Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I almost raise a hand in the air like an unschooled, eager boy, and then catch myself. This isn’t about love or affection, and I don’t want to send the wrong message. If she thinks I’m excited to see her, it might hurt her feelings later when she realizes all I wanted was the barest amount of company. I cross my arms over my chest. The others will clear out, and then I’ll be the only one left. I don’t move forward, mostly because I want to see her reaction.
She sees the small cluster of people amongst the mechs and begins to walk toward them, her steps small and her gait strange, as if she’s choosing to walk in far too precise of a manner. It seems odd, but her clothing is also an odd choice. It’s a hot day, and the season won’t get cool for a few months yet. But perhaps she came from a cold place and didn’t change? Or perhaps she just likes covering up?
I don’t know, and I guess it’s not my business to care. I didn’t ask for a photo, after all. I try to get a good look at her face, but it’s hidden by the hood. All I can see is a bit of blue chin. As she moves forward, though, she looks over at me. I expect to feel something at the sight of her but…it’s odd. I don’t feel much at all. She’s very bland, and I can’t pick out a single discerning feature. I would have liked her to have a big nose or strange teeth or heavy brows. Something to give her a bit of uniqueness. But she’s just…there. Her gaze meets mine and there’s something odd about it, though I don’t know what.
“Emvor?” she asks, stepping toward me. Doesn’t lower her hood, doesn’t smile. Just meets me with that curiously dead expression. “I’m Shiarii, your bride.”
And I guess I’ve got myself a mate.
She doesn’t talk much. Shiarii says nothing as we get in the air-sled and speed toward my farm. We pass by Sanjurel’s sled, because I’m unlucky. The other male cranes his neck, trying to get a good look at my passenger, but she’s not putting her hood down. I know he’s expecting to meet her at the gathering, but I have no plans on going.
Unless she wants to. I guess.
I haven’t really thought much about what she might or might not want. Thought I’d have more time to think the whole ‘bride’ thing through, but I guess not. I glance over at her, but she’s still quiet, her gaze on the fields as they glide past. Her not being much of a talker is fine, but there’s something about her silence that unnerves me. I look over as I drive through the valleys and over the dusty trails of Cassa’s rolling landscape and notice that her gloved hands are trembling. Something seems odd about her hands, too. They’re very small.
She notices my attention and tucks them tight under her satchel, and then I feel guilty for thinking she’s odd.
She’s just nervous. Maybe she doesn’t like what she sees when she looks at me. I said I was ex-military, though. Can’t imagine she expected me to be pretty. Most that survived the war didn’t come back whole.
We make it back to my house in silence. I study it, trying to see it through her eyes. Most farmers have the same sort of set-up, a geo-pod home that insulates well against both heat and cold and can withstand strong breezes, earthquakes, or anything else that the world might throw at us. “What do you think?” I ask, breaking my own silence.
She doesn’t look over at me, her gaze fixed on my house. “It looks like an egg,” she says after a moment, and her voice is smooth and sweet and the nicest thing about her, I decide. There’s a hint of an accent I can’t place, but the rest of it sounds good.
Real good. I can feel my cock stiffening in my trou at the thought of the marriage bed. Her contract with me did say that children were an option.
Maybe I can get her to talk while I’m inside her. My skin prickles with pleasure at the thought. Can’t get over how much I like that. I steel myself away from such thoughts and offer her a hand to get down from the air-sled.
“I’ve got it,” she tells me, and avoids my touch. She takes a moment and then steps down, landing heavily in a swirl of thick skirts, and straightens her hood before she stands upright.
I glance up at the sun, beating down overhead. I’m used to the weather here, but it’s hot and a little muggy due to the mechanized misting sprays that keeps the soil near the farm moist. “You should probably change,” I tell her. Kef, I’m just yapping all over the place, aren’t I?