Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
She accepted my gift.
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 sounds went 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, and desire crashed together within him, feeding into an instinctual urge to bind her, to restrain her, to claim her.
Mine.
His stem strained against his slit, but he tightened his claspers, refusing to relinquish control. Pain radiated through his core. He would not harm her. He would never harm her. If he fell prey to the mating frenzy…
He met her gaze as he neared her. “ Kir’ani vi’keishi …”
Ahmya’s brown eyes held him captive. They had since the moment he’d first looked into them, when they’d been shy, uncertain, and a little fearful. A hint of that shyness remained, but it was accompanied by something brighter—a yearning that matched his own.
Rekosh stopped before Ahmya. She tipped her head back, and her eyes flicked between his. Hands fidgeting, she caught her bottom lip with her teeth, nibbling on it. He longed for it to be his fang nipping that lip, leaving his mark there for all to see.
He’d craved this female for so, so long, and now, she would finally be his.
Yet he was determined to savor this.
“You wear the finest silk ever woven.” Raising a hand, he brushed the back of a finger up along the strap of her dress, following it to her slender neck. “Made to echo but a single thread of your beauty.”
He caught her chin and carefully used his thumb claw to free her lip from her teeth. Fire blazed deep within him as he smoothed his thumb along that tender, yielding flesh. “And all I want is to tear it from your body.”
Ahmya’s eyes flared as she drew in a sharp breath. Catching his wrist with one hand, she flattened the other on his chest. “I-I don’t want your gift ruined.”
Rekosh eased closer, caging her hips between his lower hands, and dropped his head. He pressed his mouth to the place where her neck and shoulder met and inhaled. Her fragrance, so natural and sweet, so wholly her, was accented by a hint of cleanleaf. But there was more.
Her arousal. It was subtle and light, tantalizing and tormenting, and it flooded his senses. He craved more.
“You are my gift, Ahmya.” He slowly ran his tongue over her skin as he gathered the fabric of her dress at her hips, drawing up the skirt. His claspers eased at that taste of her, and his slit parted against the pressure of his stem.
Ahmya shivered, her breath quickening. She curled her fingers against his chest, scratching his hide with her blunt claws, and tightened her grip on his wrist. “Rekosh…” She tipped her forehead against the side of his face. “Wait.”
He growled and drew in another breath. His muscles tensed as his desire to prolong this moment battled his instinct to rut her now . Though the haze was encroaching on the edges of his mind, part of him still knew the dress was important to her. It was also important to him. He could not damage it any more than he could bring himself to harm Ahmya.
“I have waited long,” he rasped against her soft flesh. “But I will wait longer if it is your command, kir’ani vi’keishi .”
“There’s…something I want to share with you.” She skimmed her lips along his jaw to his mandible before whispering, “Please.”
Rekosh shivered. That teasing brush of her lips nearly unraveled him. Somehow, he gathered the frayed strands of his control, wound them tight around himself, and raised his head. He ignored the trail of warmth left behind by her mouth as he lifted his mandibles in a smile. “Anything.”
Ahmya smiled wide, flashing her little white teeth, and took a step back, forcing him to relinquish his hold as she withdrew her hands. Rekosh dug the tips of his legs into the ground to resist the urge to follow, to capture her in his embrace. He pressed his claws into his palms. The pain sharpened his focus.
“What is it you would share?” Rekosh asked .
She grasped a thick lock of her hair and ran her fingers through it, turning one of her knees inward in a way that shielded her hair-covered slit. “On Earth, there are all different kinds of wedding traditions that humans take part in when getting married, depending on where they’re from or where they live.”
Releasing her hair, Ahmya moved past him, stopping to crouch beside his bag. She opened it. “My parents were from Japan. My father immigrated to the United States when he was a little boy and grew up there. As an adult, he joined the miluh terree , and he met my mother while he was stayshund back in Japan. Even though I was raised in the States like he was, we followed a lot of Japanese traditions.”
