Enthralled by Tiffany Roberts

Chapter 26

Under the dark storm clouds,the jungle shadows were even deeper than they would have been at night. The plants gave off no light now. No cool blues or vibrant purples, no bright yellows or fiery oranges. There was nothing to light the way but erratic flashes of lightning—all of which were too weak and distant to overcome the gloom.

There had been no sign of Ahnset’s recent passage. Both down in the pit and at its top, the ground was too riddled with tracks to pick out anything specific, and those tracks had been further obscured by mud and rainwater. Finding and following Ahnset’s path during this storm would be a slow, tedious process.

Ketahn did not have the time to spare. Ella did not have the time.

So, Ketahn had pressed his only advantages—he was faster than his broodsister, and he knew where she was going.

The heavy rain limited his vision and left every surface slick and unreliable, but Ketahn could afford nothing but haste. He leapt from root to branch and back again, tore across mighty trunks with no regard for the damage wrought by his claws, and plunged through tangled plant growth with lashing arms and gnashing mandibles. Each segment he traveled was won with a pounding beat of his hearts. Each moment gone by intensified the heat coursing beneath his hide.

A weight he’d not fully felt in a long while fell upon him. It sought to drag him down, to make his limbs as heavy and stiff as stone. And though he had long been spared the fullness of that sensation, he recognized it—the burden of having others dependent upon him. The burden of lives beyond his own and his mate’s being at risk because of his actions, the burden of their fates being woven with his.

Everything was for Ivy. He would fight harder for her than he’d fought for anything. And he would allow himself to fight no less fiercely for any other member of the tribe that had formed around himself and his mate—especially those who could not defend themselves.

Protector, let me be their shield.

Hunter, let me be their provider.

Delver, let me be their guide.

By your eightfold eyes, watch over my new kin... Or stand aside that I may do so myself.

Ketahn pushed on harder still in response to that burden. His muscles strained, flooded with unbearable fire despite the chill in the rain, but they did not falter.

His breath was ragged by the time he reached Takarahl, and he knew his hearts were not likely to slow. That persistent dread mingled with a fiery swell of rage when the mouth of the entry tunnel came into view. Heat and cold skittered across the surface of his hide, thrummed in his bones, and warred with one another in his chest.

Never again. He was never supposed to have seen this place again.

Growling a curse, Ketahn strode to the entrance—and the pair of Queen’s Fangs guarding it.

They watched his approach with a strange blend of wariness and confidence in their eyes.

“I seek one of your spear sisters,” he said, easing his tone as much as possible. “Ahnset.”

“She has not come this way,” replied one of the Fangs.

“No one has come today,” said the other, dipping her chin toward the jungle, “though some hunters have gone.”

Ahnset hadn’t come this way, but she might have used a different entry—one closer to the queen’s sanctum, perhaps. It would have meant less chance of Ella being seen.

But in his haste, Ketahn might well have arrived before his sister. What then? Wait, relying upon the tiny chance she would use this entrance?

He could not risk standing idle while it was possible she’d already entered the city with Ella.

Ketahn hurried forward, ignoring the fresh flare of fury and unease that blasted him as he crossed from the storm’s gray gloom into Takarahl’s eerie blue glow. One of the Fangs said something behind him. He didn’t care what it had been.

These tunnels had never felt so cramped, this stone had never seemed so cold, these shadows had never looked so cruel, this place had never been so unwelcoming. Ketahn’s quarrel had always been with the queen, but over the years, he’d come to see Takarahl as some twisted extension of her. It was as though Zurvashi’s malice had seeped into every rock, saturated every shred of cloth, and burrowed into the core of every crystal.

And once again, he was rushing right toward her.

He drew the attention of many other vrix as he moved—a lone male, bearing those rare purple markings, clutching a spear and dripping water everywhere as though he’d brought the storm inside with him. Their hushed conversations were meaningless to him. Their faces blended together as he raked his gaze across them, searching for Ahnset, for Ella, disregarding everyone and everything else.

