Ensnared: An Alien Romance Trilogy (The Spider’s Mate Book 1)
Ensnared: Chapter 14

It was no surprise to Ketahn that his mood fouled when he entered Takarahl; he was never in good temper while understone, at least not during the last seven years. The only surprising thing was that he’d kept his spirits so high all the way up until his arrival.

Ivy was to blame for that. She’d kept his mind occupied these past four eightdays, leaving little space in his thoughts for anything else. With each new thing he learned about her, four new questions sprouted. The immensely improved grasp he and Ivy had on each other’s languages had still proven inadequate for his insatiable curiosity.

Through practice and experimentation, he’d learned to make most of the strange sounds in her words. It took creative use of his throat, chest, and tongue to shape noises that were easy for her due to her lips. But her language was complex and confusing. Sometimes it seemed as if each of her words had a hundred variations, each of which had very specific uses. Worse, there were many words in her tongue that defied either her ability to explain or his to understand—sometimes both.

Ivy had been learning the meaning of Ketahn’s words very quickly, but her body simply could not create many of the subtle clicks, chitters, and buzzes used in vrix speech. He understood her, but other vrix would do so only with great difficulty and patience.

He drew in a deep breath as he reached the junction chamber that would lead him to his friends. The air was cool, smelling far too much of damp stone and burning spinewood sap for his liking. 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.

This Offering Day could not reach its end soon enough.

But by the Eight, had it really been an entire moon cycle since he’d fallen into the cursed pit and found Ivy? Had it really been a moon cycle since his last confrontation with the queen?

Perhaps he should simply have taken to denning with Ivy in the pit, nearby what little remained of her people, who were called humans. Better a dark place full of bones and restless spirits than anywhere within a thousand segments of Zurvashi.

As he turned toward the entrance to Moonfall Tunnel, Ketahn paused. Since entering Takarahl a short while ago, he’d seen no one apart from the two Fangs who’d been guarding the cave mouth through which he’d entered, but there was someone ahead now—a male vrix approaching through the gloom.

As the other vrix neared, Ketahn clenched his jaw, though he prevented himself from making any other outward signs of agitation. He knew that male—Durax, the queen’s Prime Claw—and it took a great amount of willpower to keep from raising his spear.

Durax rolled his upper shoulder, making the black fur draped over it seem to bristle for an instant, and dropped a hand to the grip of the blackrock axe slung on his belt. His pale blue markings glowed in the tunnel light. “Strange for you to be wandering these tunnels alone, jungle worm.”

Ketahn released a slow, silent breath. Though he’d hoped to complete today’s trip without incident, he’d known it would be impossible to do so. But he couldn’t have guessed the inevitable incident would come so soon.

“I would say the same of you, Durax, but it would be stranger still to see you out in the Tangle actually hunting.”

The Prime Claw halted a few segments away from Ketahn, squeezing the rawhide grip of his axe hard enough to make it creak. He lifted his chin and directed his blue eyes at the bulging bundle tied to the top of Ketahn’s pack. “What are you carrying, jungle worm?”

“My offering to the Eight.”

“Would it not have been more efficient to enter Takarahl closer to the Den of Spirits?”

“I enjoy passing through the place of my birth on my way to the Den of Spirits.” Careful to keep his barbed spear down, Ketahn lifted one of his empty hands and gestured down the tunnel. “Do you mean to deny me passage?”

“What are you carrying?” Durax repeated.

Ketahn narrowed his eyes. “I have told you.”

“I will tear it off your back myself if you do not te—”

“Furs,” Ketahn said with a snap of his mandibles. “Cured furs to give in offering.”

“And the meat?”

“The meat was divided and delivered days ago.” Ketahn spread his hands to either side—all but the one holding his weapon—and turned their palms up. “Check with our queen’s scribes. They have tallied all I have delivered to them.”

Durax huffed, mandibles opening wide in agitation, and strode forward, closing the distance between himself and Ketahn until barely a segment remained. “We Claws have been wondering whether you would come today. Most believed you would stay in the Tangle, that we would never see you again. But I knew. I knew you were too foolish to stay away, too foolish to understand that you will not win this war you are trying to wage.”

