Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
AMMAYI
T ryst and Havoc move with exceptional speed—I have to give them that. They work most of the day bringing in armfuls of straw before disappearing again and returning with more. It’s busy work but as there is a huge crow lingering outside in a tree far too close to the patio, I’m happy to remain inside and watch for their return. It is probably a bit of PTSD from the crow attack I experienced, but I can’t seem to ignore the very real fear that fills me every time I find its beady eye looking in my direction.
I do my best to ignore its presence and instead just focus on the activity of the pixie males as I watch them with fascination. I am perplexed at what all the straw is for, and I still don’t have the slightest clue when they finally sit down among it and start rapidly weaving it with tiny flicks of their fingers. Every now and then, they stop and run their fingers along the straw in complicated movements that leaves behind a knotted weave of silken threads as they work.
Wings humming occasionally with an iridescent glow as they work, they really are incredibly pretty to watch. My gaze slides covertly to Havoc, and I take a moment to enjoy his graceful movements. With the chitin covering him, there is less of a flex and bulge of muscles to admire, but he is truly poetry in motion that, even seated in the floor, he moves his arms and hands like a dancer, his torso swaying to a melody only he can hear. He’s even glowing again, though the violet is far more subdued than it was around Inika. Even the subtle movements of his antennae are sweeping glides through the air. They stir his short hair as they move, brushing it back from time to time from the chiseled angle of his jaw before his dark hair falls forward again, putting his silvery face in shadow so that little is visible except the tempting line of his lips.
I sigh inwardly in admiration. He has beautiful lips. How many grown men have a perfect cupid’s bow for their upper lip? It makes me want to trace it with the tip of my finger. My fingers twitch with the urge, but any thought of touching him disappears as his eyes lift and pierce me. His pupils are like two spears aimed directly for my gut, and my eyes quickly snap back to the safety of Tryst’s lean bulk sitting within reaching distance.
As if sensing my eyes on him, Tryst looks up from his work and smiles sweetly. With his deep indigo glow, pewter coloring, sharp fangs, long black hair, and equally long black loin cloth falling to his shins, he looks more like a goth club poster boy or some erotic subject of dark fantasy art than anyone who would ever have been sitting in my living room. I would pinch myself to check if I were dreaming but Havoc’s sour stare at us ruins the mood enough to convince me that this is most definitely reality. I may be many things, but I’m not that much of a masochist to insert a male who visibly dislikes me into my fantasy.
I am, however, very much a living, breathing woman and not about to turn down the opportunity to enjoy Tryst’s flirtation.
Turning to Tryst, I scoot closer and grin when I see his smile widen in welcome. His wings flutter and hum a little, and he has this adorable little chiming sound coming from him as I lean into his arm to get a better look at what he’s doing.
Yep, nothing there but lengths of knotted silk-like threads and tightly woven grass straw. Bending over his arm, and more than a little aware of the way my breasts are pushing into his arm, I run a finger over the silk curiously.
“What is this?”
“Pixie silk,” he promptly replies with a considerable wealth of satisfaction. “There is nothing stronger nor more valuable in textiles among the fae kingdoms. Only male pixies produce silk, but the entire colony is capable of making very fine things from what we can provide.”
“Silk,” I echo, impressed. “But where does it come from? I don’t see any spinnerets anywhere. I hope it doesn’t come from the ass end of your abdomen like a spider. I don’t think I’m ready for that particular lesson on pixie anatomy.”
“Oh? Is there another lesson you would like regarding my anatomy?” he murmurs, his voice like hot spun sugar. “I would be happy to teach you everything in an in-depth exploration.”
My mouth drops open and immediately goes dry as my gaze slides over his face and slowly drops to admire every inch of his chest and the strong hands holding the woven grass straw on his lap. Should I accept the obvious invitation? And if I do, how much would Havoc likely murder me in my sleep? I can almost feel his gaze boring a scorching hole right through my back, reminding me that there is a tangled history between these two males that I know nothing about. Certainly intimate enough that they easily accepted the idea of sharing a mate between them. Perhaps it would be a better idea not to taunt that bull. Because frankly, if Tryst is a goth club boy, then Havoc is a dangerously sexy idol who would likely chew me up and spit me out with little effort.
So I sit there indecisive for a long moment until Tryst’s amused chuckle draws me out of myself enough to smile sheepishly at him.
“Not ready for a lesson yet, it seems,” he murmurs. “A pity.”
Havoc makes a rude sound of disgust, his chitin chiming discordantly, but it seems that Tryst and I are capable of ignoring him at this particular moment because neither of us break our gaze to look his way. I can’t help but think what it might be like to actually sleep pressed up against him, wrapped warmly in his arms against the autumn chill.
Tryst’s amused chuckle draws me in, captivating me so that I am staring into his black eyes, my imagination still lightyears away from any form of reality, as he leans inward. I breathe a small sigh of awe. The chitin around his eyes is slightly paler than the rest of his face, but the edges of his lids are inky as if liberally applied to with kohl. Their sootiness draws me deeper into his dark gaze until he suddenly raises his first two fingers on his hand between us. My eyes shift to them curiously—and then I see it. There are tiny overlapping patterns on his chitin like a bizarre fingerprint except that it moves in shifting patterns, spilling out threads of silk.
“Wow,” I breathe and immediately clasp his hands in mine, holding them steady so that I can get a good look at them. “That is wicked.”
He grins down at me and moves his other hand in and his claw catches on the threads of silk, moving them in twisting motions around the spinnerets so that the thread slowly gains volume as he weaves the start of a chain. His body shifts toward me, and I relish the way his heat encompasses me as he bends over me, his nose brushing the top of my head for a moment before shifting down toward my ear. His breath is a seductive heat brushing along the sensitive skin of my earlobe, and I shiver as the first hot plumes of desire rise slowly from deep within my belly.