With his every step deeper into Takarahl, his heartsthread pulled tighter. His spirit cried out with need—need to be back with his mate, his Ivy. Its increasingly desperate, troubled song echoed in Ketahn’s bones.

He needed to keep Ivy safe, needed to keep her—and her kind—hidden from his enemies. For Ahnset to bring Ella here…

Ketahn’s dread hardened further and expanded as brighter blue light became visible ahead—the combined glow of countless crystals in the Den of Spirits, putting out their own light in the absence of the sun.

His mind’s eye tinted that glow crimson.

“I will return to Ivy,” he rasped. Each step was heavier than the last, each was harder, and he was forced to draw upon strength from deeper and deeper within himself. “This is not the end.”

Today was the beginning.

Though it was not Offering Day, the large entrance to the Den of Spirits was guarded by Queen’s Fangs, their gold and gemstone adornments gleaming cold in the blue light from the chamber beyond.

“The queen is holding private audience,” said one of the Fangs, stepping forward with a palm outthrust. He knew her; she was called Nahkto, a veteran of the war with Kaldarak. “Turn aro—”

Recognition sparked in her eyes.

“Go on,” Nahkto said, her voice tight. She stepped aside, planted the butt of her spear on the floor, and waved Ketahn onward.

He felt no shame in that his first instinct was to flee. Zurvashi was the last thing he wanted to get tangled up with—not just now, but always. His previous encounter with her had been meant to be the final one. He was never supposed to see her again.

Fuck.

Clamping his jaw shut, Ketahn squared his shoulders, fixed his attention ahead, and strode forward.

He was halted by another Fang when she stepped into his path. Though her spear remained to the side, her solid, wide stance spoke of a readiness for action, and one of her thumbs was hooked on her belt just above her fanged club. He knew this one, too—Irekah, who had thrown an innocent male against a wall for carrying a weaver’s knife when last Ketahn had seen her.

“Your weapon, hunter,” she growled.

Ketahn squeezed the shaft of his spear. Water oozed from the damp leather grip, running between his fingers and dripping to the floor. In his mind’s eye, he saw a fleeting image of his spear buried in the queen’s throat. He stared up at the female looming before him, unsure of whether he kept his hatred and lust for blood from showing outwardly.

Her adornments clinked softly as she adjusted her stance by a thread’s breadth, and the grip of her war spear creaked in her fist.

For Ivy. For Ella.

For the future he’d never dared imagine but now dangled so close.

Angling the head of his spear toward the floor, Ketahn turned the shaft so it stood vertically and held it out to the Fang. Irekah snatched the weapon away with a snarl. For a few more heartbeats, the female held his gaze, her eyes intense and fine hairs bristling.

Finally, Irekah huffed and stood aside. “Make haste. We are not interested in sharing your company, hunter.”

When Ketahn walked past her, she gave his back a hard shove, making him stumble through the entryway.

He denied his anger’s demand that he turn around and show Irekah that he did not need a spear to inflict damage. But it was a close thing.

The Den of Spirits was largely deserted; that fact made Ketahn’s gut twist into knots. On most days, there were always numerous vrix to be found here perusing the tales carved into the stone, basking in reflected sunlight, or quietly paying homage to the spirits of their ancestors and praying to the Eight. The only other vrix here now were all gathered on the central dais.

Fangs stood along the edge of the dais like gold-adorned statues. A small group of spiritspeakers were positioned a couple segments in from that edge, their silk-shrouded figures just as large but far less imposing than those of the Fangs.

The middle spiritspeaker wore garb different from that of her two companions—Archspeaker Valkai. She was talking in soft tones, her white coverings swaying with her gentle movements. Despite the echo in the chamber, Ketahn could not make out her words; her voice was nothing more than a musical hum by the time it reached him.

Beyond the spiritspeakers, perched at the highest point of the dais, was the queen. Two Claws stood close behind her. The black furs over their shoulders hung low enough down their backs to brush their hindquarters.

