“No,” he says, caressing my buttocks. “Striking you is never the answer, my sweet anchor. You require a different kind of punishment.”

He spreads my thighs apart, then pushes two fingers into my pussy.

I moan, jerking in response at the sensation. Oh god, I hadn’t expected that, or how good it’d feel. “Aron,” I pant, clutching at his throne. “Oh god, please—”

“Yes, I do think I am your god now,” he says in that same low, sexy voice, even as he thrusts deep into me with his fingers once more. His thumb skims along my wet folds and rubs against my clit, and I cry out. “You are my anchor, tethered to me for all time, and I am your lord of storms. Nothing will ever separate us again, Faith.”

His finger shifts inside me, and then he’s rubbing my G-spot. I choke out his name, wheeze, curse, and basically lose all control until I come, hard. Then, I just laugh and laugh even as the orgasm rolls through me and my legs feel like rubber bands stretched too tight, because that was amazing and perfect.

I’ve missed this man so badly, with every aching fiber of my being. I feel incredibly lucky that I get to have this time with him, to be in his lap, in his keep, celebrating his return. I want to cry with how perfect it feels. A hot tear slips down my cheek, then a second one, and then I’m sobbing because I thought I’d lost him for good. I’m overwhelmed.

“Shh, Faith. I have you. I’m here.” He pulls me off of the arm of the throne and back into his lap. His hands are on my face, stroking my arms, caressing me anywhere and everywhere. “Nothing will ever separate us again.”

“I missed you,” I sob against his mouth between kisses. “I missed you so much.”

“You were brave,” he tells me. “You did what you felt you had to in order to save me. I’m both humbled and terrified at the way your mind works.” When I let out a watery laugh, he kisses me again. “And I love you. I didn’t think gods could feel such things, but what I feel for you…there is no better term. You are everything to me. Everything I could ever want, everything I need.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper, caressing his dear face. “I love you so much.”

He simply holds me close, lightly kissing my mouth with gentle nips. I love that this big, fearsome man—this god—can be tender with me and fierce to the rest of the world. How I love him. I kiss him again, and then the kiss becomes something deeper, more erotic, and I moan with a new need.

“Can we make love on this throne?” I ask him, breathless.

“On this throne,” he agrees. “Or on the floor. Or on the tables. Anywhere and everywhere my anchor desires.”

I give him a sly look. “Can I wear the eyepatch?”

He laughs, head thrown back, and then hands it to me.

The only thing sexier than the lord of storms when he’s driving deep inside me? Is when he’s smiling in my direction and devouring me with his gaze.

That’s how I know I’m home.

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Epilogue

I run my fingers over the threads of the web, waiting for the picture to change. The threads shift, forming pictures, and eventually outline Yulenna’s face. She’s standing in her personal chambers at the tower, surrounded by spiderwebs. Her smile is bright as she waves at me.

“Hey!” I say in greeting. “About time!”

“Sorry,” she says with a small laugh. “I was, ah, distracted.”

“Ew, gross, don’t tell me any more.” I pretend to plug my ears. “I’m still scarred from your last story.”

Her laughter peals through the hall, and I grin back at her. Yulenna’s so ridiculously happy, it’s obvious even from long-distance. Serving the Spidae suits her admirably, and her skin practically glows with pleasure. She doesn’t mind that they’re weird since apparently they spoil the hell out of her and end up doting on her as much as she dotes on them. Being an anchor to them has been good for her, and good for them, though she is overly fond of sharing sex stories that I’d rather not hear.

I still find the Spidae creepy, after all. I don’t want to hear about her pleasuring all three of them at once. Again. I’m still trying to scrub the image of that from the last time she told me about it.

Still, it’s nice to have a buddy to chat with. I liked being friends with Yulenna before, and now that we’re both anchors serving gods, we catch up regularly through the web and chitchat about daily life…among other things.

“So?” I ask, practically dancing in place. “Did you check?”

“On the woman for Markos?” She nods. “Her thread is strong and not currently entwined with anyone else’s. Are you sure you can maneuver the two of them together? Or should I get my masters involved?”

I wave a hand. “I can handle it. I’ll make Aron go to war with someone or other. She’s Cyclopae, right? She’s bound to love war.”

“True. Well, let me know if you need me to have their threads tweaked.” Her eyes gleam with anticipation.

“Let’s not make it too obvious just yet,” I say. “If Markos knows we’re matchmaking from the Aether he’s bound to get stubborn.” Both Yulenna and I have decided that Kerren and Markos are our projects. They’re both great guys and honorable, and it’s time they met some equally awesome women. We’ve been eyeing a really fierce, badass Cyclopae chick for Markos, but I think Kerren needs someone sweeter, because he’s shy. A warrior woman would eat him alive.

Then again, maybe that’s what Kerren needs. We’ll figure it out.

“That wasn’t why I was calling, though,” I say, even as I make a mental note to put a bug in my Aron’s ear about setting up some skirmishes on the Yshremi border that will allow a Holy Warrior of the Cleaver to hang out with a lady barbarian. “I was going to ask about the other thing.”

“Calling?” She tilts her head, curious.

“Uh, web-calling?” I gesture at the magic spiderweb that we communicate through. The gods are able to see each other from afar through the webs, and I have enough control after hours of practice to snoop on some mortal places. “It’s a telephone sort of thing. Long story.”

“I see. From your old home?”

I nod. Funny, I haven’t thought to look and see if I can view the Earth web. It’s another part of my life that’s dead to me, in a sense. I don’t need Chicago, or pizza, or cars. That belonged to another Faith, another life. There, I was Faith Gordon, phone jockey at an insurance company.

Here, I’m Faith, eternal anchor and loyal companion to Aron of the Cleaver, Lord of Storms and the Butcher God of Battle. I know which one I’d rather be.

Yulenna’s dark eyes gleam and her mouth curls up in a smile. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

“Oh god. Do I?” I clutch my stomach. “I’m so nervous. You’re sure?”

“The threads don’t lie,” she tells me in a singsong. “You’ll see.”

I nod absently, even as thunder crashes outside. “Oh, that’ll be Aron. Can I call you back later?”

She chuckles. “Yes, do this ‘calling’ thing later. You know where I am.” And she waves from within the web and then fades out.

I turn away from the web and smooth my hands over my hair and then down my dress. It’s new, just like most of the stuff in my private chambers in the Keep of Storms. As promised, my Aron waged a (teeny tiny) war on Glistentide and accepted the spoils of offering. Now I have a ton of pretty dresses, urns full of incense and fine fabrics, and the best damn palatial bed I have ever seen. I have chairs and vases and books I can’t read and a harp that I have no idea how to play, but I was thrilled with all of it and made sure Aron blessed Glistentide appropriately as a thank you.

I picked something a little flashy today to get Aron’s attention. Not that it’s hard to get his attention, but I love it when he gives me one of those long, heated looks that tells me his mind is nowhere near the battlefield. The dress I’m wearing is a long, shimmery pink that fades to blue at the skirt, with a deep, deep embroidered neckline that shows off my impressive rack.