Page 43 of The Weaver

The sky had darkened when he finally spotted a place to rest. His legs nearly gave out in relief. The rocky overhang wasn’t ideal, but it would at least provide shelter from the wind and rain.

Rekosh hunched down under the stone ceiling. Cutting away the silk tether, he set Ahmya on her feet in the shelter, keeping his hands upon her until she gained her balance.

He could not help but find himself again bewildered by the human form. That they stood and walked on two legs remained so strange to him. So unlikely. Yet despite their seeming limitations, they were surprisingly agile. And in Ahmya’s case, quite…graceful.

Ahmya took a wobbly step back.

Well, not gracefulnow…but neither was Rekosh currently.

She wrapped her arms around herself and looked around. Even in this gloom, her skin was far too pale, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. Her lips retained a blue tint that he did not like.

“At least it’s dry, right?” she asked with a small smile. When she turned her face back to Rekosh, her smile disappeared, and her eyes widened. “Oh Rekosh...”

Brow creasing, Ahmya closed the distance between them and brushed her fingers beneath the bite wounds on his arm. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Gently, Rekosh covered her cheek with his hand and wiped away an escaped tear with his thumb. “No crying. We must keep it dry in here, Ahmya.”

She shook her head. “Even now you’re trying to make me feel better when you’re so wounded. Look at all of them. There are just so…so many.”

“You will not like if I look more like Telok?”

“I don’t care what you look like, Rekosh, only that you arehurt.”

“Ah,vi’keishi.” He bent lower, resting his headcrest against her forehead, and closed his eyes. The pain receded. There was only her, her scent and warmth, her concern for him. In vrix, he said, “I would gladly suffer eightfold the wounds to shield you from the slightest harm.”

Ahmya cradled his jaw with her hand just beneath his mandibles and pressed her head more firmly against his. She sniffled. “I didn’t entirely understand what you said, but…but I like it when you call mevi’keishi.”

He trilled and rubbed his uninjured foreleg against her calf, just above her boot. Her skin was soft and smooth, but it still bore a chill, and her trembling had not yet subsided. The slight rasp in her breathing offered him no ease.

She pulled away from him far too soon, and her watery eyes met his. “We should get your wounds taken care of. I lost my bag in the river. Do you have anything in yours? Or…” Her lips curled into a smile. “We could use your butt silk?”

Rekosh huffed. “Whybutt silk? It is just silk.”

Ahmya chuckled, but it swiftly turned into a cough that she stifled with her arm.

Rekosh’s mandibles fell. Not all wounds were apparent onthe surface, and she was clearly still suffering the effects of nearly drowning. “You must rest, Ahmya.”

“I’ll be okay,” she said once the coughing subsided. “I’m okay. But you’re still bleeding. Let me help you for once.”

“For once? You always help, Ahmya.” Rekosh lifted off his bag, then his sash, both of which were still dripping, and set them against the wall. The gift had been wrapped in both cloth and leather; it would be fine.

It had to be fine.

Mindful of his injured leg, he lowered himself to the floor of their shelter. With the immediate danger past, his wounds screamed, each one declaring itself the direst. Yet the most persistent pain, the deepest, was the throbbing ache in his left foreleg, which had taken on a sharpness that made it impossible to ignore.

He reached back to gather sticky silk from his spinnerets, letting out a low hiss at the discomfort caused by his movements.

Ahmya withdrew the metal knife from his sash, grasped the hem of her skirt, and cut the fabric, tearing two strips from it. Rekosh delighted in the damage done to silk spun by another vrix, but that pleasure died when he realized she had nothing else to wear.

Not that the short skirt would’ve kept her very warm, especially with it being soaked through.

Setting the knife on a large, flat rock, she stepped between his legs and leaned close, using the wet cloth to wipe away the blood from the puncture wounds on his arm. Her ministrations were tender, careful, as though she feared hurting him further. Warmth bloomed in Rekosh’s chest.

His mate was tending to him.

It mattered not that he hadn’t declared himself, that he hadn’t yet claimed her. She was simply his.

Ahmya held her hand out to him, palm up.

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