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“Even queens must learn to accept disappointment.”
Anything that appeared so harmless, so inexplicably alluring, could only bring pain and doom.
And this unique creature was his female. She belonged to him.
Not vrix, not animal, not spirit…what was she? His. If nothing else, she was his. He would unravel her mysteries one thread at a time if necessary. But he would not take her to Takarahl, would not bring her before the queen. He would not share her with anyone.
Ivy was no animal—and she wasn’t a pet. She was…something else. Something more. Something for which neither Ketahn nor his kind had a name. And if he could not tell her directly, he needed to show her that he wanted her to feel at ease. To feel…equal.
As he stared down at her and that strange pulse continued under his palm, he had the sudden urge to weave her into his own heartsthread—to keep her safe, to keep her supported, to keep…her.
Would anyone have cared if she’d died? Would anyone have even noticed?
It was strange to lie against him like this, to feel so…safe, so comforted by a creature that had been a nightmare when she’d first seen him. But he held her like she mattered.
For the first time since waking up—for the first time in years—she didn’t feel so alone.
But his touch wasn’t something Ivy could forget. No matter how hard she tried to push the memory away, she recalled perfectly the feel of his thumbs stroking her nipples, of his rough yet gentle fingers caressing her sex, circling her clit.
Ivy wasn’t home…but this was the closest she’d felt to it in years.
He longed already to fill his lungs with jungle air—though the only scent he truly craved was Ivy’s. Ketahn didn’t care if it were likely to drive him mad; he would never tire of her fragrance.
For those two days and nights, Ivy had suffered, and Ketahn had felt…helpless. He’d felt fear. Fear that he would lose his Ivy.
The thought of going through that helplessness again, of watching her suffer without any means of aiding her, had been more frightening than anything Ketahn had faced in his life, but he could not deny her.
Thinking about Ivy would only further befoul his temper—because he was not with her.
Why did he have such an attraction to this human? To something so different from him, something so small and delicate, something so strange looking?
Why did he even now yearn to hear the sound she made when she was amused, that high, musical sound she called laughter?
All Ketahn did know was that he no longer wanted a life without Ivy in it.
She spread her fingers wide as her own fear bled away. “Ketahn, is something wrong?” “Everything,” he said. “Everything but this.”
Sometimes wounded pride is a good thing. It helps me learn to be better.
Every day, his certainty that she could not be his mate wavered.
And he wanted her. Regardless of their differences, he wanted Ivy. He wanted his little human.
Ketahn growled. “The right words do not matter if a male does not do the right things. He was not worthy of you.” He caught her chin in his hand and angled her face up toward his. “You are worthy of so much more than a male like him could ever offer, Ivy.”
“I would see you clad in silk.” He dropped the leaf and cupped the underside of her jaw, angling her face toward his as he took her hips between two of his hands. “I will see you clad in my silk.”
One thought had risen to the surface of his mind repeatedly these last few days—he’d never wanted a mate. Wanted.
What difference did human and vrix make? Ivy was his. She would be his mate—his nyleea.
Ketahn would show Ivy that he was the only male worthy of her on this world or any other.
Ketahn’s arm trembled as he clamped the dress tighter. It was for Ivy, and Ivy was the one he wanted. Ivy was the one to whom he would be bound. He focused on the fabric, on its texture, its softness, on its connection to Ivy—on his connection to
All this anger, all this hate, all this pain, and what could he do with it? Of what use was it to him?
She shook her head and chuckled to herself. “I’m happier in a spider’s nest than I was surrounded by modern conveniences. I’m crazy.”
To see her wearing something he’d created, something he’d given her, made Ketahn’s chest swell. It was his silk, his crafting, his gift, and it was on his female. She was not vrix, but she was beautiful.
And this time, he wouldn’t fight it. He was done fighting it. The Eight had led Ketahn to Ivy, and it was well past time to claim her.
He caught her jaw and lowered his face to hers. “I have conquered you, Ivy, and now I claim you.”
There would be no stopping it now…not until he’d mated with her. Not until she’d taken his seed.
“You are mine, Ivy,” he said, his voice rough and raw. “My nyleea. I will not hurt you.”
She tasted sweeter than any fruit. She tasted unlike anything, tasted like she truly was from another world, like her essence was so pure and potent that it was never meant for the likes of Ketahn.
Though Ivy was the one restrained, Ketahn was the one bound—bound by his overwhelming, uncontrollable need for this female.
But there was no escape; Ketahn was her world now.
As the darkness behind her eyelids solidified, wrapping around her like a warm, soft blanket, Ketahn rumbled, “Now you are mine, my nyleea. My mate.” He smoothed a hand over her hair. “My heartsthread.”
Though he’d always been gentle with her, Ketahn had never been this affectionate. It was…nice.
“Your skin is sweet, my heartsthread,” he said, “but your scent is sweeter.”
All my searching has been for you, though I did not know it. And all your waiting was for me.”
“You are my female. My mate, my nyleea, my heartsthread.”
“I have claimed you.”
“You belong to me, my heartsthread. Only to me.”
How was it possible to feel more wanted, more loved, by something so alien than by those who should have loved her most?
“Now do you understand, Ivy? It was decided before ever we met. You were meant to be mine.”
“I must be fierce to protect you.”
“I will cherish this gift long after the blooms have withered. Thank you.”
He felt the heartsthread that bound them together coil tighter and tighter inside him, felt their bond deepening with each passing moment, and knew without a doubt that it would never be severed—that he would make war against the Eight themselves if it meant keeping Ivy.