“I do not know of what you speak, little Durax. I have come to fulfill my duty to the gods, nothing more.”

“I am the Prime Claw,” Durax growled. “I am the chief hunter, I am the queen’s eyes and ears, I am her blade, guided by expert hands. I am the heartsthread of her web, and I am the only one worthy of her.”

Ketahn chittered and tilted his head. “So why did she ask me to lead the Claw again last Offering Day?”

Durax tore the axe from his belt, raising it as though to strike even as he lifted his forelegs off the floor in challenge. “I am your better in every way!”

“Yet you hesitate,” said Ketahn, stepping forward to eliminate the last bit of distance between them. He felt nothing—not fear or sorrow, not anger, joy, or confusion. Nothing but a blossoming warmth in his gut, a sensation both calming and anticipatory. He knew it now, after experiencing it so many times over the years, as the stillness before a battle, and he embraced it.

Durax’s fingers tightened on the grip of his weapon, producing another creak. “I serve the queen. It is her will alone that shields you. But you will not enjoy her favor much longer. She will tire of you soon, and then she will finally do as she should have long ago—she will rid herself of you.”

“She would have been rid of me seven years ago, had she respected my wishes,” Ketahn said.

“And what are your desires compared to those of our queen? Of what significance are you?”

“No more than anyone else.” Ketahn leaned forward, opening his mandibles wide. Their fangs glinted in the dull crystal light. “But I know this, Durax—your hesitation is not due to your loyalty to the queen. Battle has taken its measure of us both, and you know as well as I in whose favor the scales are tipped.”

“Much has changed since we last saw battle, grub belly,” Durax rattled. “Your arrogance is not warranted.”

“And yet my days are spent prowling the wilds to bring food to our people, while yours are spent in Takarahl with Zurvashi dangling you from a string by your stem like a toy with which she’s grown bored. You are no hunter. You are merely a collector of rumors.”

Durax hissed as he spread all four of his arms, assuming an extremely aggressive pose, but he didn’t move any nearer to Ketahn. “I am in Takarahl to serve the queen. I do her bidding. She keeps me where my skills are most valuable.”

“Perhaps she is merely aware of your many limitations. If nothing else, she’s always been a keen judge of a vrix’s capabilities—or lack thereof.”

The fine hairs on Durax’s hide bristled, and he brandished his axe again as though on the verge of striking. “I will cut you down where you stand, jungle worm, and leave you in too many tiny pieces to be wrapped in a death shroud.”

“Then do so,” Ketahn growled, leaning so close that barely a finger’s breadth remained between him and Durax. “Attack me or stand aside, Durax, for I have not the time to remain here as you spin webs of meaningless words.”

The silence surrounding the two vrix was as thick and tense as a rope braided with ten thousand strands of silk. Ketahn’s muscles were coiled, ready to strike, but his body did not betray his preparedness—and he did not give in to the part of his mind that longed for this confrontation to turn violent.

He did not for a moment believe Zurvashi had any true attachment to Durax. Were she to finally obtain Ketahn, she would toss Durax aside without a second thought. But that did not mean killing the Prime Claw would go unpunished. In fact, it would be one of the surest ways for Ketahn to replace himself trapped in the city, completely at the queen’s mercy, before this day was through.

That was unacceptable. The last moon cycle had taught him much about Ivy, enough to know she might eventually develop the skills to survive the Tangle on her own, but she had a long journey ahead before achieving that.

And even if she were to accomplish that, he was not prepared to let her go.

Finally, Durax’s mandibles twitched and drooped, and he lowered his arms and legs. Axe dangling from his hand, the Prime Claw stepped aside. As Ketahn moved past him, Durax said, “You believe yourself clever, jungle worm, but you will be crushed. Just like all the rest. Her misguided desire for you will not last. It will not protect you forever.”

“Nor will your undeserved title protect you,” Ketahn replied without looking at Durax. He strode along the tunnel, keeping his movements smooth despite the anger dancing in his chest like licks of overfed flame.

Behind him, Durax growled.

Ketahn followed the corridor as the wall mounted crystals gave way to small spinewood sap fires, which shed the familiar blue-green light that had been predominant in Moonfall Tunnel for as long as he could remember. Each step away from Durax only irritated Ketahn further—because it was another step closer to Zurvashi.

