Sheltered 2

Without warning, the perfect, sunny afternoon suddenly gave way to a violent, torrential downpour. Thunder rolled and lightning crashed as Atheia tried to make her way back to the small, worn path she'd come on. It was difficult to see in the rain that came down in hard sheets and she was soaked through her cloak and clothes in no time. The longer Atheia paused to try and get her bearings, the more water-logged and lost she got.

The ground was a muddy mess beneath her booted feet and every step she took threatened to suck them off as Atheia tried to make her way up a slope she was certain she'd come down earlier. She slipped a few times, muddying her clothes as she tried to scrabble for enough purchase in the mud to keep going up, but she mis-stepped. Atheia's foot slipped on the muddy slope, her ankle twisting roughly, as she fell back and down with a yell that was suddenly swallowed up by a crack of lightning.

For long moments, Atheia laid on her back, dazed, with cold rain pelting her face. She struggled for breath, the wind thoroughly knocked out of her, as she tried to raise herself up. The back of her head hurt, her lungs burned and when she tried to stand, she let out a sharp cry of pain. Atheia cursed, falling back into the mud; her ankle was either badly twisted or broken. She couldn't tell which it was—all she knew was that she had to get herself out of the driving rain before anything else happened to her.

Atheia turned over onto her belly, gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle, and looked for anything that would offer her even the slightest bit of cover. She squinted through the pouring rain and saw that there was a large, fallen log nearby; one that seemed large enough for her to crawl into. Slowly, she began to crawl through the mud and water as best as she could, dragging her injured ankle behind her.

It seemed like it took forever to crawl over to the log, but when Atheia made it, she was relieved to find it was big enough for her to drag herself into with a little effort. It offered her some shelter from the storm and Atheia leaned her head against the hollowed out inside of the trunk. There was no way she could start a fire in here and definitely not outside in the raging storm. Atheia sighed heavily, tears running down her cheeks from the pain in her now swollen ankle. The cold from her soaked cloak and clothes was setting in now and chilling her to the bone, her teeth chattering and hands rubbing at her arms in a futile attempt to warm herself. She briefly muttered a prayer through cold-numbed lips, hoping to last until morning and then she was swallowed by darkness.

****

Serik had lost that familiar scent, the one that belonged to the young human woman, but he quickly picked it up again. It was difficult in the storm, but he was patient and soon, he was rewarded with her tracks. He followed them up to a muddy, torn up slope—her faint, washed out scent was strongest here, and quickly investigated it for a moment with his sharp eyes, despite the dark and hard rain.

It looked like she tried to go up and slid down again in the mud. Turning, Serik saw the large smear of mud that wiped out some of her prints and then long drag marks leading away. A moment of panic seized him; had she been attacked by some other beast in these woods? He scented the air, his heart beating frantically in his chest. He smelled no blood, despite the rain, and quickly followed the drag marks in the mud until he found a large, hollow log.

Serik peered in and saw the human woman slumped against the inside. There was no color in her face and when he reached out to touch her hand, it was deathly cold—too cold for a human. He hunkered down as best as he could, but his large Arachnid frame would not allow him to get any closer to the log. Serik reached in as far as he could and grabbed her knee as gently, but as firmly as he could. He pulled at her and there was a groan of pain. Her eyes seem to flutter open for a moment and then she fell back, unconscious.

Serik was encouraged by her being alive and gingerly started to pull at her again, mindful of any injuries. He had her mostly out of the log now, enough that he could scoop her up in his arms and carefully carry her back to his den, despite the unending storm.

****

Atheia slowly woke to dim firelight and the soft crackle of fire. She felt something soft under her and over her and she dimly realized that it was soft, warm furs. She coughed, deep and percussive and her lungs ached as her eyes adjusted to the low light. Atheia had a splitting headache as she surveyed as much as she could around her. Her right ankle had been bandaged in something soft and flexible and it was up in a sling. Her left arm was also bandaged from her elbow all the way down to and around her hand.

"The hell ..." Atheia muttered.

