Red String {EDITING}

Chapter Thirteen | Strings and Snakes

Maybe the fact she was stark naked had something to do with it? Her cheeks reddened at the thought. Rylan wasn't like the others who had seen her bare form before. He was her mate, the one whom the crimson string bound her to. He would mean plenty to her in time. She could feel the bond clawing at her chest like a little kitten, weak in its infancy. She wanted to cling to him, to drown herself in the safe feeling he radiated... but part of her couldn't help but wonder, if she did so, would she ever learn to stand on her own two feet?

The soft sound of something hitting the wooden docking had her turning around, eyes widening when she spied the waterproofed bag of what looked like silken fabric. Curious, she edged towards it, opening it, a small smile on her face when she found the dressing gown. It was far too large for her, clearly meant for a male, but Lyra didn't particularly care in that moment. Clothes were clothes, and the slight chill she could feel now that her fur had vanished was becoming more prominent by the second. She probably wouldn't have cared in that moment, but her mate was there too. She would rather be clothed.

Her neck itched, and she scratched it, silently wondering what had become of Rylan in the meantime. Lyra had thought he would be back at her side as quickly as possible, what with how he'd been acting around her. Or had she hurt him again? Loathing curled in her belly, fingernails digging white crescents into her skin. She was so pathetic.

Thunder rumbled in the background, and Lyra paused in her scratching, not bothering to note the trickle of warm liquid which dribbled down the collar of her throat.

Light flashed in the corner of her eye, and she closed them, pulling the silky dressing gown further around herself. It didn't smell as nice as the one Rylan had given to her before. Lyra scowled, eyes snapping open, blinking at the lightning she saw. There was no thunder following it. In fact, there was no sound at all, just as there was no movement. Everything was frozen, the entire world slightly greyed out, the colour leeched from the view before her.

Her heart pounded in her chest, like the beating of a hummingbird's wings. Lightning was frozen in front of her, the white fork arcing down towards the lake before it stopped so abruptly. Its light shone around the figure seated at the very edge of the dock.

Their hair was a shock of white, cascading in silky waves down over their shoulders, a sharp contrast to the tawny brown skin which glistened in the light surrounding them. They turned then, a sharp jawline and full lips, coupled with wide, pink eyes making it rather hard to distinguish whether the person before her was male or female. Androgynous. That was the word for it.

Lips split into a smile then, mirthful and sly. "Hello, Lyra," he said, voice undoubtedly masculine, and she could only blink as power tingled on the tip of her tongue. The very air felt as though it were electric, irony at its finest, considering the frozen bolt of lightning behind him.

She swallowed, wetting her lips as she struggled to piece things together. Who was he? The man felt familiar, but she had never met him before. There was more to it than that, though. Had she been a wolf in that instant, she would have been showing her belly. He was powerful. More so than her own mate, and he was the King of Alphas. Which meant there was only one being the male before her could be.

Her knees crumpled, body folding into a bow, forehead almost touching the wooden decking as she stared determinedly at the waters of the lake through the gaps in the slats.

"Come now," the god's voice rang out amidst the stillness. "There is no need to bow before me. Indeed, I do not take formalities nearly as sternly as some others of my kind do."

Lyra risked a glance upwards, heart pounding in her chest as her eyes met those pink ones. "What should I... uh, call you... my lord?"

He laughed at that then, and she flinched. She could feel the power roiling through the air, the scent thick and heady as he patted the decking beside him. "I believe you would call me 'The Weaver', or another name which you moon children have given me. I have long since forgotten my original name. There has been no need for its use, and my memory is not infallible unfortunately enough."