Page 90 of The Weaver

Soothing warmth coursed along his heartsthread. He caught her jaw in his hand before she could pull away and turned his face toward her. “All you need, all you want. Everything. I will give it to you, Ahmya. You are all I need.”

“I’m yours, Rekosh.” She trailed her fingers up along his forearm until she clasped his wrist, then slowly guided his hand down her throat to her chest, flattening his palm over her heart. “Until my heart stops beating.”

A growl tore from his chest. Setting his work aside, he banded an arm around Ahmya and tugged her against his body, pressing his headcrest to her forehead as his claspers encircled her legs. “You will remain mine even after we draw our last breaths,kir’ani vi’keishi.”

Cupping a hand behind her head, he roughly brushed his mouth over her soft lips, determined to mark her in every way.

Rekosh had nearly lost Ahmya more than once. The Eight seemed intent on proving she was not meant for this world. But she was. She was his, and he refused to contemplate a life without her, especially now that he’d finally claimed her. He would do anything necessary to keep her by his side—even if it meant defying the gods.

He pulled back to look at his beautiful mate. Ahmya’s eyes blinked open as though she were emerging from a slight daze. Her lips were red from the harsh kiss, and her eyes were dark abysses in the shadows cast by the fire behind her. He’d gladly lose himself in them forever.

Ahmya’s fragrance filled his lungs, clung to his fine hairs, permeated him wholly. And his body reacted to its sweetness, to her warmth, to her feel. His aching cock pressed against his slit, which he could feel parting.

Clenching his teeth, Rekosh withdrew from her. The space he put between them felt impossibly vast and cold.

Nothing had changed. She still needed time.

His claspers drew tight against his slit, and he barely held in a growl at the ache in his stem.

“Allow me to finish this,” he said, willing his hearts to ease and his body to settle, “so we can rest.”

Ahmya chuckled. “Okay.”

As he plucked up the partially braided cord, she stepped away. He wanted nothing more than to drag her back against him, lift her dress, and plunge his cock deep inside her hot, wet pussy, to feel her body wrap around him. Instead, he focused on the feel of the silk and the movements of his fingers as they worked, expressing his true desire only through a low, ragged growl.

But no matter how much he tried to concentrate on his task, he was aware of Ahmya’s gentle, curious hum, the sound of her boots on the ground as she moved farther away, the whisper of silk against her skin, and the rustling of shifting vegetation.

She drew in a sudden, sharp breath.

The hairs on his legs stood on end and the cord fell from his hands as he rose and spun toward her, seeking the threat.

But there was none. There was only Ahmya, standing next to the stone wall and holding a curtain of vines and moss aloft.

She beckoned him with a hand, eyes alight with excitement. “Rekosh, come look!”

Hearts pounding powerfully enough to rival thunder, he huffed. The strength that had instantly flooded his muscles at what he’d mistaken for a sound of distress made his legs unsteady as he strode to join his mate. Before he’d even crossed half the short distance, his curiosity had moved to the forefront, and anticipation skittered through his chest.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I thought I saw something here. At first, I figured the firelight was playing tricks, but then I saw this.” Keeping the vinesraised, she shifted aside to allow him to view the wall. “They look like symbols.”

Rekosh leaned closer to the wall and brushed his fingers across the surface. He could just feel the tiny grooves in the stone, very shallow but too regular and tightly clustered to have been natural.

“It is writing,” he said distractedly as he moved his face even closer to the markings. Though time had worn the symbols down to mere memories of themselves, the shadows cast by the firelight sharpened them enough for Rekosh to recognize the web-like forms and patterns. “Vrix writing.”

Backing up, he grasped the vegetation and gently tore the vines and moss away, exposing a wider patch of the stone.

No, not stone,stones.

With the plants cleared, the individual stones that comprised the wall were far more apparent, though the space between them had filled with dirt, debris, and moss.

“This wall was made by vrix long, long ago,” he said.

“We didn’t even notice until now.” She pressed her hand to the wall. “I guess the jungle took this place back.”

Ahmya glanced over her shoulder, looking in the direction of the spring. “When we first climbed up here, the rock formation reminded me of steps…but maybe itwassteps.”

He twisted to follow her gaze. The fire’s glow reduced everything outside their shelter to utter darkness, even for his eyes. But as he thought about it now, he realized that there’d been something very deliberate about the area, about the lay of the various stones and rock formations.

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