YiJun is heaven's most ruthless weapon, until the day he falls, and then he keeps falling.
How low can an Archangel fall, to protect that which is most precious to him?
Can he win the heart of the one for whom he chose to rebel or will the very thin...
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YiJun's POV
Xian's question is unexpected, to say the least. I didn't know why he had asked it, and couldn't fathom why he cared. It's my body, and what I do with it should be my concern, not his.
I understand that at some level deep down, Xian probably cares about me. It was very evident when he thought that I was forced to do what I was doing, just to protect him.
What surprises me though, is that me sleeping with these women seems to bother him more than it should. He seems to hate it, more than he should.
It feels like he doesn't want me to do that, not only for my sake, but for his too.
Why?
He suggests that we should go camping, and he has a point. Alone, in the wilderness, no one will witness my aura.
But what if it attracts vile creatures?
Would I be able to protect Xian then?
"I am ready." Xian's voice pulls me back to the here and now, and I give him a once over.
Dressed in a loose white T-Shit and baggy shorts he looks like a child once again.
Pure... Perfect... Mine.
My breath catches in my chest when he walks closer and a strong scent of vanilla engulfs me. I close my eyes and stop breathing.
I feel his warm hands on my face, "Jun, what's wrong?" He asks concerned, "Are you alright?" He adds.
Isn't that supposed to be my line?
Have the tables turned already?
I open my eyes and find him too close for comfort. He searches my face for answers that I can't give him; won't give him.
Not yet. Maybe never.
I step away, "What are you wearing?" I enquiry, and he pouts.
Don't do that, Xian!
"Why? Is my attire not appropriate?" He asks, smoothing down his shirt.
This close, I notice that his shirt leaves very little to the imagination. It's almost see-through. It's neither good for camping, nor my heart.
"Mn. Change." I urge, and he pouts again, "I think I look good in them." He argues instead of doing as he told and crosses his arms over his chest resolutely.
With the fragrance and the damned T-Shirt begging to be ripped, I give up, "Do as you please then." I turn away and add, "But don't come crying to me if you ruin it. Where we are going, you need solid fabric. Something that won't get ripped, would be a better choice."
Something which hides, that, which I covet, would be better, for the both of us.
"Fine!" He bites out, and I hear him stomp back to his room.