Ahnset was nowhere to be seen. Relief and renewed dread clashed within Ketahn, making his chest constrict and his gut churn. She was not here, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in Takarahl. That didn’t mean she wasn’t on her way here even now.

Zurvashi’s head turned toward Ketahn. Even from such a distance, he did not miss the ravenous glimmer in her amber eyes. Her mandibles twitched outward and snapped together, and she raised herself a little higher. The long, flowing ends of her purple silk coverings trailed across the stone beneath her.

Ketahn’s broodsister was not here, but he was trapped.

The queen turned toward him fully without so much as acknowledging the disrespect to the Archspeaker, who had still been talking.

“My bold little hunter,” Zurvashi called. The cavern built her voice into something booming and ominous, and Ketahn’s stride faltered. Her eyes—and her tone—darkened. “Have you not made me wait long enough, Ketahn? Come. Now.”

Ketahn’s teeth ground together as he forced his legs into motion. The tension crashing through his body was stronger than ever, threatening to overwhelm him utterly.

Once more, he had to play the game. Once more, and never again.

Never again... How many times had he told himself that? How many times had he failed to make it true?

The queen waved a dismissive hand at the spiritspeakers. “We will resume our discussion at another time.”

The spiritspeakers flanking Valkai sank into low bows.

Archspeaker Valkai offered only a shallow dip of her head, glancing toward Ketahn as she did so. “My queen, if I might ask but a few more moments...”

Zurvashi snapped her head toward Valkai, granting the motion an enhanced sense of power and finality with a sharp clack of her mandible fangs. She said nothing; her stare was more than adequate to send her message.

Archspeaker Valkai held the queen’s stare for five of Ketahn’s heartbeats; far longer than he would have expected. Then she bowed deeply and backed away with impressive grace, her silk coverings moving fluidly.

Somehow, Ketahn found more hatred for Zurvashi within himself. Whatever questions had arisen in his hearts about the Eight, he had seen only kindness and respect from the Archspeaker—not only for the queen and other vrix of high station, but for every vrix in Takarahl. She’d always seemed to nurture genuine care for all the Eight’s expansive brood here in the realm of flesh, blood, and bone.

The three spiritspeakers retreated from the dais just as Ketahn reached it. Valkai again met Ketahn’s gaze, this time crossing her forearms in the sign of the Eight.

He returned the gesture, wishing he could imbue it with the appropriate reverence.

“May they watch over you favorably, hunter,” the Archspeaker said softly.

Gold jingled and silk rasped atop the dais. Ketahn looked at the queen, who was approaching him with the leisurely air of a predator toying with its prey; she was followed by the Claws.

“I see no gifts. Shall I voice my disappointment, Ketahn?” she purred. Though she was still several segments away, her scent thickened in the air, beginning what was sure to be a relentless assault on Ketahn’s senses.

The Claws behind the queen flicked their eyes toward her, their claspers twitching.

Ketahn forced the memory of Ivy’s scent to the forefront of his mind and wrapped himself around it. “You are the queen. Have you not made it clear you will do as you wish?”

Six Fangs stood on the dais, including Prime Fang Korahla. There were undoubtedly more at each of the cavern’s entrances. Escape would not be possible without the queen’s permission.

Zurvashi’s chitter was low and rumbling, as unhurried as her pace. “I know not whether to praise you for learning or punish you for insolence. Yet either shall be a joy to me.”

She stopped at the edge of the dais and slid one foreleg forward, freeing it from the confines of her long silk covering. Ketahn was forced, as always, to look up at her. She brushed her leg against his shoulder. Her fine hairs teased his hide, sparking a wave of revulsion that swept through his entire body in an instant.

“That strange scent is upon you again...” She tilted her head, mandibles swinging outward and back in.

Ketahn’s hearts stuttered. That scent was Ivy’s; the rain had not been enough to wash it away. He couldn’t help taking some pride in that—though his alarm for his mate was much stronger.

He stepped back, breaking the contact with her leg. “Many strange scents are upon me. And, as ever, none of them are yours.”

