Page 127 of The Weaver

That filled him with pride and warmth. Rekosh didn’t merely tend to his mate’s comfort, hewasher comfort.

With no small amount of difficulty, he shifted his gaze away from her and forced it around their den. He’d studied this place more times than he could count, had arranged most of its contents with his own hands, yet his awe never diminished when he beheld it.

This wastheirden.Theirhome. A place only for Rekosh and Ahmya.

As he’d guessed, Nalaki had offered them a larger den, one that was nearer to Ketahn and Ivy’s. This was easily thrice the size of his former dwelling, offering abundant space for a mated pair…with extra to spare.

Rekosh’s loom and tools had their place along one wall, and Ahmya’s collection of tools and supplies were stored opposite them. The area between was all comfort and color—brightly dyed silks on the walls, dangling from the ceiling, adorning surfaces, and arranged in piles to create sitting places, and flowers, both fresh and dried, filling the air with vibrancy and fragrance from their places on little shelves and dangling from the ceiling. Ahmya’s wooden planters hung in the windows, brimming with plants and more flowers.

His gaze settled on the tall structure against the wall near their nest. A wardrobe. Despite his assumption given the name, it was not a box for holding weapons, but rather for clothing. Cole had built it for Ahmya as what the humans called ahousewarminggift.

Rekosh knew Cole had no intention of trying to steal Ahmya, that his mate and the male human were friends, but his instincts often stirred when Cole was near her. For Ahmya’s sake, he stifled those instincts.

And, though he admitted it only to himself—and only begrudgingly—Cole had proven to be both talented in woodcraft and thoughtful in the gifts he made for his friends. This wardrobe had carvings that were surprisingly intricate despite being a bit crude, and its doors opened and closed smoothly thanks to what Cole calledhinges. It also happened to hold the clothing Rekosh had made for his mate perfectly, letting the silks hang so they didn’t wrinkle by being folded.

But Cole wasn’t the only one who’d crafted a human object for Ahmya. During one of their long conversations, she’d toldRekosh about a swing her father’s sire had made for her. A simple thing—just a flat wood plank and some rope, suspended from a tall tree. But that simple thing had brought Ahmya boundless joy.

So Rekosh had made a swing for her, right outside their den. The sturdiest braided silk rope and a wood plank that Cole had onlyhelpedto shape. Rekosh had also made another addition, just for Ahmya—a silk cushion for her comfort.

Her delight upon seeing the gift had warmed his hearts. He loved watching her swing upon it. Loved how brightly she smiled, the way her hair flowed in the air, the way her eyes sparkled. He loved how free she looked, how uninhibited.

When she was swinging, with her feet dangling beneath her and her skirt fluttering behind her, she looked like she was flying.

This was where he spent most of his time, where he wanted to be. Talking with her, basking in the sunlight streaming through the windows with her, sharing meals with her. Telling her stories and listening to hers. Accompanying her as she tended her plants and the garden she had established outside. Weaving new clothing for her and teaching her how to weave.

Sharing his life with her in every way possible.

When he had first left Takarahl all those years ago to fight in Zurvashi’s war, Rekosh had learned very quickly, very harshly, that the world was much larger than the city where he’d hatched. He’d learned that there was so much more to life than weaving.

Some part of him had yearned for adventure, for exploration. The war had shown him the brutality that often came with it. He’d gone home afterward feeling…lost. Out of place. Like there was nowhere he truly belonged, nowhere truly for him. He and his friends had proven themselves in battle time and again, but what had that won them? They’d all carried deep scars, both seen and unseen. They’d all returned weighed down by pain. Even the thing he’d loved most, weaving, had become habit, nothing more than the way he’d passed the time.

And then one day, Ketahn had asked Rekosh, Urkot, and Telok to help him with something of which he could not speak. Rekosh would have done anything his friend asked, but he could not deny that the intrigue and mystery had thrilled him.

He never could’ve guessed what Ketahn would show them. Meeting Ivy had made Rekosh question everything he’d thought he’d known, but when he’d first laid eyes upon Ahmya…

Everythinghad changed.

Rekosh’s mandibles rose as he hooked strands of her hair with a claw and gently brushed them out of her face.

Ahmya had reignited a spark inside him that he’d believed forever extinguished. She had inspired him, driven him, long before he’d confessed any feelings to her. Long before he even understood what he’d been feeling.

As different as she was, he’d seen only beauty in her from the start. Where others might’ve seen a slight, frail creature, he had seen strength and grace, had seen perceptive intelligence. He’d seen a kindred spirit.

Though he hadn’t realized it at the time, he’d seen his mate.

Now, finally, he was where he belonged. He was home. With his mate, his love, his everything. He had found his purpose. Had found himself. He did not envy Telok and Ketahn for the freedom they enjoyed by delving into the Tangle as hunters, because he was no longer trapped.

He was Rekosh. A hunter and warrior when necessary, a weaver at heart…and more than that, mate to the most wondrous female. Husband to the most beautiful wife.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Rekosh dipped his head and pressed his mouth to her forehead, lightly scraping it back and forth.

Ahmya stirred with a soft, throaty hum that sent a pulse of lust to his stem. “Is it morning?”

“Nearly,kir’ani vi’keishi.” He combed his claws through her hair until they reached her back, where he grazed them across her skin, following the gentle, graceful slope of her spine. She shivered. When he reached the small of her back, he teasingly ran them lower, and lower, and lower. He paused, stroking a claw back and forth along the top of her ass.

Ahmya’s breath hitched, and her body tensed. She raised her head, and her eyes, dark pools reflecting the red glow of his eyes in the early morning gloom, met his. “Why are you awake so early?”

“I wanted to watch the morning sun fall across your skin and set you aglow,” he said, smoothing his lower hands up the backs of her thighs to settle upon her ass. He squeezed the soft flesh, massaging it.

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