Chapter 1 #2
The silk creaks as I test its strength, a useless effort that only serves to bind me more securely. Each movement sends vibrations through the web, and I watch his eyes track them with predatory attention.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie, my voice strained.
“Your pulse just quickened,” he observes, moving to stand directly in front of me. “And there’s a flush spreading across your skin that isn’t consistent with simple fear. And your blood is rushing somewhere quite… Well…”
My face burns hotter at his assessment. How can he possibly—
“I can sense the vibrations through my silk,” he continues, as if reading my thoughts. “Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every… shift.” His mandibles click softly. “It’s quite informative.”
Oh god. If he can feel all that, then he knows. He knows my body is responding in ways that make absolutely no sense given the circumstances.
Because there’s something about being completely helpless, caught like prey, displayed in his web, that’s doing things to me that I never felt before…
“I don’t—” I start, but he interrupts with a soft chittering sound of amusement.
“You humans are fascinating creatures,” he says, reaching down to retrieve the dropped package with casual grace. “So determined to deny what your bodies clearly communicate.”
“Can we just… focus on the delivery?” I ask desperately.
“Ah, yes. My fuzzy slippers.”
I blink, certain I’ve misheard. “Your what?”
“Fuzzy slippers,” he repeats, examining the box with delighted enthusiasm. “Four pairs. With memory foam insoles. They received excellent reviews online.”
The cognitive dissonance of a twelve-foot spider-creature ordering fuzzy slippers momentarily overrides my fear. “You ordered… slippers?”
“Is that unusual?” He tilts his head again.
“For a giant spider man? Yeah, kinda.”
His mandibles click rapidly, then he squints at the nametag on my uniform. “We all have our indulgences, June of Hartwell Delivery.”
The way he says my name sends an unexpected shiver through me, and I watch his eyes widen in response. He definitely felt that through the web.
“Your situation presents me with an interesting dilemma,” he says, setting the package aside and returning his full attention to me. “Social convention suggests I should free you immediately and apologize for the inconvenience.”
“That sounds like a great plan,” I say quickly.
“And yet…” He circles me again, each step deliberate and hypnotic. “Your body is telling me something quite different from your words.”
The silk shifts as he plucks one strand experimentally, sending a vibration through the entire web that makes me gasp involuntarily.
“Interesting,” he murmurs.
“Look, Mr.—”
“Riven,” he insists. “Vyders don’t use honorifics.”
“Riven,” I repeat, trying to sound firm despite being completely at his mercy. “I should really be going, so if you don’t mind—”
“Tell me, June,” he continues, moving closer until I can see the depths of his golden eyes, “what do you think is happening right now?”
“I’m caught in your web,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Beyond the obvious physical circumstance. What’s happening between us?”
The question catches me completely off guard. Between us? I mean, sure, I’m having some sort of weird primal response, but there’s really no “us.” There’s just me, getting the hell out of here before this throbbing that’s building between my legs becomes impossible to ignore.
“Nothing’s happening,” I say, but my voice comes out breathless and unconvincing even to my own ears.
“Your pulse spikes when I move closer,” he observes, doing exactly that. “Your pupils dilate. Your breathing becomes shallow. Your skin flushes.” One claw traces the air just above my cheek, not quite touching. “These are fear responses, yes. But they’re also…”
“Don’t say it,” I warn, my voice barely audible.
“Arousal responses,” he finishes, ignoring my plea. “You find this situation stimulating.”
The silk around my thighs seems to tighten at his words, and I bite back a sound that would only confirm his assessment.
“That’s ridiculous,” I manage, but it’s obvious to us both that I’m lying.
“Fascinating,” he says, more to himself than to me. “I never imagined I’d catch a human with such… particular tastes.”
“I don’t have particular—” I start to protest, but he raises one clawed finger to silence me.
“Your body disagrees. Quite emphatically, in fact.” His voice drops to something low and intimate.
“Tell me, June of Hartwell Delivery, have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be completely, utterly at someone’s mercy?
To surrender all that careful control you humans like to cling so dearly to? ”
The question leaves me at a loss for words. God, yes. I’ve spent my entire adult life being competent, reliable, in charge of every situation. The thought of letting go, of being overwhelmed by something bigger and stronger and infinitely more dangerous than myself…
“I can see that you have,” he says, reading my silence correctly.
“And now I find myself in a dilemma. Civilized human protocol dictates I should cut you free, accept my delivery, and send you on your way. But Vyders such as myself follow a different set of rules… You see, to my kind, it’s extremely rude to simply release a responsive female who’s displayed so perfectly in one’s web. ”
I swallow hard. “What are you going to do?”
His six eyes glitter in the growing darkness, and when he smiles—an alien expression made of mandibles and sharp edges—it’s the most beautiful and terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.
“Why, I’m going to give you exactly what you desire,” he says simply. “After all, what kind of host would I be if I left a guest wanting? And you, June of Hartwell Delivery, are clearly very, very wanting…”
I know I should scream. I know I should protest.
I know I just might be seconds away from being devoured.
And yet here I am, secretly hoping he does just that.
I’m so screwed.