Miles Taylor

Willing Prey is a Romance / Fantasy novel depicting the initial meeting and the complicated subsequent relationship of Gerald Aldrick and Robin Taylor.

A disillusioned ex-colonel meets a fierce foreign woman who makes his dead heart beat again. But she came with a mission — not love for love. Can he prove he’s worth betraying it?

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Robin sat alone in her personal room, facing the vanity mirror with a content smile on her face. Small glass bottles and narrow trays encircled its surface—powders, brushes, and pencils laid out, all at arms length.

She leaned closer to the mirror as she finished her eyeshadow, layering it carefully and blending the edges until no harsh line remained. A thin brush followed, drawing her pitch black eyeliner into a precise shape that framed her eyes until she was irresistible. She paused often, tilting her head, checking symmetry before allowing herself to move forward.

She went for a yellow color palette today, the same shade as the kimono she had chosen to wear. The fabric fell smoothly over her shoulders, loose at the back, its sleeves hanging off her forearms.

Around her waist, she had wrapped a peach-pink obi—she wanted to exude that kind of cheerful energy to anyone lucky enough to be graced by her presence today. Just above her left ear, she pinned a floral kanzashi of the same peach color, its petals a delicate pale.

But her hair took the most time off her routine. She brushed it thoroughly before gathering it up and twisting it into a tight, structured bun. Pins disappeared into the dark strands, hidden but securing it in place.

She smoothed the sides with her palms, then applied spray in the unruly areas, pressing stray hairs into place so they couldn't randomly escape and god forbid, make her look anything but immaculate.

Once finished, she checked herself in the mirror from every angle, adjusting a pin here, a fold there—until everything was perfect.

She looked perfect.

In New Baymort, especially, she truly stood out. The fashion here was unlike anything she had ever seen in Akashima.

It was hideous, really. At least in her humble but very correct opinion.

Thankfully, Trizstan found her a designer even in this backwards country who could cater to her fashion sense with the exact kind of fabrics Robin liked to wear.

The only downside? The stylist lived all the way in Solencia. Well, across the entire country. But that was to be expected. Most foreign goods came to New Baymort through Solencia's harbor anyways. If she wanted quality, she had to work with the best this nation had to offer.

As she rose from her chair, she hissed, reminded of the 'act' she performed yesterday. When she woke up, she felt a small discomfort in her lower back, but now it was more like she had been run over by a train.

Was she slouching by the mirror without realizing it? Was the chair just that uncomfortable? Or was it her age catching up to her?

God forbid, she was already twenty-six.  A well old hag by most standards.

She stretched her back from side to side, rubbing at the sore spot with her hand. Now, only one last decision stood between her and the rest of her day.

Sandals.

A peachy pair would have been perfect with her color palette, but the only ones she owned were on a high‑heeled platform. Her back was already creeping up into her neck just thinking about walking in those all day.

No. Just this once, she would choose comfort.

She slipped into her beige flat sandals instead. The color didn't quite work with the yellow tones, but maybe it wasn't that noticeable.

Wasn't it?

No—it was extremely noticeable. A glaring violation of her established aesthetic.

But rationally, she knew she would be dealing with children all day, with their messy antics... And with her back already sore before the day had even started, this could turn messy fast...

No. That didn't matter. Style over comfort. She slid into the pink heeled sandals after all, making a mental note to ask her designer for a flat peach pair to add to her upcoming summer collection.

Not like she was paying for any of it anyways.

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A disillusioned ex-colonel meets a fierce foreign woman who makes his dead heart beat again. But she came with a mission — not for love. Can he prove he’s worth betraying it?

Brown, deep, so deep, were her eyes, the color that reminded him of warm honey and freshly baked bread.

She was sweet too. Slick and captivating. He couldn’t escape her if he tried, nor would he ever attempt it.

Elegant. Her hips swayed with each step. Those thighs, so curvaceous, so hypnotizing.

The silky feel of her skin below his bare touch… Her beautiful face, the kind that would awe millions if depicted in a renaissance painting.

Pursed lips.

Those lips.

Lisbeth…

A crash, a thud, and then a smack.

Despite the vivid and warm cocoon of his dream, Gerald woke to the reality waiting for him upstairs.

He opened his eyes begrudgingly; the sun shone past the curtains into his personal quarters. His gaze fixed on the ashy ceiling above.

There was another crash, as if something just broke.

Someone should go check…

Oh, right. Gerald was the responsible adult here.

Gerald Aldrick, the veteran Colonel turned Spirit Academy homeroom teacher. Upstairs were almost certainly his students. They all lived together inside the Indigo House. Seventeen students and two homeroom teachers.