She thought she might be in a cottage or house somewhere—maybe even back at her own village, but this was no cottage. It was some kind of cave, she thought and nearby was a fire pit keeping her warm. Maybe a Wildling dragged her here and she was resting in a hammock. Atheia coughed and sputtered again—this time she had to catch her breath. She cursed, knowing it was damp-lung; between that and her ankle, she wasn't going anywhere for a good while.

Atheia nestled down into the furs as best as she could. She was warm and she seemed safe for now. Someone was taking care of her and seemed to be doing a decent job of it. She closed her eyes, her breathing a little difficult and strained from the damp-lung, and somewhere in the darkness Atheia heard soft humming as she drifted off to sleep.

****

The next time Atheia woke, she was more lucid. She had no idea how long she had been out. Everything up until this point, had seemed like a fever dream but she knew now that it had been no dream. Not the storm, not the fall or the sensation of having been carried and waking up here the first time. No, it was all real and when she tried to sit up, Atheia hacked and coughed, the force of it, shaking her leg that was still up in the sling. She winced at the pain in her ankle and wondered if it was broken.

She looked around for a moment in the same dim firelight that she'd woken up to the first time. Atheia was still nestled in furs and she appeared to be in some kind of hammock. Next to her was what looked like a high, flat stone with a steaming cup of tea on it and what looked like something stew-like in a bowl with a spoon carved from horn.

"You're awake," a soft, warm voice said from somewhere above and around her. The echo of the cave made it hard to tell where exactly he was. "That's good."

"Who..." Atheia started, but was wracked with coughs. "Who ... are you?"

"Easy," the voice soothed. "the tea there will help."

Atheia heard a soft, anxious, clicking sound as she gingerly sat herself up as best as she could against the pillow that had been slipped under her head at some point. She carefully reached for the steaming cup and brought it to her lips. It tasted of mild grindelia, bittersweet licorice root, grassy mullein, and some other plants she recognized that helped with damp-lung. Atheia took another warming sip and after a moment, she felt her lungs starting to open up and her cough was starting to quell.

"Thank you," she croaked, her throat raw and chest painful from the deep, percussive coughs.

"My name is Serik." he offered, a hint of nervousness. "I found you in the fallen log. It looked like you fell; you weren't in very good shape so I brought you back here to my ..."

He was about to say 'den' but thought better of it.

"To my home." he finished.

"Thank you, Serik." Atheia said, draining the last of the tea, her voice improving slightly with the liquid and warmth. "How... long have I been out?"

"Several days. You drifted in and out from fever, but mostly you slept. This is the first time you've really been awake."

Atheia took the bowl now and carefully set it against the fur that covered her chest. Gods was it good; she didn't realized how ravenously hungry she was until she put the first spoonful in her mouth.

"Aside from the damp-lung," Serik said, watching her approvingly from the shadows as she ate, "Your ankle is only twisted, thank the gods, and not broken. It can come out of the sling in another day or so. What were you doing out in such weather?"

"I was out collecting herbs," Atheia answered in between spoonfuls of stew. "The storm caught me by surprise, I lost my bearings. I'm just glad that my ankle's not broken..."

"You're a healer?" Serik asked, curious.

"In training," she sighed and took another bite. "My mentor's probably out of her mind with worry right now, but I'm not going anywhere like this. Not for a little while, at least..."

There was that faint, anxious clicking and chittering somewhere above Atheia. It evoked an image of someone wringing their hands and her brow furrowed slightly.

"I used the herbs from your bag to treat you."

"Better used than going to waste," Atheia nodded approvingly, as she finished the last of her stew and set it aside. She nestled back down into the furs and closed her eyes briefly.

"Why do you hide yourself?" she said finally.

There was silence and a strange hush fell over the cave for a moment, except for the soft crackle and sputter of the fire.

"I... you won't like what you see," Serik said softly with a tinge of sadness. "I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Afraid?" Atheia snorted lightly, her eyes opening a little. "I don't know how I can be afraid of someone who pulled me out of a storm, patched me up and took care of me all this time."

She paused for a moment, her breathing somewhat difficult, before she continued.

"My name's Atheia by the way, but most people just call me Theia,"

"Theia ..." Serik whispered softly, reverently as if her name was a prayer.

"I'm not going to judge you," Atheia yawned, her eyes slipping closed again. "It's okay."

