21. “Jungle Toxins”
“JUNGLE TOXINS”
ELENA – RYTHAR’S FORTRESS IN THE GREEN REACH
We re-enter the fortress from a terrace access.
He sweeps me inside his bedroom. Our bedroom.
The air inside is heady with the spice blend of the Reach.
Or maybe we’ve brought it in with us. It’s the same bed, sheets, and furs, the same echo of his body stretched out beside me.
Only now a new memory lingers. It’s his mouth, his hands, the way he held me in the canopy until I forgot everything but the taste of him.
The door shuts silently.
I hover, unsure. He leans back against the closed door, arms folded across his chest, watching me.
“You should bathe,” he says. It’s just short of an order.
“Why?” I ask suspiciously.
He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “Jungle toxins. Your soft skin holds it longer than Xythean skin. The water heals.” He moves off the door, eyes on me as he crosses the room.
“You’re kidding.”
He runs his fingers lightly down my arm. One side of his mouth curls up, just a hint of a smile as he takes my fingers in his. “Do you want to take the chance, or do you want to bathe?”
I square my shoulders, narrowing my eyes. “With you?”
His mouth twitches. “I will join you. To be sure you do it right.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words wither. My cheeks burn. I will myself to not look away.
He’s already moving. He gestures toward the bathing chamber that adjoins his room. It was like heaven in there last time, alone. The heat, the steam, the way the water eased everything away.
I walk through the door to the bathing chamber. The shelves are loaded with clean towels. The pool in the center still invites me, water still spilling in from the carved beast’s mouth.
Rythar follows me in, standing at the threshold.
I hug myself. “This isn’t going to be a thing,” I mutter. “You watching me. You in here…” I trail off as he strips off his shirt, abs rolling.
I force my eyes up, but it’s too late. I’ve already imagined touching the ridges, how the skin slides over the muscle.
He kicks off his boots, then pulls off his pants. He’s unapologetically hard.
My mouth goes dry. I try to keep my face neutral, but I know my pulse gives me away. I’m not moving to take my clothes off, and he’s completely naked.
“Are you shy?” His voice is soft, teasing. “Did you have private baths on New Terra?”
I grit my teeth. “We didn’t—No, it wasn’t like that. It was just… efficient.”
He steps closer, the muscles of his thigh flexing as he kneels at the pool’s edge. “This is also efficient,” he says. “But it will not be quick.”
On New Terra, quick was the point. Quick meant done, meant you could go back to being a person instead of a function.
Nobody ever chose slow on purpose. My hands shake as I peel away my clothes.
I brace myself for his scrutiny, but Rythar doesn’t leer.
He just watches, steady and careful, like he’s studying an artifact.
I step into the water. The sting fades fast, replaced by a rush of heat so heavy my vision swims. My knees buckle on the submerged step and I pitch sideways, hands grabbing at nothing.
Rythar slides in behind me and catches me.
One arm hooks under my ribs, the other hand holds my stomach.
He rights me against his chest, my back to the solid wall of him, and holds me there while my legs sort themselves out.
"The water does that," he says behind my ear. His breath stirs my hair. "When you enter too fast."
"You could have mentioned that before I got in."
"I could have." His mouth curves against my temple.
I feel it, the shape of his almost-smile pressed to my skin.
His hand on my stomach shifts, fingers spreading wider, pressing flatter, and a tremor runs through them.
Behind me, his breathing has gone slow and controlled.
He’s keeping himself very, very still. His heart is hammering.
I know because it's beating against my spine.
Every thump says something his mouth will not.
"My legs work," I say.
"I know." His voice has dropped into the lower registers, rough-edged, like something scraped raw.
He holds me one breath past the point I need holding.
His jaw grazes the top of my head, a touch so light it could be accidental.
His fingers on my stomach press once more, then release, opening slowly.
I step forward in the pool, putting distance between us.
When I turn around, his hands are underwater and his expression has smoothed, but his chest is still rising too fast and his eyes track me across the pool.
He watches the bride mark on my finger. It lights up, white and bright, the light visible even under the surface.
“Does it hurt?” he asks.
I flex my hand. The mark pulses, but there’s no pain. Just heat, and the constant sense of being watched by something.
“No,” I say.
He leans in, his mouth at my ear. “The mate bond sings in my heart. It says you are ready.”
“For what?” My voice shakes.
