Page 140 of Born for Silk

I despise these people.

They gifted her to me. They offered their children in exchange for a windmill and supplies, and she wonders why I cannot fault The Trade entirely. I didn’t snatch her from her father’s paws. He could have kept her, could have tried, but he did not.

They will have to pry her from my bloody corpse before I ever give her up.

So, I despise them for not fighting for her, even though their pathetic lack of protection meant she became mine. My responsibility.

My little creature.

Aster… Who loathes me.

She can loath me, scream at me, despise my very existence, as long as her moans crash into my mouth each night, and her body succumbs to sleep in my arms. As long…

I growl; I will make amends!

I climb down the tank, dropping to my heavy feet on the old abbey ground, crimson-coloured dust flying up around me. I rise to my full height, towering over everyone else as the roaring wind prowls the boundary walls.

Kong climbs from the other tank, accompanied by three Guards, rifles ready.

Jaw pulsing to the point of pain, I scan the crowd of twenty or so Common who have braved the growling night to gather before the tank, bowing and nervous—curious.

We could cut them all down in seconds with a single round from one rifle.

But they let us in.

Last-light barely claws through the storming Redwind, and the abbey walls blanket the ground, making it hard to see.

Through the dim, my eyes glow as I search the faces for familiarities— for Colt. It has been nearly two decades, but I would recognise Aster’s father if I saw him.

“Colt!” I boom, but the chaotic weather matches my force.

A man dressed in black stands below a wooden cross and signals for me to approach, gesturing toward a door.

We can’t talk outside, in this black, in the mouth of the night and storm. Fuck.

Checking the Guards are ready, Kong, too, I climb back up the tank to get my precious cargo.

The hatch opens before I get to it, a cloaked head popping up, black hair whispering across a masked face.

Teeth clenching, I hold my hand out for her. “You should have waited. I would have carried you.”

But she can’t hear me. The growling wind circles the perimeter, hunting for a vulnerability in the brick fortress.

I take her little hand in mine, remembering when I first touched her months ago. Delicate fingers. Dainty wrist.

I watch her step to the top.

Aster’s purple cloak is buttoned from knee to neck, barely concealing the swelling between her hips. Still, she is small, and it’s evident by the stretching fabric.

Impatient and protective, I scoop her into my arms and climb down with her.

The Guard takes my place, helping the other Silk Girl and a member of The Queen’s Army from the tank. And Kong waits for the queen—my sister. I don’t like this, any of it, but we have no choice.

The Common part for me.

Wide eyes tracking. Interested.

Every inch of muscle inside me is on edge—tightening, protective, warm, longing—for Aster’s soft body against mine as I carry her toward the man who waits, waving us over.

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