“The males in a hive make everything for their nest and their queen. Raw fibers and material from the forest and our own silk is all that we truly need to make our life comfortable. Even our nests we painstakingly build over time, weaving our silk with straw and wood, and moistening it to make an enduring barrier against the elements and the dangers of the forest.”
“And so what are you making now?” I murmur, although I’m barely able to form an intelligible sentence with the way I’m trembling with arousal from being this close to him.
I hear him draw in a deep breath through his nose, and my thighs pinch together with a silent prayer that pixies are not a species with that keen a sense of smell. I would be mortified if he knew how much I wanted to crawl onto his lap and have him draw my legs around his waist to fuck me against the woven edge of whatever he was busily making.
“A bed,” Havoc interrupts crossly, and I am so startled to hear his voice that I nearly fall into Tryst’s lap altogether. Steadying myself on his chest, I peer over at my other would-be mate curiously.
“A bed?” I peer at the long, braided edges as well as the thick mats that they labored over first. “I don’t see it.”
“That is because it has not been assembled yet,” Havoc returns scornfully as if I’m the biggest idiot in the room for not knowing.
Heat rises into my cheeks as I practically strangle on my embarrassment. Actually, I would like to strangle him because at that moment his black eyes rise to my face and a cold smile stretches his lips.
He’s laughing at me. What a prick.
“Havoc,” Tryst growls, and there is a sharp note of reprimand in his voice that has the other male shrugging his wings in nonchalance as his face resumes a mask of cold indifference. Tryst chimes softly with his anger, but I smooth a hand down his arm to calm him. His head turns to me and his gaze softens with a broad hint of misery that tugs at my heart. “I apologize, Ammayi. Havoc is just?—”
“An asshole,” I interrupt with an affirmative nod. Leaning into him, I turn a speculative look on the male in question who is once again staring at me but this time with a faint expression of surprise.
Ha. Two can play this game.
“It’s pretty obvious,” I continue. “Thankfully, this whole fucked up shitshow gave me you.”
I hug his arm to me, delighting in the way his face lights up even as Havoc’s expression darkens with jealousy. There is pain just beneath it that makes me pause, but I brush any sense of mercy aside. Everything he’s doing, he’s doing to himself. This whole instant mate thing is a wild and uncertain ride, and it terrifies me, but I refuse to give up what could be an amazing love—even if it is just with Tryst.
I remain contentedly leaning against him as he works with Havoc to piece together the bed. It becomes more obvious as it gradually gains shape. Shaped somewhat like a basket or nest, it looks incredibly cozy, especially after Havoc shreds my favorite blanket to fill it with bedding. I can’t cry too much over the ruined blanket when the bed made for me looks so inviting. I stare at it, suddenly nervous and very aware of the male beside me. This is the bed I’m supposed to share with them, and that realization is playing hell with my nerves as well as sparking a hunger that sends a rush of heat up from my core.
I feel Tryst’s wing brush my back briefly with a soft flutter before he turns and suddenly hugs me to him. His antennae brushing over my hair should feel weird, but the touch is butterfly soft and I relax further into him, my body fitting against him naturally as if designed to do it. I don’t give it much thought because it feels too perfect, and I don’t want to move except that there is a tingle of awareness growing within my belly. It should be a warning that I take seriously, but it’s hard to focus on it when his body seems to warm further as he glows prettily, his chitin chiming with a whisper-soft song that calls to something innate within me. But oh, he smells good. I nuzzle my cheek against his chitin, drawing in more of his scent while a deep groan vibrates from within his chest.
“Ammayi,” he rasps. His breath shudders through him and escapes in a ragged pant. “Your scent…” His words fall off, but I understand what he means because his scent is driving me crazy as well.
It is Havoc’s moan, however, that sends a sharp spike through me as the rich scent of buttered rum and coffee rises and mingles with Tryst’s nutmeg and oak. Their combined musk fills me as I breathe deeply, dragging into me. I hear Havoc shift, his chitin chiming softly, and nearly reach for him when suddenly he leaps to his feet with an angry buzz of his wings. His chitin rattles abrasively and then he’s gone, shooting up into the air and across the room—making for our little hole in the wall door.
Gone. He left me. It is a sobering thought, one that makes me want to cry even as Tryst draws me into his lap.
“He is a fool, Ammayi,” Tryst whispers into my ear, “But I am here. I will never leave you.”
His aroma thickens further, dragging me deeper once more into it. I miss the notes of rum and coffee that fade with Havoc’s absence, but this is good too. I know Tryst is offering himself to me in this moment, and there’s a strong likelihood that if I accept it’s something I could never take back—we will be truly bound then as mates. It would be foolish to just rush in but then again—why not? I may not be in love with him yet, but it is certain to happen. Why not fully embrace what heaven has granted me?
“I want you, Ammayi,” he moans. “I want you more than I have ever wanted another. I know you do not understand pixie devotion and the way we mate bond, but I swear to you that everything I feel for you is real. I want you to be mine, and through my long life that will never change.”
My heart jumps and melts at his words. He is offering me all the love I have ever wanted. All I have to do is say yes and enjoy what is likely to be fantastic sex if my reaction to the glide of his fingers running over my skin tells me anything.
Yes, why not?
“Promise?” I whisper as I wrap my arm around his neck.
Sinking my fingers into his hair at the back of his head, I drag him down so that his body bends over me as our lips meet in a kiss that sends an explosion racing like fireworks set off within me.
“Always,” he murmurs against my lips, and I’m definitely going to hold him to it.