A Hint of Frost: Araneae Nation ( Book One) (25 page)

We passed row after row of our clansmen seated on neat pews. Several rows worth of our allied clans and their clan heads sat full. On the front row, Henri sat with Channing on his lap. Mana sat beside him, wearing a borrowed dress. She had refused my offer of clothing, although she had none here, and settled for raiding my closet instead. Pascale was absent, but Mother and Father were represented by their portraits. Across the aisle, I spotted a beaming Isolde wearing a neat gown with her hair arranged just so. I inclined my head to her, and her face pinked. The gown was a gift to put her at ease among the frills and trappings of our wealthier allies.

I took care of my family.

Time slowed as we stopped before the podium. The cleric, my cleric, nodded.

On cue, Armand took my hand from his arm and offered me to Rhys. “Take care of her.”

“Always.” He peered so deep into my eyes, I became dizzy from it.

“Are you ready, child?” The cleric looked upon me with the same concern as Armand.

Rhys was feared, but it was best he remained that way. I would not tame him. “I am.”

The cleric lifted his voice high to fill the sanctuary. “This day is a blessed day for our clan. These two hearts have come before us, not only to join their lives, but to fuse their souls. The joining of life threads cannot be undone.” He glanced between us. “I mean no disrespect, but ask the same moment of consideration for any pair seeking permanence. This bond is until death.”

“I accept the consequences.” Rhys almost spoke over the cleric.

I patted his arm in gentle chastisement. “As do I.”

The old cleric stared down his nose at us, but we weren’t impetuous youths to be cowed by his well-meant concern. “As you are both certain, let us begin.” He eyed me a moment longer, no doubt so I absorbed the ramifications of his next question. “Maven Lourdes, do you take Rhys of the Mimetidae as your husband and equal?”

“I do.” I had no doubts, no reservations. All I was, all I had, was his for the asking.

“Rhys of the Mimetidae, do you take Maven Lourdes as your wife and equal?”

“She is my better by half.” He grinned at my scowl. “Be that as it may, she is mine.”

“Love is a partnership,” the cleric chided us. “May you both bear its equal burden.” He gave the same impression of great patience Rhys sometimes wore. “I will give you a moment to prepare your threads.” When he averted his eyes, the gazes of all those present lowered as well.

Spinning had been my whole life before Rhys. Even though this particular thread was one I could never produce again, it came easily to my finger. I spun a piece the length of my forearm and admired the odd filament. Instead of pearlescent white, it was a vibrant green, a representation of the male who was my counterpart. I touched my chest, and it was tender. As if part of myself was missing.

Rhys, for all that we’d practiced during his convalescence, struggled to force a gold thread from his long dormant spinnerets. The Salticidae had little use for spinning, the Mimetidae had even less. This ceremony, the one ritual all Araneaean clans held in common, was the first and last thread I expected he would spin.

I rubbed his fingertip with mine. My hormone wasn’t effective outside of my clansmen, but I’d taught many a young male to spin using simple massage techniques. While I coaxed him, he focused with such determination I was humbled by his struggle to accomplish what was, for him, an arduous task.

After long moments of silent effort, he presented a length of thread identical to mine and spun in the colors of my clan. Coarse and uneven, it was the most beautiful thread I’d ever seen.

The cleric, who I think had all but given up and who I knew had peeked, asked, “Is it done?”

“It is.” I smiled as Rhys tested his chest and winced, much as I had done.

“The soreness will fade in time,” the cleric assured us as he gestured we should follow him to the centermost tapestry covering the back wall. “This panel belongs to your family.” He trailed his fingers across the bottom, where the ends frayed. “Here.” He pointed. “These belonged to Reine and Ennis. Give me your threads.” Rhys and I did as we were told. With deft twists of his wrists, he wove the strands together, and the sensation of being lost was replaced by a profound peace that spread from where my chest had felt savaged, into my fingers and my toes.

By the time the cleric had woven our singular thread into the tapestry, I sensed Rhys within me. His was a steady pulse of assurance, not so much awareness, though I had heard of nested pairs who achieved such perception over time aided, most likely, by venom exchanges.

“There.” The cleric grunted and straightened. “Your life threads are joined to one another and are woven into the tapestry of our history. You are both a part of the fabric of our clan, a living testament which illustrates the lives and loves of our forefathers and our foremothers.”