In the back of his mind, some part of Ketahn protested. What could he possibly gain by provoking Zurvashi? For his pride, for his bitterness, was he really going to further endanger Ella?

There’d be no protecting anyone if the queen tore his throat out.

“Your little taunts mean nothing, Ketahn. They are no more than feints thrown to feel out the skills of an enemy warrior.”

Ketahn curled his hands into useless fists. Where was Ahnset? How much longer did he have to find her?

How long could he bring himself to pretend?

“Is that what we are to one another, Zurvashi? Enemies?”

She trilled thoughtfully. “You have seemed eager to make us such.”

“I am eager only to prove my worth,” he said, somehow keeping his voice steady. “There is no female like you, my queen, and conquering you is the greatest challenge any vrix could face. Yet thus far I have earned only your disappointment.”

“Ah, you foolish little male,” she said in a light tone. “I am disappointed only because you have not arrived laden with gifts, as you promised. That means you will need to make extra efforts in other matters to appease me.”

Everything inside Ketahn twisted and shrank back at the thought of the efforts she’d implied. “Your patience will bear fruit. But I must point out that no matter how much you wish it so, my queen, seven comes before eight. Tomorrow is your day.”

She chittered again. There was far more humor in it than Ketahn could have hoped to hear—and it was unsettling. Sweeping the long silk cloth aside, Zurvashi stepped smoothly off the dais. “Every day is my day, Ketahn. And according to our dear spiritspeakers, eight comes before all.”

Zurvashi strode toward him, the two Claws not far behind. Her fragrance wafted from her, coalescing around Ketahn in a cloud thicker than any jungle mist he’d ever encountered. It raked its claws against his instincts, seeking a weak spot on his hide to overwhelm his senses and lay claim upon him. He held her stare as she approached—and held his place.

The queen halted less than half a segment from Ketahn. She lifted her upper hands; one went to the thin braids dangling over her shoulder, toying with them delicately, while she brushed the knuckles of the other up along Ketahn’s arm. Her maliciously mirthful eyes shifted toward the nearby spiritspeakers. “Of course, I say one comes before all.”

Those amber eyes returned to Ketahn, smoldering with hunger. “You may yet convince me that two”—her hand drifted over his shoulder and up his neck—“is the better number.”

She slid her forelegs forward, rubbing them along Ketahn’s, and purred.

A shiver threatened to course through Ketahn from backside to crest. Instinct roared within him—this is not Ivy, not my mate! He focused on that rage, on that wrongness, on the promise he’d made to his mate. With a huff, he expelled the air that had been tainted by Zurvashi’s scent from his lungs.

Ketahn closed the distance between himself and the queen, rising high on straightened legs to look her eye to eye.

On the edges of his vision, he saw the Fangs who were still on the dais heft their spears into two handed grips, their attention fixed upon Ketahn. The Claws who were following the queen had lowered their hands to the blackrock axes on their belts, but their eyes were upon the queen instead of Ketahn, gleaming with barely masked lust. Undoubtedly, they were also struggling against her scent.

“There will be no question of it when I am through, Zurvashi,” Ketahn said.

Zurvashi searched his gaze. “Such arrogance.”

“Confidence,” he corrected. Fully aware of her huge mandibles so close to his face, he leaned closer still and lowered his voice. “You are as good as conquered, my queen. Tomorrow”

Her hand stilled in its trek along Ketahn’s jaw. The heat from her body intensified, and the tension in her muscles vibrated in the air. That heady scent intensified further, lashing out in retaliation to Ketahn’s resistance, battering down his defenses, forcing a response from him.

He drew his claspers in as tight as possible, squeezing his slit shut against the involuntary desire her scent instilled. He would not betray his mate, instinct be damned.

Her fingers curled slowly; the change poised the claws of her upper hand against the relatively tender flesh of Ketahn’s throat. But she didn’t put any pressure on those claws. Not yet.

“Tomorrow,” Ketahn repeated. “I will not break my word.”