Offering Day was no surprise—it came every four eightdays, just as it had throughout Ketahn’s life, and the lives of his ancestors before him. Once a moon cycle, the vrix of Takarahl gathered to make their offerings. He’d known it was coming. That was why he’d set aside a few of his finer furs two eightdays ago. That was why he’d kept track of the passing days with little line-marks on a flat stone in his den.

Yes, it meant time away from Ivy, but he’d already spent time away from her. An entire moon cycle without delivering meat to Takarahl would have drawn unwanted suspicion onto Ketahn, so he’d hunted and foraged regularly; he’d fulfilled his duty. And he’d provided for Ivy in doing so.

Learning that she ate meat—but only if it had been cooked or thoroughly dried—had been as confusing as it was exciting, but he’d noticed the change in her within days of first providing her with some. Her color had taken on a subtle but healthy pink undertone, her eyes had seemed a little brighter, and she’d been more energetic than ever.

His days with her had been amongst the most fulfilling of his life. Apart from his minor preparations regarding Offering Day, he’d scarcely thought about anything outside the little world he and Ivy had been sharing. It had just been the two of them and the enormity, danger, and beauty of the Tangle. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine together, one that he could not see himself tiring of any time soon.

Upon waking with the morning sun, Ketahn would carry Ivy out of the nest to relieve herself—sometimes up in the trees, sometimes on the ground. They’d fill water skins from the dew and rain collectors he had positioned in the trees around the den afterward. On particularly hot mornings, they would journey to the stream and enjoy its water while it was still cool. Then came a meal. Ivy seemed to prefer lighter food in the mornings, favoring nuts and fruits, only sometimes adding meat.

Following their meal, their day would begin in earnest. She called that time her lessons, which was a human word that meant he was teaching her—and in addition to sharing important skills and knowledge with her, those lessons had helped distract Ketahn in both body and mind. It had grown more and more difficult every day to ignore her scent filling his den, to resist his constant urges to touch her. At least while he was teaching her, there were other things upon which to focus.

He’d shown Ivy various jungle plants and taught her which were useful in various ways, which were edible, and which were dangerous to vrix or other animals, though Ketahn had nearly ended those lessons forever after she’d eaten some sweetfang root one afternoon. She’d complained of stomach pain not long afterward. By sunfall, she’d been huddled on the floor of the den, her skin paler than ever but with wild blotches of color on her cheeks and a sheen of sweat covering her.

She’d explained sweat to him before then—he’d noticed her skin leaking water while they were out in the jungle on many occasions, and she’d assured him it was normal for humans. But her sweat that night hadn’t been the same. It had been cold, and excessive, even when night had fallen and the air had cooled, and its salty-sweet scent had been fraught with a bitter tang of sickness.

For two days and two nights, Ketahn had tended to her as best he could. He’d wrapped her in cloth when she shivered, had helped her remove the cloth when she’d cried out that she was burning inside. He’d helped her drink, and though he’d offered her food, she’d refused to eat. When she’d retched, he had supported her, holding her body securely as she leaned through the opening to empty the meager contents of her belly out into the Tangle.

And when she’d moaned in pain, when she’d writhed and muttered words he either hadn’t understood or couldn’t make out, he’d just held her. She’d clung to him with desperation, her grip sometimes deceptively strong though her body was weak.

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. None of his efforts had chased away her pain. Nothing he’d done had cured her—and nothing he could’ve thought to do would’ve helped any more. Only mender root might’ve eased her, but he’d had none in the den and the nearest patch was half a day’s travel away. He refused to leave her for an entire day while she was in such a state.

On the third morning, he’d jolted awake, having fallen asleep leaning against the wall without intending to, and his hearts had raced in immediate panic because Ivy was no longer in his arms and there was sunlight streaming in through the uncovered opening.

And she had been there, on her knees, looking out into the jungle.

When he’d said her name, she’d turned her head to look back at him. Her skin had still been too pale, but for the first time since falling ill, she’d smiled.

