Page 43 of Storm

Remember?

Fight.

I have a way out, and I will not give it up.

CHAPTER 12

ONE HIDES AMONGST US

The next week passes in a haze of time spent with Melek and Sunny together. No strange sightings of green giants with pointed ears. I’m starting to wonder if I imagined the whole thing. What if this “Adam” was just a figment of my broken and warped mind, trying to make sense of the new reality I find myself in? However, there’s the hope in my silver locket, in Nix’s voice, churning at the back of my mind, telling me it’s real.

Late-night thoughts are hard to trust.

Never in a million years did the girl living in poverty on the factory farm expect to one day be married to the highest-ranking commander of the Halo Army. There’s no one above him when it comes to controlling the keepers.

From there, I know of seven male figureheads that make up the Airiel Council, including my husband, with only the purest of Halo solence. They all look the same—willowy, with beady eyes and dark features highlighted by pale skin. The foulness they produce makes me crawl out of my skin. Except for Melek. If he didn’t carry the last name Abaddon, I would think him other.

Lying on my back, surrounded by tufts of wild flowers, a string of grey misted clouds forms overhead into a stern-looking chiselled statue. Even when I have ten minutes to myself, he’s still on my mind.

In the wake of my latest condition—pregnancy—Melek has been spending more and more time at home. As I understand it, whenever I question my husband about his newfound homebody status, he says he’s delegating his work, relying more on Adam. It’s odd, having him so readily available. It’s not like he’s retiring. He will die on the council.

My husband looks nothing like his supposed age of forty-four. The man doesn’t look a day over thirty. Not a grey hair in sight, whereas mine is showing an odd white tendril here and there. Once again, his perfection is infuriating.

Whenever I mention this, his response is to think me funny and remark on his exceptional genetics. He gets better with age as I grow rounder, with stretch marks weaving their way across my skin and darkened hollows under my eyes from long nights without sleep, uncomfortable in my newfound body.

The sun’s rays try to peek around the clouds, but fog is not giving it a chance. I soak up the filtered brightness regardless. Sunny runs around, flying the paper creature he made earlier. The fresh smell of grass and the sound of rustling leaves swaying in the afternoon breeze lull my mind into a peaceful contentment, the baby in my growing stomach pushing a hand out as if she is reaching for something.

It’s as if I already know her. She talks to me in my sleep, reminding me of the person I used to be. A tree line taunting me from afar—one I was so adamant I could reach when I was younger. Once again, the fantasy is turning into an attainable ideal. I should be scared. The beginning of the Fairy Lands is further from Halo than the factory. Yet, there’s a part of me that has a newfound faith. A dangerous belief.

Faith. It’s what keeps me going. That the utopia Nix told me about has some elements of truth to it. Whispers of farmers disappearing beyond the tree line and never returning are because they found something better. It has to be. The hollows may call the fairy creatures savages, but that always contradicts the gentle people I’ve seen. Even in their own torture, they’ve been pacifists to our cruelty.

I choose to trust my eyes over the lies Halo feeds us.

An imposing silhouette blocks my light. “You should be wearing a jacket.” I was wearing one of my thermal long-sleeved dresses and… no shoes. Yes, it was cold, but I liked the prick of chill on my exposed skin. We only just got outside.

Like a lazy stray animal, I stretch my body out. “I like the cold.”

He swears under his breath. “Woman, you will catch frostbite.” Melek crouches down beside me, grasps my hands, and pulls my body up.

“You’re home early,” I remark, annoyed at his intrusion on the first slice of peaceful surrender I’ve had since he’s been all over my every movement in this house.

My husband drapes a thick woollen blanket over my shoulders, fussing over its placement. “We’re having a dinner guest. I wanted to make sure Mary was prepared, and that you two would be on your best behaviour.”

I place a hand on my heart. “Whatever do you mean? We’re always on our best behaviour.” Referring to the boy, oblivious to our conversation, running through bushes and jumping off rocks, trying to make his paper fly.

Looking up at the sky, Melek exclaims, “It’s like I have two children instead of one.”

Pushing up, I lean in close to my commander and casually remark, “That’s what happens when you force a nineteen-year-old to be your wife.”

Steam radiates from his nostrils. His eyes swirl. If I’d said that statement in the house, just the two of us, he would’ve shown me how he would deal with my backtalk. And I would welcome it. A glutton for his punishment.

As much as we’re getting along, I can’t help the words that spew forth when I am in the mood to fight. Just seeing Melek’s face makes me want to cry, punch, or fuck. Pregnancy makes me highly irrational in his presence. He deserves it.

Inhaling, Melek puffs his chest so his body is arching over mine, his jaw tight, his eyes fully dilated. His uniquely masculine aroma reaches out to me, and I take my fill. “I don’t remember you complaining when you were begging me to take your virginity. Hmmm, what did you say again?” Licking his lips, he reminisces on the turbulent forest fuck when I finally gave in to him, my husband.

I place my hands on my hips and squint.

“Argh. That’s right… Fuck me… please fuck me with your...”—his face is in mine now, huskily tormenting me with the ending—“cock.’”