Page 52 of The Weaver

Would you have let him continue?

The answer came without hesitation.Yes.

She would have. If Rekosh had pursued her, had pulled her to him once again and told her to spread her legs, she would have done so willingly. Wantonly.

Heat washed over her. Ahmya forced herself to turn away and glanced around their suddenly very lonely shelter. Her clothing lay draped over rocks, torn, bloodstained strips of her skirt lay on the ground, the bluevine fruit sat forgotten in a pile, and Rekosh’s sash and bag rested against the far wall.

Ahmya stared at that bag.

A guilty pang struck her gut at having lost her own bag to the river, though she knew keeping it on would’ve made it impossible to keep her head above water.

She couldn’t stand here and do nothing, couldn’t just sit and wait, wondering where Rekosh had gone.

Wondering why he had gone…

And once again, he’d left without his bag, without the supplies that could mean the difference between life and death out here in the jungle. Her only consolation in that regard was that he’d said he would remain close by.

Make yourself useful.

Walking to the bag, she crouched and reached for the string, untying the knot before throwing back the flap and tugging it open. Everything was wet. Had they only been contending with rain, the yatin hide bag would’ve kept its contents dry. Butbeing fully submerged in a raging river had ensured nothing was spared.

She removed the items from inside and laid them out to dry. A couple of blankets, a waterskin, a hatchet with an obsidian head, several small bundles wrapped in waxy leaves, various scraps of silk and leather, several wooden spools of tightly wound thread, and a small jar of what Ahmya assumed was the oil the vrix used on their hides. Despite the trials they’d faced, much of it had been packed surprisingly neatly.

There were a few tools, mostly made of bone, that she’d seen him use to make ropes and nets and to punch holes in cloth or leather, along with several needles in a small case. Though all of it had taken on that damp, musty smell of being left wet for just a little too long, Rekosh’s scent remained present—a hint of spice and allure.

Ahmya lifted one of the little cloths to her face and inhaled. It was likely silk he’d produced himself, woven by his hands, and it bore his unmistakable fragrance. A fragrance that had come to mean so much to her. That comforted her, soothed her, excited her.

At the very bottom of the bag, beneath everything else, was a leather bundle. She couldn’t tell what was inside, but it was wrapped so tightly and securely that she doubted any moisture had worked its way in.

He’d been holding something in his hands when he’d visited her the other day, bundled in cloth rather than leather but of similar size and shape. Could this be whatever he’d meant to give her?

As curious as she was, she wouldn’t violate his privacy by opening the bundle. Its contents seemed to be protected from the water, and that was all that mattered right now.

Ahmya spread his bag out and stood, once more scanning the jungle.

There was still no sign of Rekosh.

Grabbing one of his knives, she found a spot where the ground was cushioned by vegetation and sat, drawing her legs close to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

He’s close. He won’t leave me here alone.

She rested her chin upon her knees and stared into the jungle.

There was nothing to do but wait.

CHAPTER 12

The fireat Rekosh’s core only intensified with each step away from Ahmya, with each cold drop of rain splashing upon his hide, with each thump of his hearts. He could not escape that heat, and it would not diminish.

His stem throbbed, trapped beneath the palm he’d clasped over it. The ache behind his parted slit was a deep-seated torment that made his mind hazy with need.

Growling, he staggered to a halt and pressed harder on his stem. A shudder swept through him, forcing his fine hairs up, and water sprayed as he let out a harsh exhalation. Every pain he’d collected yesterday was more pronounced now, but none of it could overcome the heat.

He’d never felt anything like this. He’d never been so consumed by desire, so driven by lust. And he’d never had his stem suddenly…forceits way out.

Every instinct demanded he go back to Ahmya. Go back and claim her the only way that mattered—by binding her and thrusting into her wet, warm slit, by leaving his marks upon her, outside and in. His limbs thrummed and his hide itched with want to return.

The red haze at the edges of his vision spread, and his hearts quickened.

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