This was his job. This was what he signed up for.

What could they possibly be doing at this hour? Recreating the destruction of the Altan Citadel?

Slow and steady, careful not to make himself dizzy, he rose out of the bed, his feet landing softly on the smooth wooden flooring.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?”

Ah.

He was already too late.

Her voice alone was enough to make Gerald’s head throb.

“Bastion, pick that up NOW! And you, Nicolas, STOP laughing! Do I need to call Mr. Aldrick here to smack both of your bums until you’re purple?”

Despite the pointed threat from above, Gerald aimed straight for the restroom.

She could handle it. He’d just pretend he hadn’t heard a thing.

He tucked the line away for later as he started brushing his teeth.

Actually, wasn’t that the same excuse he used last time?

Would she notice?

Did he even care?

The scarf he had draped over the mirror had slipped loose along the left edge. He pulled it back into place, blocking the reflection.

After what felt like an adequate time, he put the toothbrush back in its place. He uncapped the bottle of mouthwash and tipped a decent amount into his mouth, letting it freshen his breath before he spat it out.

He plopped a reasonable amount of soap into his hands, rubbing them clean with a deliberate and practiced motion. Once they were scrubbed clean, he bent down, washing his face thoroughly. Freshened up, he dried his hands in the damp towel.

That one has been there for a while now, hasn’t it? He should have changed it by now. Decided, he pulled it off the hanger to throw it in the laundry bin.

As he tossed it away, a fleeting thought crossed his mind.

That was the last piece of fabric he would hold with his bare hands today.

He smiled despite himself. What has become of him?

Back in his personal quarters, he opened the heavy wardrobe. He had arranged everything with deliberate care: pants folded in the bottom section, belts coiled together, ties stacked in perfect rows. His shirts, suits, and jackets hung in strict order of wear, each one spaced evenly apart.

And yet, the first thing his hand reached for were the gloves. He slid them on slowly, feeling the leather mold to his skin. He pressed his fingers together, then worked his thumbs along his wrists, massaging the seams until the fit felt exact.

It wasn’t the best habit, he could admit that much.

And yet ever since he returned from Volnyr, he couldn’t find it in himself to touch most objects, let alone people with his bare hands.

His sins tainted those hands; he couldn’t risk spreading that onto anyone. Even through inanimate objects, it felt wrong. Like his vile past would curse his colleagues, or worse, his innocent students.

Like he would mark them, destined for a future of suffering.

That barrier of protection allowed him some semblance of peace.

Leon Akradites, Spirit Academy’s head medic, lectured him constantly about the risks—irritated skin from trapped moisture or bacteria, reduced touch sensitivity, compromised dexterity… He even tried to warn him about the emotional toll of avoiding touch.

Gerald would fire back in kind, hard enough that even Akradites’ sweet nurse eventually walked out. Not that it mattered; Akradites had a habit of turning up to work high and probably just zoned out his criticism.

Or he didn’t care.

Gerald didn’t know which was more impressive.

If Akradites could treat children with an impaired mind to cope with memories of amputating limbs in wartime, then Gerald could cover his hands to avoid thinking about the atrocities he committed in that same war.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He was fully dressed by now, but didn’t bother checking himself in the mirror. If his shirt was wrinkled, or his tie uneven, his partner would be quick to remind him.

What was that hag yelling about earlier?

And just like that, he opened the door to their shared teachers’ quarters.

Of course, she was standing there, prepared for him like a battle-hardened soldier.

“Well, about TIME, youngster! What do you think you were doing inside of your room for so long? Did you not hear me screaming MURDER at Bastion and Nicolas just now?”

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SUMMARY

He was a veteran, she was a foreigner.

He loved her, she could read his mind. He wore gloves to protect others from his sins.

She wore kimonos to reclaim her identity. Colonel Gerald Aldrick survived the war, but he didn't come back the same man.

Now, a teacher at the academy where he was once alive and full of dreams, he moved through each day like a ghost of the past.

Until Robin Taylor stormed into his office.

Fierce, beautiful, and convinced he was an abusive teacher, the caretaker tore into him with a passion that made his long-dead heart race for the first time in years. She called him useless. A doormat. A terrible liar. She threatened his job and walked away without a second glance.

Gerald should have been offended. Instead, he was captivated.

But this was not a story of fate.

Robin saw nothing but a sad excuse of a man. A violent soldier pathetically entranced by her looks. Like everyone else.

Robin knew exactly what this man wanted, no stranger to that 'line of work'. She had every intention of using his legendary colonel status for the ambitions and prominence of Trizstan's Spiriter Home.

But was that all she truly wanted?

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