He shuffled past and waved aside Rhys’s offer of aid and my inquiry at his health. “You act as though I am old.” He continued until we were as we had begun, with him positioned at the podium and us before him. With flourish meant to prove his point, his voice soared, filling every corner of the sanctuary. “I give you Maven Lourdes and Paladin Rhys of the Araneidae.”

Amid the cheers, the cleric gave Rhys one final nod. “She is yours to claim and keep, yours to love and cherish. When death comes for one, it will accept you both. May the two gods bless your union.”

Henri, ever the helpful brother, led a chant for Rhys to seal our vows. I slanted a glare his way, but Rhys stood very close, and he was a very fast male when he chose to be. Leaning in, Rhys held my gaze for the briefest moment before his mouth found my neck and his teeth scraped the soft skin there. His fangs pierced my throat, and I melted into his kiss, confiding, “I want you.”

When he withdrew, his stark and hungry gaze branded me as his. “Say your goodbyes.”

I did. Although it was later said I’d skipped all but those between us and the exit.

Our bedroom door tagged my heels in Rhys’s haste to shut out the rest of the world. I was four steps from him when his arms caged me to his chest and his mouth descended on my neck. I had a question for him, but his clever teeth had made me forget what it was I’d wanted.

“Promise me you’ll never wear another gown.” His fingers pressed along my spine where he worked to free the dozens of tiny buttons molding the ornate fabric to my curves. His growl of annoyance made me laugh. “I remember being much more adept when I removed the last gown.”

True enough, his fingers shook where they contacted skin.

“I wish we could cut me out of it.” I had one tool made to cut dense Araneidae silk, and it was in my mouth. Our teeth were the scissors used for our trade, but the excess of this design defeated me.

Once he’d managed better than half of the buttons, I was able to wiggle free of the heavy fabric with his help and peeled it from my body. My lungs expanded on a grateful breath until he spun me toward him. I stood still under his inspection, kept modest by my silken undergarments.

Closing the distance between us, he stalked me with deliberation. “No more gowns.”

I was breathless. “I can’t make you any promises. I must dress to fit my new station.”

“I agree.” His fangs hadn’t receded. “As my wife, you should wear pants or gowns spun from a fabric my sword has some hope of slaying. Your silk is beautiful, but it…frustrates me.”

“I don’t know,” I teased him. “I think a little frustration looks good on a male.”

“I can tell.” Humor laced his tone as his voice lowered. “I like the look of you now.”

“I’m almost naked.” I cast a suggestive glance his way, then let my gaze slide toward the bed. “Perhaps I should find some cover?”

He caught my look and measured the distance from the bed to me. “Is that an invitation?”

“If it is?” My smile turned wicked as I canted my head. “Are you inclined to accept?”

Desire for his flavor made my fingers curl against the urge to capture fistfuls of his dark hair and yank until our mouths fused and his air supplied my lungs. Tempting him to me, I let my mouth hover above his until he closed the distance with a groan that resonated through our lips.

He captured my hips and reeled me in until I was cupped to him. I shivered when the hard length of him pressed into my stomach. He nibbled the column of my throat. “I want you.” His hips rocked into mine, and my eyes fluttered shut on a moan as he bit down. “Let me have you.”

Words were foreign and difficult to produce. Instead, I slid my hand between our bodies and rucked up the fabric of his kilt, gasping when I found bare skin. His erection was a brand burning the back of my hand with his desire. Wrapping my palm around his shaft, I pumped my fist and relished his shudder. Dark eyes glinted in question as I stroked him.

“I’m ready,” I said, as if there were any doubt.

He swept my feet from under me, laying me atop the mattress. His fingers were unsteady, and they tickled my stomach as he slid my undergarments down my thighs. When my bare bottom hit the bed, a rush of desire had me grasping for any parts of him I could reach. Chuckling, he withdrew.

He stared at me while he removed his clothes. “Are you eager, Maven?”

“I think you’re enjoying this.” I tugged off my thin undershirt and threw it at his head.

“You have no idea.” He sat back on his ankles and stared at me for so long I was tempted to cover myself. “No.” He caught my arm, which inched higher up my stomach. “Please. Don’t.” He held my gaze, lowering his head oh so slowly until his mouth covered the tip of one breast.

