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It was disturbing.
Normalcy fit against his skin as if hiding what he really was inside. Had I not known him, I would’ve never thought, There goes a man who has ordered the execution of my classmates.
Handsome and approachable, how could that male be the same who offered to give me a human head on a plate?
His sweater was soft, formfitting, thin enough that musculature was on display. Other females would see just how strong he was, how well-formed he might be. The gray slacks were nothing abnormal, but no jacket covered his hips.
Those glutes I liked to grip when he was working deep inside me? They were available for others’ eyes.
Jealousy. I understood the feeling, but I could not fathom where it was coming from. Never before had I looked at Cyderial and felt I owned him. Until now.
Uncomfortable with my unconscious reaction, I ignored it as best as I could.
Chalked it up to hormones and an uninvited mating bond—not at all an acceptable behavior to encourage. However, more than once as I watched him dress, I almost asked why he could not wear his uniform.
And I thought he suspected my discomfort.
“Is there something you want to say?” Nonchalant, the question seemed innocent but was anything but.
Yes. I wanted to say I could control my baser urges and not fall into whatever irrationality this was. “I hardly recognize you.” I could even give him a compliment; that was acceptable. “You look… different.”
His chest rattled in response, and I swear his eyes glittered behind his blond hair as he looked at me. “It isn’t so easy, is it?”
So, he did know. He knew exactly how I felt. I could be honest if there was no point in pretending. “It’s very strange to feel this way.”
“I have been told it fades after fifty years or so, or at least becomes more bearable. I can confirm that, in ten years, I have not once been able to share you easily. I love seeing you beautifully dressed. I love that you trust me enough to take you out with your womb full. But I also hate the idea that anyone other than I may look at your beauty. It’s mine.”
That was what the obnoxious voice in my head kept saying. He’s mine.
And I would never have chosen him, had he not stolen me.
My dress was red but not garish. Long, full sleeves of a floaty material. The neckline cut in a V-shape, yet my breasts were not exposed. The idea was instead to draw the eye to my swollen middle. This garment had been made specifically to showcase the distended belly of a plugged female.
Or a pregnant one.
The remaining, flowing fabric fell to my sandaled feet.
“I have a gift for you.”
Gift? The only gifts I’d ever received were sweets from my mother.
Partly suspicious but far more intrigued, I stopped playing with my skirt and gave him my attention. In his hands was an unassuming rectangular box.
But when his fingers lifted the lid, I found myself more than just intrigued.
I was enthralled.
It was the same sort of pink crystal I had stolen from him all those years ago, set in gold and glittering from a fine chain.
Something beautiful of this world that could only be found in the fog.
My snatching fingers had it before he might set it free, where I dangled it before my eyes, transfixed.
Jewelry. Jewelry was something very special I had seen in the magazines. Sparkly details on the most beautiful pictures.
“Can I help you put it on?”
I was going to get to wear that beautiful necklace. Me!
