My eyes sting.
“Aster?” Paisley’s voice calls from the distance, but I ignore her. Crouching lower, I hold my breath. “Aster?” Her voice gets further away, and I know I can let go—just a little.
I sob softly.
Then, with a gentle thud, Odio lands to my side. My heavy gaze sweeps across to acknowledge him. Taken aback by how close he is, I should be frightened, but I don’t have it in me.
Lazily, I reach out a trembling hand and hold it elevated in the air. “Pet.”
Odio’s piercing eyes target mine, homing in, somehow pecking at all my shattered pieces. Edging closer, he lowers his head and presses his beak to my palm.
A sad smile touches my lip. I trace the smooth surface. It is like polished stone, but warm from his radiant body temperature.
Dropping my knees to the grass, I shuffle to better feel the contours and ridges, before exploring further. I slide my palm down his neck and stroke the feathers at his puffy crest, causing him to shudder.
He likes it.
He steps one talon closer so that I can explore the distinct tactile surface. Soft and airy, weightless, fragile, yet as a whole, can lift this great beast into the skies and carve a path through the Redwind.
More tears prickle my eyes. “How I wish to be an eagle today, handsome boy.” I shake my head as the memory of Ana’s broken gaze rattles it. “I cannot feel betrayed.” A sob punches from my chest. “None of us can. We knew. We were prepared. We were trained for this. Born for this.” I look at the skin graft on my wrist. “Born For Silk.”
But I wasn’t…
The thought is unwelcome.
I was Fur Born.
“Like you,” I whisper to the great deity as I smooth his feathers down his chest.
They are going to take my baby, too. Aren’t they?
Abruptly, lusty claims and reverent promises echo between my ears:
‘Let me make myself very clear to you, little creature. You are mine. And this”—his hand pressed over my womb— ‘child, is mine. Not The Trade's. Not The Cradle's. Mine!’
Was it a moment of weakness?
What did he actually mean?
Then, the day I sat on Master Cairo’s examination table slices through me like glass. I see myself—a silly, little Silk Girl begging for a lord and Meaningful Purpose. Sulking and jealous.
And then he tells me of my mother. She was in love and when her lord rejected her, she ran away. She had children in a Common Community. A baby she was able to keep—me.
But I am not my mother.
I couldn’t run from my Collective.
I would never be so selfish to leave Blossom, Daisy, and Ana—and… Him.
He needs someone to be tame with. He chose me. If I run from him… The wonderful, sweet parts inside him will be swallowed by the cruel beast they engineered to rule this chaotic world.
My Rome…
He is so much more than even he knows… And I love him. He is the man who pleasures me and holds me at night in thick arms of protection. Who smiles only for me, who loves and feels, who has humanity only for me…
My lower lip trembles.
I cannot escape my duties to The Crown and The Trade else rip my heart down the centre, leaving one scarlet half for Rome. No. I cannot do what my mother did.
And I cannot stay like this either.
Every detail in the puzzle eventually creates the same greater picture. No matter what, it ends the same way
With a billion broken heart cells.
Chapter Ten
Rome
“Odio!” I roar before pinching my thumb and forefinger together, whistling for him to show himself. To guide me to her as is his damn duty. But he does not.
I’ll kill him. I’ll rip his head off and hang it next to his ancestors for this. She is not his!
I stalk across the gardens.
Her useless Watcher and the Guards field out, searching.
Inhaling the thick air, laced with sadness, I catch a hint of her—vulnerability.
The possessive parts inside me sigh, my muscles rolling, satiated that she is nearby.
Good, I need to calm down.
I scare her.
My temper is a problem.
My chin is dragged to the right, as though her presence can grapple me, draw me to her without a single touch. Effortless. She summons me.
I freeze when I step between rose hedges to find her sitting on a sparse patch of grass, hidden low among crowding wiry limbs. Looking sad, she strokes Odio’s feathers gently.
Jealousy stirs inside me.
Fuck me, she’s pretty.
My muscles jerk to go to her, but I force my feet backward to watch as a tear squeezes from the inside of her eye, escapes into the valley beside her nose, and drips from her trembling upper lip.
Fuck me.
Hate that fucking tear.
“Little creature.”
She shoots into the air in search of the voice, her gaze landing on me from over the top of the hedges.
I step into view. My eyes carve a path from her to Odio, who rises to his full height—almost the same as hers—and puffs his chest in obstinance.
I scowl at him.
I’ll deal with you later.
“You ran,” I grit out. “You ran in your condition.” Growling, I warn her. “Fuck, the colour I want to turn your arse for that behaviour.”
She steps backward, shaking her head over and over. “You took her baby…” Her words tumble through sad lips like immature fruit from a rattling tree. “You—” She hiccups a sob.
I hate that sound.
“I did not take anything,” I correct and claim another step toward her, only to watch her recoil. “Stop that now!”
She stiffens and digs her heels into the dirt. Jutting out her chin, she glares at me, flames of burning hatred targeting my soul.
Not love.
Not love…
I clench my teeth on a growl.
Sighing angrily, I strain to manage the rage building through my veins against the heated lick of her gaze. I have to stay in control.
Don’t scare her…
“What would you have me do?” I pose and take another step toward her. “Give me your orders, sweet creature. How would you rule The Cradle? Have infants born to women who cannot care for them, have them starving or worse? Have a lack of infrastructure, minerals, and Marshals because men do not want to work in their Trade anymore, seeking something brighter. Women want to stay at home with their children, and now we have starving citizens, laziness, under-nourished children, and men with far too much time on their hands creating havoc, aimless, without Purpose.”
Her lashes beat as she thinks; the question throws her and confuses her.
I take another step. “The silk gir—”
“Ana!” she barks.
“Ana,” I comply, though I want that bark coming from her throat when I fuck her between these rose hedges. “Ana takes no ownership,” I continue, slowly edging closer to her. “The babe is the property of The Cradle. We do not operate in the best interest of the individual but of the Collective. Do you dispute that? Are we so unkind, little creature? So unfair.”