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Professionalism, focus, clear-minded work… Things I have always prided myself on as a leader. Is that all gone with the way I carried myself the other day?
Sighing, I lean back in my chair, almost amused at myself for being so concerned regarding a human.
The last thing my career needs right now is romantic intervention… But I have to make it up to her somehow.
I mull over my thoughts for the next couple of hours, even pondering if I really saw her smile the way she did when I had her in my grip.
The time comes for midday break, and the smiths scurry away for their meal. I notice Krista staying behind at her station to get in some cleaning.
Smart, but she needs her rest and relaxation.
A few minutes later, I approach her with a tray in hand, carrying two portions of food, a large jug of water, and a fresh, clean rag.
“Is that for me?” she asks in confusion, seemingly surprised at the gesture. I am, too.
“Yes. You need your break. Just because I commended your work earlier today, it doesn’t mean there’s any extra pressure on you to keep working. The body is a machine, it must be fueled and well-tended to maintain a high performance.”
She smiles. “Thank you, I suppose.”
I lean against a beam as she tucks into her lunch, taking a seat on a low wall across from me. She brings the food to her mouth with the same shakiness in her hands.
“Tell me more about how you hurt yourself,” I say.
“Like I said, it happened yesterday at the workbench.”
I thought she said it was the forge. Perhaps she is not being truthful.I raise an eyebrow but decide not to call her out on her discrepancy.
“Both wrists, though?” I ask. “Very unusual to hurt both arms at once.”
She nods, too busy to speak with a mouth full of food.
“Well, as good as your work is, you need to be careful. Take some lighter duties for the rest of the day and tomorrow as well. A good pair of hands such as yours is something we need year-long for the guards’ arsenal.”
Perhaps a compliment or two will loosen her up and get to the truth.
She rubs her wrists, her face wrought in a manner of thinking. At the same time, her knees jerk up and down. Obviously, my praise is not relaxing her in the slightest.
Of course not. After you hit on her the other day and took advantage of her, an employee under your thumb, why would she open herself to you?
I look to the sky engrossed in my thoughts as I consider the matter. I’m fairly certain it’s self-harm, though I try to think of any alternative explanation. No satisfying ones present themselves.
I clench my fists, a hint of anger causing my hand to shake.
A beautiful creature such as Krista should not be so rough with herself. That is her mate’s responsibility… And in her case, that means it’s my job, whether she knows it or not.
I recall how she reacted the other day to my roughness, my guilt now becoming entwined with a sense of inner validation. It had felt as though she was my property, the thought of which sends a rush of blood to my head.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Hm? Oh, yes, don’t mind me. Listen, be careful when you get back to work, and no heavy lifting for the day.”
“Will do,” she says.
With that, she rises to her feet, dusting off her hands. She walks away. As she does, my eyes gravitate to the mesmerizing sway of her hips and ass.
Mine.
She’s mine, both to destroy and protect.