Ahmya removed Rekosh’s waterskin, rose, and walked back to the pool. “And us becoming…mates, well, it’s technically like getting married, so I wanted to share a tradition with you that’s been performed for many centuries by my people.” She waved a hand at a low, flat stone beside the pool.
A bowl-shaped rock with two hollowed out halves of eldernut shells stacked inside had been placed upon it.
Rekosh glanced between the rock and Ahmya, tilting his head.
Ahmya chuckled and clutched the waterskin to her chest. “It’s…not quite the same. Not at all really. Normally there would be a beautiful set of sakazuki , which are ceremonial cups, but I had to improvise and use whatever I could find. And instead of sake , which is ryce wyne ”—she lifted the waterskin—“we’ll be using water. But it’s not about what’s in our cups. It’s about what’s in our hearts.”
He stepped closer to her and gestured to the stone. “Tell me more, vi’keishi . Show me.”
She smiled. “This is a binding ritual called san-san-kudo , which means three-three-nine times. The couple is supposed to take three sips of sake from each cup. ”
Ahmya grasped the front of her skirt and lifted it as she knelt upon the grassy ground, propping the waterskin against her thigh. Bending forward, she patted the ground in front of Rekosh.
Taking care with his sore foreleg, Rekosh lowered himself onto the ground before her. With less than a segment between them, he could not escape her scent, and heat stirred within him anew, but he held his claspers tight against his slit and settled his lower hands atop his forelegs.
“The number three represents hehven , earth, and man,” Ahmya said with a smile, “and because nine is three threes, it’s very awspishuss . Which means that it promises good fortune. Good luck.”
“I understand,” Rekosh said. “It is a ritual for luck.”
“It is, but there’s more to it. When a couple goes through san-san-kudo , they’re forming a deep bond, making an unbreakable commitment to each other. They’re swearing to each other that whether in hehven or on earth, through life and death, they will never part. They’ll endure everything together, good and bad.”
Rekosh trilled, his chest tight with emotion, radiating heat. But this was a softer heat. A more soothing heat. He extended a hand and caressed the side of her face. “You wish to share this with me, Ahmya?”
She cupped her hand over his and rubbed her cheek against his palm. “I do. I want to be your wife. I want to be your mate. And I want you to be mine.”
Had he let himself lose control, had he let instinct take command, he would not have experienced this. He would not have seen that beguiling look in her eyes, would not have learned the depth of the connection she wanted. Would not have joined with her in the way of her people.
“Share all with me, my heartsthread, so I can finally make you mine. ”
She smiled, and he felt her heat flare against his palm as her cheeks darkened. Rekosh gritted his teeth as she pulled away, tempted to capture her and draw her back to him. His hand hovered briefly in the air before he returned it to his foreleg. He could not recall a moment in his life, even when working on the most intricate parts of her dress, that had required more patience and control than this one.
Ahmya picked up the top eldernut shell from the stack and held it out to him. “The first cup, the smallest, represents our past.”
He accepted it between the fingers of an upper hand, glancing into the empty shell.
She picked up the waterskin and opened it. “We drink this in thanks to our ancestors for giving us life and allowing us to meet despite all odds.” Carefully, she poured three small splashes into the shell.
“Take three sips,” she gently instructed.
In his mind, vrix emerged from memory. His mother, the details of her face lost to the years save for her vibrant blue eyes. His sire as he’d once stood—tall and proud, with a gleam of joy in his crimson gaze. His brood siblings, so young, so full of life. The weathered faces of his mother’s and father’s elders, mere shadows from his earliest years.
They’d all taken part in bringing Rekosh to this moment, though no one could ever have foreseen it.
Rekosh stared down at the small shell before tentatively raising it. Opening his mouth, he tilted the shell. Water ran over the edge, falling onto his tongue. He righted it and did it again, and again, draining it on the third drink. Excess water trickled from the corners of his mouth, running down his chin and neck.
He huffed, lowered the shell, and wiped his face with the back of a free hand .
