Page 15 of The Pixies' Chosen

“The males in a hive make everything for their nest and their queen. Raw fibers and material from the forest and our own silk is all that we truly need to make our life comfortable. Even our nests we painstakingly build over time, weaving our silk with straw and wood, and moistening it to make an enduring barrier against the elements and the dangers of the forest.”

“And so what are you making now?” I murmur, although I’m barely able to form an intelligible sentence with the way I’m trembling with arousal from being this close to him.

I hear him draw in a deep breath through his nose, and my thighs pinch together with a silent prayer that pixies are not a species withthatkeen a sense of smell. I would be mortified if he knew how much I wanted to crawl onto his lap and have him draw my legs around his waist to fuck me against the woven edge of whatever he was busily making.

“A bed,” Havoc interrupts crossly, and I am so startled to hear his voice that I nearly fall into Tryst’s lap altogether. Steadying myself on his chest, I peer over at my other would-be mate curiously.

“A bed?” I peer at the long, braided edges as well as the thick mats that they labored over first. “I don’t see it.”

“That is because it has not been assembled yet,” Havoc returns scornfully as if I’m the biggest idiot in the room for not knowing.

Heat rises into my cheeks as I practically strangle on my embarrassment. Actually, I would like to strangle him because at that moment his black eyes rise to my face and a cold smile stretches his lips.

He’s laughing at me. What a prick.

“Havoc,” Tryst growls, and there is a sharp note of reprimand in his voice that has the other male shrugging his wings in nonchalance as his face resumes a mask of cold indifference. Tryst chimes softly with his anger, but I smooth a hand down his arm to calm him. His head turns to me and his gaze softens with a broad hint of misery that tugs at my heart. “I apologize, Ammayi. Havoc is just?—”

“An asshole,” I interrupt with an affirmative nod. Leaning into him, I turn a speculative look on the male in question who is once again staring at me but this time with a faint expression of surprise.

Ha. Two can play this game.

“It’s pretty obvious,” I continue. “Thankfully, this whole fucked up shitshow gave me you.”

I hug his arm to me, delighting in the way his face lights up even as Havoc’s expression darkens with jealousy. There is pain just beneath it that makes me pause, but I brush any sense of mercy aside. Everything he’s doing, he’s doing to himself. This whole instant mate thing is a wild and uncertain ride, and it terrifies me, but I refuse to give up what could be an amazing love—even if it is just with Tryst.

I remain contentedly leaning against him as he works with Havoc to piece together the bed. It becomes more obvious as it gradually gains shape. Shaped somewhat like a basket or nest, it looks incredibly cozy, especially after Havoc shreds my favorite blanket to fill it with bedding. I can’t cry too much over the ruined blanket when the bed made for me looks so inviting. I stare at it, suddenly nervous and very aware of the male beside me. This is the bed I’m supposed to share with them, and that realization is playing hell with my nerves as well as sparking a hunger that sends a rush of heat up from my core.

I feel Tryst’s wing brush my back briefly with a soft flutter before he turns and suddenly hugs me to him. His antennaebrushing over my hair should feel weird, but the touch is butterfly soft and I relax further into him, my body fitting against him naturally as if designed to do it. I don’t give it much thought because it feels too perfect, and I don’t want to move except that there is a tingle of awareness growing within my belly. It should be a warning that I take seriously, but it’s hard to focus on it when his body seems to warm further as he glows prettily, his chitin chiming with a whisper-soft song that calls to something innate within me. But oh, he smells good. I nuzzle my cheek against his chitin, drawing in more of his scent while a deep groan vibrates from within his chest.

“Ammayi,” he rasps. His breath shudders through him and escapes in a ragged pant. “Your scent…” His words fall off, but I understand what he means because his scent is driving me crazy as well.

It is Havoc’s moan, however, that sends a sharp spike through me as the rich scent of buttered rum and coffee rises and mingles with Tryst’s nutmeg and oak. Their combined musk fills me as I breathe deeply, dragging into me. I hear Havoc shift, his chitin chiming softly, and nearly reach for him when suddenly he leaps to his feet with an angry buzz of his wings. His chitin rattles abrasively and then he’s gone, shooting up into the air and across the room—making for our little hole in the wall door.

Gone. He left me. It is a sobering thought, one that makes me want to cry even as Tryst draws me into his lap.

“He is a fool, Ammayi,” Tryst whispers into my ear, “But I am here. I will never leave you.”

His aroma thickens further, dragging me deeper once more into it. I miss the notes of rum and coffee that fade with Havoc’s absence, but this is good too. I know Tryst is offering himself to me in this moment, and there’s a strong likelihood that if I accept it’s something I could never take back—we will be trulybound then as mates. It would be foolish to just rush in but then again—why not? I may not be in love with him yet, but it is certain to happen. Why not fully embrace what heaven has granted me?

“I want you, Ammayi,” he moans. “I want you more than I have ever wanted another. I know you do not understand pixie devotion and the way we mate bond, but I swear to you that everything I feel for you is real. I want you to be mine, and through my long life that will never change.”

My heart jumps and melts at his words. He is offering me all the love I have ever wanted. All I have to do is say yes and enjoy what is likely to be fantastic sex if my reaction to the glide of his fingers running over my skin tells me anything.

Yes, why not?

“Promise?” I whisper as I wrap my arm around his neck.

Sinking my fingers into his hair at the back of his head, I drag him down so that his body bends over me as our lips meet in a kiss that sends an explosion racing like fireworks set off within me.

“Always,” he murmurs against my lips, and I’m definitely going to hold him to it.

CHAPTER 13

TRYST

Ammayi tastes so sweet, her flavor flowing into my mouth even as her pheromones fill my nose, the potent combination sending fire singing through my veins. Havoc is a fool to give this up, but I will not suffer for the consequences of his mistakes. The first taste of our queen will be mine alone, and I shall drink deeply of her pleasure until her pheromones cling to me so thoroughly that there will be no separating us again after this night.

My wings flutter with excitement as my antennae brush over her hair and my hands stroke over her upper arms and down her back. She is so incredibly soft. I always knew queens were soft, but Ammayi is lusher than any female I have ever seen before, and I revel in the sensation of her flesh beneath my hands. If only she didn’t have her human clothes between us. I admit that I dislike it. The texture of the material is coarse with an unnatural feel to the fiber that makes me frown. It is hardly worthy of being draped over my mate’s tender skin, and I resolveto begin spinning silks for her in the morning. I will spin for her for days or weeks if needed and find the freshest ingredients to dye them beautifully for her. My female is worth every effort.

---