His word to Ivy. To the humans. To himself. The queen had earned nothing from him—not loyalty, not honesty, not even a sliver of respect.

There was movement on the other side of the cavern—the side that led to the queen’s sanctum. Heavy steps, thumping spear butts, and clinking gold.

Zurvashi spoke in a voice just as low as Ketahn’s, but her tone was laced with menace. “Has my generosity led you to believe that you may dictate the terms of our relationship, Ketahn?”

Ketahn kept his eyes locked with hers, betraying nothing. “I already have been.”

The sounds that had entered the cavern drew rapidly nearer. Zurvashi’s mandibles twitched as though in time to the approaching steps. Pricks of pain flared on Ketahn’s hide beneath her claws.

But there was a flicker of lust in her eyes.

“My queen,” said one of the newcomers, “please forgive the interruption.”

Neither Zurvashi nor Ketahn looked away from each other, even when one of the newly arrived vrix gasped.

“Later,” the queen growled. She did not ease her hold on Ketahn’s throat, but she did not strengthen it, either, and her leg stroked his lightly, teasingly.

“My queen, it is a matter of—”

“Later!” Zurvashi’s mandibles swung inward, halting only when her fangs were but a hair’s breadth from Ketahn’s face. He granted her not so much as a flinch.

“This is not to be ignored, my queen,” Korahla said in a voice both commanding and uncharacteristically thin.

Ketahn guessed it was her tone more than her words that pierced the queen’s focus; it was certainly what captured his attention. Releasing a low growl, Zurvashi turned her head toward the newcomers. Ketahn’s eyes fixated on the queen’s throat for a moment—a terrible, tempting moment—before following her gaze.

He might have likened what he felt then to a net snapping shut around his insides and pulling so tight that it all seemed about to burst. The cold that flowed out from his core made the snow Ivy had once told him about sound balmy in comparison.

Flanked by a pair of clearly confused, unsettled Fangs stood Ahnset. She held something against her chest, bundled in a familiar silk blanket. Water was dripping off her hide, her wet braids hung in limp disarray over her shoulders, and her wide, desperate, apologetic eyes were fixed on Ketahn.

Though she was larger and broader than either of her escorts, though she had fought countless foes to the death, though she was elite even amongst the queen’s elite guard, there was something woefully innocent about Ahnset in that moment. Something that reminded Ketahn of a broodling.

Something that felt like a knife sinking into one of his hearts.

The queen snarled. "Ahnset?" Her fingers flexed just enough for Ketahn to feel a claw bite into his hide. She tore her hand away from his neck and spun to face his broodsister fully. “Explain. Now.”

Ketahn’s lungs were ablaze, but his throat was too tight to draw in air—and that had nothing to do with the queen’s relinquished grasp. The sorrowful gleam in Ahnset’s eyes deepened; she hadn’t looked away from Ketahn despite now being the focus of the queen’s attention.

There were no words to express the torrent of emotion raging within Ketahn. A thousand weavers could have worked at it for a thousand years and not unraveled the tangle.

“Do not ignore me.” Zurvashi stepped toward Ahnset. The Fang escorts retreated an equal distance. The queen paused, her anger faltering as her eyes dipped. “What are you carrying?”

I am sorry, my nyleea.

I am sorry.

Ahnset took in a heavy breath and finally looked at the queen, the softness fading from her eyes. “A creature in need of aid, my queen.”

She lifted the bundle in her arms. The creature within stirred, and part of the cloth fell away, revealing a small, pale skinned face, lank brown hair, and exhausted, terrified green eyes.

Human eyes.

The nearby females gasped and uttered shocked curses. One of the spiritspeakers whispered a brief prayer to the Eight. A few of the Fangs turned their spears toward Ella and Ahnset, as though the tiny, sickly human could possibly do them any harm.

But only one reaction scared Ketahn—only one reaction fed directly into his cold, heavy dread.

Zurvashi stared at Ella, completely silent, totally unmoving. And Ketahn felt his world shattering around her.