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“She has taken many males,” he said. “It does not concern me should she take another.” “A mate, Ketahn.” Rekosh narrowed his eyes. “It is whispered that she desires a brood of her own. She lacks only a mate worthy of siring her eggs.”
“I have lost most everything because of her,” Ketahn said, keeping his voice low despite the flare of angry heat in his chest. “If she takes anything more, it will be on my terms.”
An unspoken question hung in the air between all those silent vrix—why were the Queen’s Fangs permitted to carry weapons in that sacred cavern if no one else was?
“Shaper, shelter us,” Urkot said, voice laden with sorrow and despair. “Weaver, shroud us,” Rekosh said, his voice filled with disappointment and frustration. “The Eight hold no power here,” Ketahn growled, turning toward Deepdelve Tunnel. “Not so long as she rules.”
And this unique creature was his female. She belonged to him. Many vrix had tamed wild creatures as pets; why should he not have one of his own?
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.
“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.”
“Now you are mine, my nyleea. My mate.” He smoothed a hand over her hair. “My heartsthread.”