Ahmya giggled. “I guess sipping is difficult when you don’t have lips.”
“Will it be ruined if I cannot sip?”
Her smile softened, and she shook her head. “No, it won’t be ruined. As long as you take three drinks, in whatever way is comfortable to you, it is following tradition.”
His mandibles rose in a smile.
She held her hand out and offered him the waterskin. “Now you pour for me.”
He traded with her, taking the waterskin in two hands. “Three pours, as you did?”
She held the shell carefully with the fingers of both hands. “Yes.”
Using the same care she’d demonstrated, Rekosh filled the shell. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she raised it. He watched, focusing on her mouth as her lips wrapped around the rim. Desire once more stirred in his core.
That human mouth, with its soft, pliable lips, had always fascinated him. Had always tempted him. He longed to feel it on his hide again, to feel the tender press of her kiss.
Ahmya took three small sips before setting the shell down and picking up the next. “This second cup represents our present. It signifies our commitment to each other, and to the long, happy life we are building together. And it is a sign of our two worlds coming together and joining as one, despite all the differences between them.”
Like the first, she took the second shell between both hands and nodded to him.
With three measured pours, he added water to the new shell, glancing at her face between each. She was radiant, her eyes sparkling as brightly as the adornments on her dress. She smiled as she drank.
They traded again. After she poured the water into the shell, Rekosh’s mind filled with new images. Not memories now, but hopes, desires—bits of that life of which she’d spoken. A den filled with brightly colored flowers and cloth. Ahmya lying atop him upon a bed of fluffed silk. Shared meals, shared stories, shared smiles and laughter. Shared dreams for the two of them to craft with the same care and determination he'd used to create her dress.
Ahmya gestured to the last of the cups, the smooth, curved stone. Rekosh set down the shell and picked up the stone. The difference in weight was immediately noticeable, as was its solidness.
“The third cup represents our future,” she said, pouring water into it. “The harmony and happiness we will share, our willpower to stand united against any challenge in our lives and claim prosperity for ourselves. And…and…”
She looked down and tucked her hair behind her ear, dislodging the flower, which fell.
Rekosh’s lower hand darted out, catching the blossom on his palm. He returned it to its place over her ear and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Capturing her chin, he tipped her face up and forced her eyes back to his. “And what, my Ahmya?”
Pink stained her cheeks. “And the children we will be blessed with.”
Something roused deep within Rekosh’s chest. Something primal and possessive. His gaze dipped to Ahmya’s belly. It would be there that his seed would take root, there that his mate would carry the life they created, there that their broodling would be sheltered as it grew.
But for that to occur, they would need to mate.
And Rekosh intended to claim his lovely little female very, very soon.
He returned his eyes to hers and drank. Her lips parted with a soft, shuddering breath .
No water had ever tasted so pure, so sweet. But nothing would ever compare to the taste of Ahmya.
Only when he had finished did he release her chin and withdraw his hand, presenting her the stone cup. “For our future, kir’ani vi’keishi .”
Ahmya stared at him as she took the offered stone, holding it up for him to fill. Swiftly, she brought it to her lips, took her three sips, and set it down upon the boulder, likely harder than she’d intended based on her wince.
Rekosh’s mandibles lifted, and he cocked his head. “The ritual is done?”
Ahmya nodded, clutching her hands in her lap and wringing her fingers. “Yes.”
“We are mates in your people’s way?” He passed the waterskin to his lower hands, closed it, and set it aside.
“There is…one more thing. A tradition from my American heritage.”
He flattened his lower palms on the ground and leaned closer. “What is it?”
Clenching her hands, she bounced in place, her gaze flicking everywhere but to him.
“Ahmya?”
Her eyes met Rekosh’s an instant before her hands darted out, caught his mandibles, and tugged him closer. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her mouth to his.
Rekosh’s eyes flared as her soft, warm lips moved against his hard mouth. Their warmth spread across his face, building and building until it was a wave of fire filling his core.
But she pulled away far too soon.