His teeth graze my lobe. “For mating.” The word should sound clinical. From him, it doesn't.
I bite my lip, hard. The water does nothing to hide the way my body reacts. My nipples go tight, my skin flushes with need. I’m shocked at how quickly I want him. If I feel the mate bond this strongly, he must, also.
He moves behind me, the heat of him pressing close. His hands drift up my arms, careful, mapping muscle and bone. He’s huge, and the water does nothing to soften the impression. My body wants to melt back into him. I make myself stay upright.
“What does your heart say, my wife? Does it answer the mate bond? Or reject it?” He tips my head to the side, exposing my neck. His breath is hotter than the steam, and when he nuzzles the spot just below my ear, I shiver so hard the water ripples.
One of his arms goes around me, cupping my breast gently.
I turn to face him, and the look on his face makes my knees weak.
His hand slides down my back, settling at my waist. He pulls me in, barely touching. His cock is rock hard, more than the tip jutting up out of the water, so close that I want to take it in my hands.
I wouldn’t have to bend far to take him into my mouth. I lick my lips, staring at it. I don’t know where the thought came from.
Rythar groans as his cock twitches. “Elena. I promised this would not be quick. It is hard to concentrate on pleasuring you when you stare at my cock like that.”
I look up at him, wide-eyed.
His eyes are heavy-lidded, but there’s a curiosity to them. “You want to taste me.”
I step onto one of the steps, and he turns, his eyes following me.
I look to the side, avoiding his gaze. “It wouldn’t make a child. It’s not what we’re supposed to do.”
“We are expected to do many things. Are you afraid you would not like being my wife?”
I rest my hands on his chest. His skin is hot, rough with scars.
I trace one, and he makes a sound—almost a purr.
“I think it’s more that I’m afraid I’ll end up wanting to be your wife, but it won’t work out.
Maybe I won’t like it, or maybe we just can’t have children together. Most couples don’t conceive.”
“We will conceive,” he says, voice low and precise. “But I will be honest with you, Elena. Xytheos is not a forgiving place. Mistakes are deadly. But there are also many pleasures.”
The sight of him—scarred, perfect, impossibly hard—makes my throat close. I can’t answer him.
I nod, but my skin prickles. “And if I don’t want it?”
His jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly. “I will offer you the choice.” He watches my face without blinking.
“There are other ways. You can conceive without the bond. Without sex.” The words seem to scrape his throat.
“It would satisfy the Council,” he says.
“It would silence questions about my control over you.”
I stare at him, numb. Silence questions, he said. Not answer them. “I would just be a breeding vessel.”
His eyes darken. Something shuttered moves behind them — pride, maybe. Or hurt.
“If that is what you choose,” he says carefully. “Then that is what I will make possible.”
“You don’t want that,” I say.
“I want you to stand beside me as my wife,” he says roughly. “But if you do not want this, tell me now.” His grip loosens slightly.
I let myself lean into him. His arms close around my waist, locking me against his chest.
“What if I don’t know? What if I can’t decide right now?” I whisper.
“There is time.” I tip my head up to him again, and he kisses me, gently at first, then harder. The taste of him is salt and sun and the spice of Xytheos.
The mate bond pulls at me. Every part of me is awake—skin, nerves, the pulse between my legs.
My whole body wants to fold around him, and I’m not uncertain about mating with him—it’s what comes after.
I know the words—father, mother, husband, wife.
But what do they mean for me? What will that look like with Rythar? For a thousand years?
He pulls back, breath ragged. “You are afraid again.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not.”
He tilts my chin, studying my face. “It’s something.”
I laugh, shaky. “No. Maybe. On New Terra, this wasn’t how it went. There’s so much here that I don’t understand.”
He brushes my hair back, fingers careful on my scalp.
I flex my hand, watching the dim light ring. The bride mark. “I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know what this really means.”
His thumb skims my jaw. “You are afraid of what happens next.”
“Not of you,” I say, too fast.
He nods, like he expected that answer.
The heat is back in my cheeks. “I expected to mate to produce a child,” I say, words tumbling out.
“A way to keep the race going. Nothing more. But you’re filling my head with pictures of us together like husband and wife with children.
I’ve never met anyone who lived like that.
I heard about it in stories, but I can’t imagine what that would be like. ”
His face doesn’t change, but his body does—a subtle tension in his arm, a tightening around his eyes.