I arched into his warmth and speared my fingers through his hair. Guiding his lips where I wanted them, I blushed while his murmured encouragement left me aching for his mouth to return to its task. Moans broke free of my throat as his teeth closed over one nipple and he showed me how slight pain was made decadent. Trailing a line of stinging, hungry kisses down my stomach, he paused at the pink, puckered scar Trefor had given me and pressed an apology into my skin.

For a moment, he turned his cheek against my abdomen. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t stop.” Each caress stoked the fire beneath my skin, and I craved more of the burn.

He tasted his way across my hipbones and down the juncture of one thigh. Keeping his touch gentle, he hooked the bends of my knees and opened my core to his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. Curious wonder warred with rumbling hunger that made his voice roll low and deep.

“Rhys?” His intent expression made me tingle. “Have you done this before?”

His warm breath fanned my center. When he glanced up, I was grateful to see amusement and not hurt reflected up at me. “I am my father’s son.” His grin was proud, but I’d brought color rushing into his cheeks. “I would not have dishonored my future wife by being unfaithful to her.”

My throat closed over silly words, which seemed to be all I could manage. It didn’t matter. He was mine no matter who had thought him theirs before me. To learn he honored this aspect of his father’s heritage as well…that he had chosen to save himself for marriage, for
me
, made my surrender complete.

Content to return to his exploration, Rhys bent to taste me. His eyelashes lowered as he surrendered thought and gave instinct control over our pleasure. Soon, one of his thick fingers followed the path of his tongue and slipped gently inside me. He set a slow rhythm, adding a second finger when I grew comfortable with the first. His mouth found the inside of my thigh, and his teasing smile pressed into my skin. Before I chastised his loss of focus, his thumb brushed the tight bundle of nerves he’d uncovered, and I writhed. Using my cues, he taught himself the art of making love to me. As I’d done with him, I sensed he hung on my every sigh and craved more.

I could have rested here forever and played this game of discovery with him, but another swipe of his thumb rolled my eyes closed in bliss. I was boneless when he tucked me to his chest and traded places so he sank into the plush mattress while I splayed atop him with my knees braced on either side of his lean hips. His erection was hot incentive to slide my sex over his, and he urged my slow grind by lifting his hips. Shackling my wrists, he drew me down for a tender kiss that made my pulse thrum. Panting hard, I broke from him and gulped air.

“I want you inside me.” My hand found him ready, stroked him, and guided him into me with a sharp cry that was drowned by Rhys’s harsh groan. Clutching my hips, he kept me seated as I braced on his chest and adjusted to the way he filled me. And then I smiled. I liked it.

When he moved beneath me, I liked it even more. Rolling my hips in time to his thrusts, I kept pace with him. Sweat sheened his skin and made my palms slick. Digging my nails into his chest, I panted while tension coiled tight and low in my stomach until I made him bleed as I strained for release.

He returned the favor, sinking his fingers into the meat of my hips and driving into me. As his strokes hardened, shortened, I clung to him with my eyes shut tight and lungs burning. His fingers splayed across my abdomen and his thumb slid between us. Rhys caressed me in time with his thrusts, holding me down as he drove me higher. A final swipe of his thumb flung me from need’s edge into ecstasy. Rhys’s spine bowed and his stark growl mangled my name as he came. When my eyes opened, I found my paladin, my husband, smiling up at me.

Sliding my sweaty skin against his sweaty skin, I slumped until my cheek rested over his heart. He stroked my hair and leaned up so he kissed my forehead. I doubted I could have risen for a proper kiss. My head was far too heavy.

“I’ve been thinking,” I murmured against his chest.

His chuckle was sated, and it made me glad. “Gods save me from your clever mind.”

I thumbed his nipple to make my point. “You aren’t venomous at all, are you?”

“No.” His tone was so amused, I forced my head up to glare at him. “Not even a little.”

“So when you bit me…”

“I performed the duty expected of me.” His grin widened. “And I like the way you taste.”

Considering what he pretended to be, I might have feared such an admission once. “Your bite stings me. How is that—?” His laughter carried the scent of anise. “The seeds are astringent.”