Ivy had been the one to insist he continue the plant lessons. She’d said something about an injek shun, about it changing the way her body worked. 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.

She was hungry to learn, and he was eager for any reason to spend his time with her.

He’d taught her the basics of trapping small animals, how to replace safe trees and branches to climb—though he wasn’t sure how to teach her to climb them, considering her limited limbs—and how to craft and maintain simple tools. He’d taught her to read tracks and follow beasts through the Tangle, even in the trees, and they’d spent a lot of time—especially at night—identifying animal calls and what they meant.

She’d mastered none of the skills he’d taught her. Ketahn hadn’t expected her to; it had taken him years to perfect some of his methods, and he always felt as though there were more to learn. In the Tangle, anyone who did not constantly replace new lessons was likely to replace death instead.

But she had demonstrated something else—determination. He’d watched her time and time again when she failed a task; her face would scrunch up and she’d mutter her unintelligible human words in frustration. He’d seen her throw rocks and sticks, had seen her grasp her hair and tug on it, and a few times, had seen water—tears, called it—build up in her eyes. Sometimes her frustration was amusing, and even Ivy admitted it afterward. Other times…it produced a pain in Ketahn’s chest. She was overwhelmed, struggling to adapt to what she had called a new world, and sometimes she seemed to be hanging on only by frayed threads.

Yet every time that had happened, she’d taken a few moments to ease her breathing, to lift her chin, to clench her fists and say she was going to figure it out. Setting and lighting a fire on her own had taken her an entire morning. Her hands had been red and irritated, her blunt little claws had been chipped and filthy, and dirt had streaked her face by the end, but her smile after finally succeeding had been so bright and endearing that it had flashed in Ketahn’s mind’s eye over and over again ever since.

Ivy was not a vrix. She did not have the size, strength, or commanding presence so many female vrix possessed. She did not have long, powerful legs, an elegant headcrest, or clever mandibles as capable of caressing as they were crushing. She was not a warrior. She was not a protector. At best, she was a clumsy weaver, and she could not even produce her own silk. He doubted she knew how to work gold or shape stone, doubted she knew how to sculpt clay into pots and containers, doubted she knew how to do anything concerning a great many crafts that were vital to vrix survival.

According to everything his kind held important, Ivy was…useless. She would have struggled to contribute her due in Takarahl. He knew that, given time, she’d become competent in many of those tasks, but even that wouldn’t change the simple fact that she was not vrix—she was other.

And somehow, that made her irresistibly alluring to him.

Her golden hair was unlike that of any vrix he’d ever seen, so soft and full with gentle waves. He combed his fingers through it as often as she allowed, and it seemed to soothe them both. Her eyes, which had disturbed him at first, held new beauty in their depths each time he gazed into them. They were as blue as the sky at a glance, but there were different shades of blue within—some darker, some lighter. The black parts of her eyes shrank and expanded depending on the light, getting so big at night that he sometimes worried they would swallow up that entrancing blue.

Her pale skin was so soft and smooth, so receptive to his touch. And her lips…he did not understand why they fascinated him so much, and yet he often found himself staring at them.

Ivy was slight and fragile, but there was a toughness to her that he could not define. Though she could not match him in physical strength or speed, her mind was sharper than the most finely-honed shard of blackrock. And as odd and unbalanced as her two-armed, two-legged body appeared, he’d seen hints of grace in it, especially as she’d grown stronger and more accustomed to life in the Tangle. Her hands were especially clever. Those thin little fingers of hers possessed surprising dexterity.

Dexterity he could not ignore while those fingers were touching him.

Growling, Ketahn quickened his pace. The spot where Moonfall Tunnel widened into a dwelling space finally came into sight ahead.

Thinking about Ivy would only further befoul his temper—because he was not with her. In the back of his mind, he recognized that their time apart, even this time, was a good thing. He’d had to take great care when they touched one another lest he grow excited beyond control, and that struggle had only become more difficult with each day. But he’d come no closer to understanding why.

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?

He didn’t know what Ivy was to him, didn’t know what she could be. Ketahn didn’t know what he wanted. And that experience was as new to him as Ivy had been the night he’d found her.

All Ketahn did know was that he no longer wanted a life without Ivy in it.