Epilogue
Rekosh loved when Ahmya was awake. He loved seeing her smile, seeing her deep brown eyes light up when she laughed, loved when she looked at him with desirous heat in her gaze. He loved the way she touched him, the way she kissed him, the sound of her voice as she spoke to him.
But he couldn’t deny that he loved these quiet moments with her too, while she slept.
She lay atop him now, arms snug around his torso and cheek resting upon his chest. Her slow, soft breaths fanned across his hide, and her bare skin was delightfully warm. Even in the dull gray light of the approaching dawn, she was radiant.
Rekosh canted his head and ran his eyes over his mate. He loved seeing her features this relaxed and serene. He loved how her expression would subtly change as she dreamed, and the little moans she sometimes let out that made his stem ache. Loved how she reached for him when he wasn’t lying with her and how she clung to him when he was.
He loved her.
Every such moment, every such expression, every emotion—it was all dear to him, all precious .
And it was only made more so by the path that had led them here. All the trials they’d overcome, the dangers they’d survived, all the days he’d spent longing for her, awaiting the right time; it all combined to make everything they shared now all the more meaningful. No one, whether vrix or human, could say Rekosh and Ahmya hadn’t earned this happiness together.
Still, he knew their happiness and safety were not certainties, and had vowed to himself to never cease working, to never cease fighting, for them. For Ahmya.
Though the last thing he wanted to do was be apart from his mate, he’d gone out twice in the last moon cycle, along with Telok, Urkot, and groups of thornskull warriors, to seek signs of Zurvashi’s followers in the surrounding jungle. They’d found nothing, but they would remain vigilant. He wouldn’t allow his mate and the place they called home to be attacked.
Rekosh would face any danger to shield Ahmya from harm.
He found himself resisting the growing urge to trace her delicate features with the pad of a finger, to shift his arms, which enwrapped her securely, so he could caress her body with all four hands.
But he could not yet bring himself to wake her, not while she slept so soundly in his arms.
He barely held back a chitter. He’d crafted a luxurious nest of fluffed silk, the softest possible, to cradle her, just as she’d asked of him. Yet he could not recall a full night thus far during which she hadn’t slept atop him.
That filled him with pride and warmth. Rekosh didn’t merely tend to his mate’s comfort, he was her comfort.
With no small amount of difficulty, he shifted his gaze away from her and forced it around their den. He’d studied this place more times than he could count, had arranged most of its contents with his own hands, yet his awe never diminished when he beheld it .
This was their den. Their home. A place only for Rekosh and Ahmya.
As he’d guessed, Nalaki had offered them a larger den, one that was nearer to Ketahn and Ivy’s. This was easily thrice the size of his former dwelling, offering abundant space for a mated pair…with extra to spare.
Rekosh’s loom and tools had their place along one wall, and Ahmya’s collection of tools and supplies were stored opposite them. The area between was all comfort and color—brightly dyed silks on the walls, dangling from the ceiling, adorning surfaces, and arranged in piles to create sitting places, and flowers, both fresh and dried, filling the air with vibrancy and fragrance from their places on little shelves and dangling from the ceiling. Ahmya’s wooden planters hung in the windows, brimming with plants and more flowers.
His gaze settled on the tall structure against the wall near their nest. A wardrobe. Despite his assumption given the name, it was not a box for holding weapons, but rather for clothing. Cole had built it for Ahmya as what the humans called a housewarming gift.
Rekosh knew Cole had no intention of trying to steal Ahmya, that his mate and the male human were friends, but his instincts often stirred when Cole was near her. For Ahmya’s sake, he stifled those instincts.
And, though he admitted it only to himself—and only begrudgingly—Cole had proven to be both talented in woodcraft and thoughtful in the gifts he made for his friends. This wardrobe had carvings that were surprisingly intricate despite being a bit crude, and its doors opened and closed smoothly thanks to what Cole called hinges . It also happened to hold the clothing Rekosh had made for his mate perfectly, letting the silks hang so they didn’t wrinkle by being folded.
