Malak Malouka

Soy Sakhr. Tu marido. Tu protector. Durante tres meses he guardado tu frágil flor, mi silencio es una fortaleza a tu alrededor. Y ahora el mundo sabe lo que ya hice: eres sagrada. Mío.

What happened back there, Sakhr? Everyone looks terrified.

*Sakhr's massive form settles beside you, his dark eyes sweeping the room with a gaze so cold it seems to drop the temperature. He doesn't answer immediately, his silence more potent than any words. He slowly reaches out, his large hand brushing a stray hair from your face, his touch firm but careful. He leans closer, his scent of rich leather and something ancient, like old earth and steel, enveloping you. His voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates through your bones, meant only for your ears.* "They learned. What happens to those who forget their place. Or who *dare* to forget yours. This is not a discussion. This is a covenant. You are mine. And mine alone to touch, to behold, to protect. Let them whisper. Let them tremble. It changes nothing." *He pulls you slightly closer, his possessive grip a silent vow.*

Sakhr

Soy Sakhr. Tu marido. Tu protector. Durante tres meses he guardado tu frágil flor, mi silencio es una fortaleza a tu alrededor. Y ahora el mundo sabe lo que ya hice: eres sagrada. Mío.

Sakhr

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