Page 120 of The Weaver

Rekosh grasped the female’s wrist and pulled her claws free from his side with a grunt. When he released his hold, Ogahnkai’s arm fell away limply. He shoved himself up and stepped back from the body.

Ahmya got to her feet. Her legs were suddenly so weak and unsteady that she couldn’t be sure how long they’d support her weight. All the aches and pains the adrenaline had held at bay were starting to make themselves known.

But she forgot all that when he turned to face her. Her chest tightened as she beheld her mate. Blood oozed from countless cuts and puncture wounds on his black hide, which was already darkening further with bruises in several places.

“Oh, Rekosh,” she breathed as tears stung her eyes.

He closed the distance between them in an instant and wrapped all four arms around Ahmya, lifting her off her feet to clutch her against his chest. He rasped, “Kir’ani vi’keishi.”

She clung to him, to his warmth, to his solidness, and for a few moments nothing existed but him. Tears ran down her cheeks as she buried her face against his neck. His teak and amber scent flooded her senses, and she didn’t care that it was tainted by the tangs of blood and smoke. Because Rekosh was here, holding her. He was alive.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you…”

CHAPTER 30

Rekosh clutched Ahmya tighter.His hearts thundered, their beats echoing through his body all the way to the tips of his fingers and legs. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, the red haze lingered, flashing with each heartbeat.

His mate was warm, soft, andreal. And he’d never felt closer to her than at that moment.

Gradually, his hearts eased, the haze faded, and the bristling tension in his limbs dissipated. The urge to fight, to kill, to protect, subsided as well. She didn’t need a shield now; she needed her shelter.

It felt as though an eternity had passed since he’d last held his mate in his arms. There was no way their joyous, excited journey through the Tangle, finally bound for home, had occurred that very morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I have you now,vi’keishi. I have you,” he said hoarsely.

He gently combed his fingers through her tangled hair and breathed in her scent, seeking hints of her sweetness amidst the acrid odor of smoke. She chased away his pains, soothed his rage, balanced his spirit.

Faint tremors pulsed through him as the last of his fury-driven strength vanished. Gods, another moment longer and she might have?—

No. She was safe now. He would not follow the chaotic, maddening threads of what might have been. Ahmya was with him now.

But something more than Ahmya’s natural fragrance broke through the smoke stench—the cloying smell of her blood. He realized now that he felt it too, on her back, where her dress was wet and sticky.

Opening his eyes, Rekosh drew back from her, holding her up with his lower arms as he looked her over. His hearts shattered at what he saw. Dirt and black soot were smeared across her skin, and she was covered in scratches and cuts, many of which were crusted with blood. Between the dirt, ash, and blood, it was impossible to tell where she was bruised, but he knew that once she cleaned up, there’d be mottled patches of flesh all over her body.

Mandibles hanging limp, he emitted a low, mournful buzz and grasped the strap of her dress with his upper hand, lowering it to check her for any deeper wounds.

Ahmya flatted a palm over his hearts. “I’m okay, Rekosh.”

He met her gaze, which glittered with tears. His heartsthread pulled taut, making everything in his chest and throat suddenly, painfully tight. “There is much blood. Too much.”

“I’m okay. Just…hold me. Please.”

Reverently, he smoothed Ahmya’s hair back from her face, unable, unwilling, to look away from those deep, brown eyes. He could feel her trembling against him. Could feel her exhaustion. It was his own.

“Ah, mynyleea…” He drew her close and pressed his headcrest to her forehead. “I will hold you until the moons and stars fall dark.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she slipped her arms around his neck, embracing him tight.

“Wait.” Ahmya abruptly lifted her head, fear creeping into her voice. “There are more of them! We need to go, need to?—”

“Rekosh, Ahmya! Thank the Eight.”

Both Rekosh and his mate turned their heads toward that familiar voice.

Urkot approached from only a few segments away, mandibles raised in a smile, with Ketahn, Telok, and Garahk just behind him. All four wielded spears and were spattered with blood. At a glance, most of that blood didn’t seem to belong to any of them.

Ahmya tensed against Rekosh before sagging in his hold. With a relieved sigh, she said, “Oh, thank God.”

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