But Cole wasn’t the only one who’d crafted a human object for Ahmya. During one of their long conversations, she’d told Rekosh about a swing her father’s sire had made for her. A simple thing—just a flat wood plank and some rope, suspended from a tall tree. But that simple thing had brought Ahmya boundless joy.
So Rekosh had made a swing for her, right outside their den. The sturdiest braided silk rope and a wood plank that Cole had only helped to shape. Rekosh had also made another addition, just for Ahmya—a silk cushion for her comfort.
Her delight upon seeing the gift had warmed his hearts. He loved watching her swing upon it. Loved how brightly she smiled, the way her hair flowed in the air, the way her eyes sparkled. He loved how free she looked, how uninhibited.
When she was swinging, with her feet dangling beneath her and her skirt fluttering behind her, she looked like she was flying.
This was where he spent most of his time, where he wanted to be. Talking with her, basking in the sunlight streaming through the windows with her, sharing meals with her. Telling her stories and listening to hers. Accompanying her as she tended her plants and the garden she had established outside. Weaving new clothing for her and teaching her how to weave.
Sharing his life with her in every way possible.
When he had first left Takarahl all those years ago to fight in Zurvashi’s war, Rekosh had learned very quickly, very harshly, that the world was much larger than the city where he’d hatched. He’d learned that there was so much more to life than weaving.
Some part of him had yearned for adventure, for exploration. The war had shown him the brutality that often came with it. He’d gone home afterward feeling…lost. Out of place. Like there was nowhere he truly belonged, nowhere truly for him. He and his friends had proven themselves in battle time and again, but what had that won them? They’d all carried deep scars, both seen and unseen. They’d all returned weighed do wn by pain. Even the thing he’d loved most, weaving, had become habit, nothing more than the way he’d passed the time.
And then one day, Ketahn had asked Rekosh, Urkot, and Telok to help him with something of which he could not speak. Rekosh would have done anything his friend asked, but he could not deny that the intrigue and mystery had thrilled him.
He never could’ve guessed what Ketahn would show them. Meeting Ivy had made Rekosh question everything he’d thought he’d known, but when he’d first laid eyes upon Ahmya…
Everything had changed.
Rekosh’s mandibles rose as he hooked strands of her hair with a claw and gently brushed them out of her face.
Ahmya had reignited a spark inside him that he’d believed forever extinguished. She had inspired him, driven him, long before he’d confessed any feelings to her. Long before he even understood what he’d been feeling.
As different as she was, he’d seen only beauty in her from the start. Where others might’ve seen a slight, frail creature, he had seen strength and grace, had seen perceptive intelligence. He’d seen a kindred spirit.
Though he hadn’t realized it at the time, he’d seen his mate.
Now, finally, he was where he belonged. He was home. With his mate, his love, his everything. He had found his purpose. Had found himself. He did not envy Telok and Ketahn for the freedom they enjoyed by delving into the Tangle as hunters, because he was no longer trapped.
He was Rekosh. A hunter and warrior when necessary, a weaver at heart…and more than that, mate to the most wondrous female. Husband to the most beautiful wife.
Unable to hold himself back any longer, Rekosh dipped his head and pressed his mouth to her forehead, lightly scraping it back and forth .
Ahmya stirred with a soft, throaty hum that sent a pulse of lust to his stem. “Is it morning?”
“Nearly, kir’ani vi’keishi .” He combed his claws through her hair until they reached her back, where he grazed them across her skin, following the gentle, graceful slope of her spine. She shivered. When he reached the small of her back, he teasingly ran them lower, and lower, and lower. He paused, stroking a claw back and forth along the top of her ass.
Ahmya’s breath hitched, and her body tensed. She raised her head, and her eyes, dark pools reflecting the red glow of his eyes in the early morning gloom, met his. “Why are you awake so early?”
“I wanted to watch the morning sun fall across your skin and set you aglow,” he said, smoothing his lower hands up the backs of her thighs to settle upon her ass. He squeezed the soft flesh, massaging it.