In moments, Atheia was asleep. For a while, Serik watched over her, as she lay warm and nestled in the sling he'd made her. He let out a petulant sigh, aching to be in a larger sling with and Atheia having her soft, human body nestled against him. He longed to nuzzle and comfort her as he hummed, clicked and chittered her to sleep.

The thought of it made Serik's slit wet and slick and he felt the bulge in his lower abdomen between his forelegs grow. He skittered up and retreated to his own larger sling high above and cloaked in darkness. Serik settled in, spreading his soft, sandy brown forelegs wide as his hands went down to his slick, dripping slit. A soft moan escaped his lips as he ran his fingers along the hot folds and he felt the delicious pressure of his cock beginning to emerge from it.

Serik shivered as he stroked a few fingers inside the soft, hot silk of his slit while he took his ridged and tapered cock in the other. He gasped quietly as he began to stroked his dripping cock with a slick hand as it glided smoothly up to the tapered, scalloped head and back down to the thick base. Serik imagined all the times he'd caught fleeting glimpses of Atheia, only to hide himself away, never daring to come close or call attention to himself. He had watched over her while she was in his territory making sure nothing would harm her until she left, but her scent...

Oh gods, her delicious scent stayed with him, the only name he had known her by, and even now he smelled Atheia's delicious scent below him. Serik bit his lip to keep from moaning too loudly as his cock twitched and jumped in his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut as he stroked himself harder and faster, as he rubbed at his slit in time with his other hand. Serik came suddenly with a muffled grunt, biting his lip so hard it bled. His cock pulsed as he curled forward with intense pleasure, spurting blue-sheened come in thick ropes all over his abdomen and the tops of his forelegs.

Serik released his cock, his hands covered in come and slick from his slit, and it promptly retreated back into the safety of his slit. He gripped the side of his sling for a moment, breathing hard and trembling from the aftershock of his released.

"Theia..." he moaned ever so softly, before he fell into an exhausted sleep.

****

Over the next few days, Atheia woke to her leg having been let down from its sling and there was food and tea for the damp-lung left on the stone beside her, as usual. She tried her ankle, bending and flexing her foot, but it still hurt some to move it around. Atheia wasn't sure she was quite ready to walk on it yet, but maybe in a day or two.

Serik still concealed himself, refusing to reveal his face. He hid in the shadows and Atheia was never quite sure exactly where he was. At times, it seemed like his voice was all around, the way it bounce off the cavern walls. The curiosity of what Serik looked like gnawed at her. The only thing she knew of him was his voice, and what a lovely, sensual voice it was—warm and resonate. More than once, she felt herself grow wet at the sound of it, and she knew full well by now, that she was completely naked under these furs. He'd seen a far amount of her body already, getting her wet clothes off and hanging them to dry nearby.

Atheia sighed as she looked at the cool cup of tea for the damp-lung on the stone next to her. She reached out for it, but then thought better of it and withdrew her hand.

"You haven't had your tea yet," Serik observed, "is it too strong?"

There was no mistaking his voice this time; it was coming from somewhere in front of her, but he was hidden in dark and shadow as always.

"No," she said, sitting up in the sling now and slowly swinging her stiff legs over the side. She pulled the top fur around herself against the chill of the cavern. "I'll drink it if you show yourself."

"What?" Serik gasped, as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Come out of the shadows, and I'll drink the tea." Atheia paused for a moment and coughed a little. "I already told you I wouldn't judge. I ... want to see the face that goes with your beautiful voice. I want to see the face of the person who's been caring for me so well all this time."

There was a long silence and nervous, rhythmic chittering and clicking before Serik spoke.

"If ... if I show you, will you drink it?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes," she smiled softly. "I'll drink it, even though it's cold and disgusting by now."

A few heartbeats passed before Atheia heard a soft clicking noise move towards her and out of the gloom and shadows, a human torso emerged, followed by an arachnid half.

Atheia was in awe of Serik, her eyes wide, as he moved slowly, gracefully into the glow of the fire light, revealing all of himself to her. His skin was the color of soft wheat and he looked down on her with creamy, jade eyes, that were full of trepidation. Two smaller black ones at either end of his eyebrows and just above, seemed furrow slightly, anxiously with his brow.

