pelvis and cradle her beautiful, swollen lower stomach.

She sighs. “There you are.” Her fingers feed up my back, my muscles rippling, responding to the gentle, arousing stimulation, as though I am—fucking purring. She’s right. And I let it happen. As she drags her nails up my neck and into my hair, I growl approvingly from inside my chest. “You can have all my flowers from now on, my king.”

“I want the one between your pretty thighs.”

“When?”

“Right the fuck now.”