Page 53 of The Weaver

“No!” he snarled, shaking his head.

Though he’d never experienced it, he knew what this was. The mating frenzy. His instincts were trying to seize control, threatening to drive him to a bestial claiming of his mate. Rekosh finally understood.

But he would not let the frenzy overcome him. He would not relinquish control, not if it meant endangering his little flower.

Bad enough that she’d been twice injured under his protection. To even think that he might harm her himself?—

No. He could not do so. Would not.

His stem pulsated as though in disagreement. Rekosh curled his fingers around his shaft and squeezed, hissing through his fangs. That grip exacerbated the ache in his core. He shut his eyes, bowed his head, and breathed. The rain fell in an erratic rhythm all around, contrasting the steady but blistering pace of his hearts.

No female had ever affected him this way. The scents of female vrix could be maddening when they were swept up in lust, and Rekosh had felt the stirrings those pheromones had caused, but he’d never been swayed by them. He’d never been tempted to succumb.

One inhalation of Ahmya’s fragrance had nearly plunged him into a mating frenzy. One taste of her nectar and he’d nearly lost himself. Had she not shoved away from him, he undoubtedly would have.

Rekosh filled his lungs with jungle air. Rain and damp ground overpowered most other smells, but he still scented her on his hide, still tasted her.

And damn his tongue, but he yearned for more.

A growl rumbled in his chest as another shudder coursedthrough him. Her slit had been so hot, so wet, so…delicious. That one taste hadn’t been enough. It wouldneverbe enough.

Rekosh shook himself again, shedding water from his hide, and took another breath, then another, and another.

“I must be her shield,” he said. “Her protector. Her guide. Her safety comes before all else.”

Though he knew those words were right, they were not easily enacted. He wanted her with every thread of his being. Yet in this jungle, which already overflowed with danger, his want was another threat to her. A serious threat.

Finally, his stem eased. Slowly, it receded, pulsing with each heartbeat until it had retreated fully into his slit. He did not withdraw his hands immediately, keeping them in place as the ache blossomed, its petals forcing open a gaping hollow in his chest shaped just like his little flower.

Only Ahmya could fill that chasm.

She leapt away from me…

Yet Ahmya had not initially pulled away; she’d held him closer. Her fingers had been tangled in his hair, her voice had been breathy, and her scent had been laden with desire of her own. It had enveloped him, had seduced him, more potent than the pheromones any female vrix could have produced.

She’d wanted him.

Tentatively, he lifted his lower hands. His claspers drew snugly on either side of his slit, forcing it closed. His stem did not stir.

He clenched his fists as a ragged, relieved breath escaped him. He needed to focus. Needed to be not the axe hacking through the undergrowth in broad swaths, but the spear, pointed and direct. Not the hammer, but the needle. Precise, controlled, exact.

She was his. That would not change. She was his purpose, his meaning, his heartsthread. And standing out here alone was of no service to her.

Rekosh opened his eyes.

The rain persisted, leaving the air cool and misty, and the Tangle seemed peaceful. He knew that serenity was but a mask, a thin veil obscuring the danger and chaos beneath, but that did not stop him from appreciating the relative quiet.

Turning around, he set off toward the shelter. He swayed with each stride, his gait still disrupted by his injured foreleg. The bone was not broken; he knew that much, though he could not guess the depth of the damage otherwise. A healer like Diego would have the right words to describe the injury.

As long as he kept weight off the limb, it pained him far less than the many wounds he’d suffered from the kuzahks. His healing hide was tight and itchy, and it burned whenever stretched by his movements.

Pain is not new.

No, it was not. He’d endured no small amount of it as a broodling, and much more during Zurvashi’s war. But Ahmya… Ahmya was his joy. No pain inflicted upon him would ever change that.

He spied her through a gap in the greenery before she noticed him, and he couldn’t help but study her. She sat upon the soft vegetation on the shelter’s floor, still bare skinned, looking so small and slight. Yet he did not miss the way her eyes roved, sweeping back and forth across her surroundings. Nor did he miss the knife she held flat across her slender legs.

His mate was competent and capable, much more so than she believed.

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