Serik's shoulder-length, steel-blue hair was tossed to one side that partially hid external mandible-like appendages that were covered with fine gray hairs, and ended in iridescent orange chelicerae. Serik had them tucked tightly, anxiously against his face and the chelicerae rested just under his bottom lip, following the curve of his chin. His ears came to an elegant point and his muscular arms ended in strong hands that bore short, black claws.

The swell of Serik's human hips were covered in light gray hair with black ticking and where his legs would have been, they branched out into great spider's legs, strong and stocky. On their undersides, they were also gray with black ticking; the tops of them, sandy-colored with small bands of dark brown going down to the tips. His other six legs where the same coloration except for the two small forelegs that where just gray with black ticking. On Serik's lower abdomen, between his forelegs, was a patch of rusty orange that ran all the way across the underside of his thorax. The top of his thorax was the same sandy color as the top of his legs with thicker, bold, dark brown stripes.

"Oh," Atheia breathed softly, "You ... You're beautiful."

Serik's breath hitched in his chest, he dared not breath for fear of breaking such a delicate moment.

"Say that again..," he said in disbelief, his voice barely a whisper, heart pounding furiously in his chest.

"You're beautiful, Serik."

Atheia reached for the cup of cold tea, never taking her eyes off him, and downed it all with a wince at the cold bitterness of it. She set it back down and it looked like Serik wasn't sure if he should stay or go, the trepidation still shown in his eyes.

"Stay... please." she said, holding out a hand to him.

Serik tentatively took her hand and when Atheia smiled, he took it more firmly, slowly coming towards her and settling himself in front of her so they were more eye to eye.

"Theia ... you're not scared of me?" Serik asked quietly.

"Of course not," she said, giving his hand a light squeeze. "You've been so gentle and caring—thank you."

Serik's heart thumped in his chest at her touch and he swallowed with a slight nervous click in his throat.

"I never hoped," he started softly,"I always watched over you from afar in the forest; made sure you were safe. I... I never thought I could reveal myself to you. You're so beautiful, Theia. I've always thought..."

Serik's voice was choked as he looked away from Atheia, but it was her gentle hand on his head, in his hair that brought him back to look up at her.

"That was you?" she asked quietly, "All that time? I always knew someone, or something was around whenever I came into this part of the forest. I never felt threatened. I always felt safe, like someone was watching over me. That's how you found me, then?"

He only nodded and drew himself a little closer to Atheia as she continued to stroke his hair.

"Even in the rain, I had your scent. I followed it and found you in that log. You were so cold—I thought you were dead..."

"Oh, Serik..." Atheia whispered softly and pulled him to her.

Her legs parted to Serik come closer and he settled his torso and hips between them, mindful of her injured ankle. Atheia brought her arms around him and Serik buried his face in her hair and the hollow at her neck and shoulder. He held her tight, inhaling her scent deeply, before he let out a content, relieved sigh.

"Theia," Serik murmured softly against her neck, "Theia..."

He nuzzled his way up to her jaw and smiled when he heard her tiny gasp of pleasure. Serik gently took Atheia's face in his hands and caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. He rested his forehead on hers and his mandibles opened, chelicerae gently combing through her hair.

Serik was about to say something else, when Atheia closed the small gap between them and gently kissed his lips. He was stunned at first and when she kissed him again, he responded, gentle, yet firm, each kiss growing more eager between them. His fangs lightly nipped at her lips, tongue darting in to taste Atheia and play with hers.

Serik reached down with one hand and pulled Atheia firmly against his lower abdomen. She let out a tiny, surprised squeak and laughed softly against his lips. His forelegs came around the small of her back and held her close. A shiver of desire ran through him as Atheia ran her palms down his neck, across his shoulders, and down to his chest. Serik smiled against her lips, even as a soft moan escaped him.

"I want you, Theia," Serik exhaled shakily, as his fingers moved idly up and down her back beneath the fur. "I've always wanted you ..."

Atheia's thighs felt slicker than normal and when she glanced between then, she saw the soft, rusty orange hairs were glistening and a slick, gray, pulsing slit was just starting to open.