Page 66 of The Weaver

She accepted me.

Rekosh dug his legs into the ground and pressed his shoulder more firmly against the cool, rough stone. That natural barrier was the only thing keeping him in place. He was not so foolish as to think his willpower alone would’ve provided enough restraint.

His hearts pounded a frantic rhythm, restless energy buzzed through his limbs, and his stem ached against the inside of his slit. Everything within him yearned for the same thing.

Ahmya.

His little flower.

Go to her.

Claim her.

Growling, he squeezed his fists around his bag and spear, making cured hide and wood creak in his grip. He forced his gaze to sweep across the jungle before him.

She’d asked for a little time. He could grant her that much. After many eightdays of waiting, surely his patience could hold out a bit longer.

Rekosh nearly chittered. Patience had twisted into its own sort of torture lately, and his relationship with it had grown ever more tenuous.

A warm breeze flowed across his fine hairs, carrying the jungle’s cloying scents. But the only smell he noticed was a faint one, a mere echo, clinging to his hide—Ahmya’s fragrance. The Tangle remained calm and quiet, a mocking contrast to everything happening inside him.

The sounds of soft splashes drifted to him from the pool. She was there now, her skin bare and glistening in the sun-dappled clearing, finally free of those inferior, tattered silks. Preparing for him. In his mind, he could nearly see her running her hands over her body, scrubbing away grime and sweat, cleaning, caressing.

He slapped his free hands against the stone and curled his fingers, raking the rock with his claws. His stem pushed outward, parting his slit.

“No,” he rasped, drawing his claspers together to pinch his slit shut. He would not succumb to the mating frenzy before even seeing her in the dress. He would not go to Ahmya until she called.

Because this was much more than instinct, more than desire, more than fate. No matter what forces had drawn them together, their bond had become something even stronger and more meaningful—a choice.

A choice to fight through hardships and challenges. A choice to cling to one another in defiance of anyone and anything that stood against them. A choice to be interwoven.

They had chosen each other, and nothing would ruin their joining.

So he trembled against the stone, and he watched, and he listened. Each moment was harder to endure than the last, especially with those sounds from the pool, but he endured them all the same, and he suffered longer when those soundswent silent. What awaited him was worth every struggle he’d undertaken and many more beyond.

“Rekosh?”

Ahmya’s voice, sweet and alluring, rose over the jungle’s whispered song.

He drew in a deep breath. His chest swelled, brimming with a feeling so vast, so strong, that he did not know whether his body could contain it.

Rekosh pushed away from the rock and strode back into the clearing. Back to his mate.

When Ahmya came into view, Rekosh’s hearts stuttered, and he nearly stumbled. She stood before the pool with her hands clasped in front of her, and her long, black hair cascading freely over her shoulders. A single silkblossom was tucked above her ear.

And his creation adorned her lithe body.

The crystal accents sparkled in the daylight, and the white, translucent silk shimmered with subtle colors as it shifted with the breeze. He followed the sheer fabric downward with his gaze, delighting in the skin it scarcely concealed, to the shoes upon her feet.

She was beautiful.

Rekosh slowly moved toward her, dropping his bag and spear without conscious thought. He could not pry his gaze from her. Her legs shifted, and that subtle movement drew his attention to the crux of her thighs, to the dark hair that shielded her slit, clearly visible through the silk.

He’d tasted her there once, had dragged his tongue between her soft folds, where her delicious nectar had gathered like dew. And he thirsted for more.

I will drink from her again.

His spinnerets twitched, and that twitch grew into a shudder that coursed through him completely. Pride, need, anddesire crashed together within him, feeding into an instinctual urge to bind her, to restrain her, to claim her.

---