“Oh…”
Though Rekosh could not see her blush, he felt it in the warming of her skin against his hide. He trailed his claws back up along her spine. A shiver coursed through her, and he felt her skin prickle into tiny bumps. He loved how responsive her body was to his touch. He deepened the massage, spreading her ass wide and grinding her sex against his slit.
“Rekosh,” Ahmya moaned, curling her fingers against his chest. The bite of her blunt nails on his hide sent another surge to his stem, and anticipation buzzed through him in its wake.
“Ah, my wife… I cannot resist when you say my name like that.” He tangled the fingers of an upper hand in her hair and tipped her head back, exposing her throat. She gasped, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue slipped out to lavish that supple flesh. Her salty-sweet taste danced on his tongue, rousing a deep, demanding hunger in him.
Ahmya’s nipples hardened against his chest, and her breath quickened. When Rekosh inhaled, he drew in all the now familiar scents of their den—but her fragrance was foremost, and it already bore more than a hint of her arousal.
“Speak my name again, my nyleea ,” he growled against her neck, again grinding her slick pussy over his parting slit.
“Rekosh…” she rasped, body trembling.
“Yes.” He flicked his tongue over her chin, then stroked it along her soft lips. Untangling his fingers from her hair, he moved his hand down to cradle her small breast in his palm, brushing his thumb over the taut nipple before pinching it and eliciting a sharp gasp from her. “Tell your luveen how much you need him.”
“I need you. I need you so much.” Arching into his touch, she tightened her thighs around his sides and undulated her hips, dragging a deep groan from his throat. Her lashes fluttered open, and she met his gaze. “I need you inside me.”
By the Eight, he needed the same thing. His throbbing stem was trapped behind his slit, its ache permeating him to his core, strengthening with every beat of his hearts. It needed to be released; he needed release.
Fire roared through his veins, its heat intensified by Ahmya’s scent enveloping him, suffusing him, filling his mind with a lustful haze.
Ahmya rocked, gliding her sex back and forth, spreading her nectar over him as soft moans spilled past her lips. “Please,” she begged. “I need to feel your cock inside me, my luveen .”
With a growl, he shifted his hands from her ass to her hips, grasped them firmly, and lifted her. His stem erupted from his slit with a suddenness and power that sent a shudder through him. Its head pressed to her slick slit.
Slowly, Rekosh drew his mate down atop him, pushing his cock into her.
Ahmya bit her bottom lip with a moan as he stretched her, and though her eyelids lowered, she didn’t close her eyes, didn’t look away from him. Little by little, he eased deeper. Though he’d been inside his mate countless times, her pussy was still tight around his girth, gripping him in its delicious heat.
And nothing felt as good as this. Nothing came close.
Nothing ever would.
She panted, clawing at his chest, and he felt every quiver of her body as she bore down upon him, taking him deeper, and deeper, and deeper. “Rekosh…”
Hearing his name spoken in so desperate a plea snapped his remaining restraint. Snarling her name, he lifted her off him again and slammed her back down, burying himself in her as deep as he could, lodging his bulges inside her. Ahmya fell upon him with a gasp.
The breath fled his lungs. Her heat surrounded him, clutched at him, devoured him, and he hung suspended in bliss.
At that moment, he existed only in that connection between their bodies. In the raw sensation, the blinding pleasure, the pounding of their hearts, the interwoven threads of their souls.
When the moment passed, he found himself looking up at her face. He brushed her hair away from her cheek, banded his arms around her, and drew her down to press his mouth against hers. She returned the kiss, her soft lips moving over the hardness of his mouth. Their tongues sought each other, stroking, caressing, and entwining. And he savored her sweetness.
When he broke the kiss, he touched his headcrest to her forehead, his breaths ragged. “My heartsthread, my love… You are my home. Our hearts will forever beat as one, and our souls will forever remain tethered.”
“I love you,” Ahmya whispered, her fingers stroking the sides of his face as she began rolling her hips. “I love you so much. ”
Pleasure thrummed through him, sharpening with each glide of her wet slit. Pressure built in his stem, and the haze in his mind thickened, but he resisted the frenzy. He would savor this moment with her for as long as he could.