Chapter 3 #2
They conform to my body perfectly, the fabric cool and smooth against my still-sensitive skin.
The sensation is so intimate, so scandalously luxurious, it feels like a continuation of his touch.
I quickly pull on my newly repaired pants and try to regain the last shreds of my dignity, despite my face still burning with embarrassment.
“Human mass-produced textiles are disgracefully inferior,” he observes, picking up the box of slippers. “Inefficient design principles.”
“Right,” I say, my voice still shaky. I clear my throat. “So, uh, about what just happened… Was that… I mean, do you do that to every girl who gets trapped in your webs?” I’m aiming for casual, but there’s a note of possessiveness in my voice I can’t quite hide.
He pauses, tilting his head. For the first time, he seems uncertain.
“Well, you are the first human female. But yes, when a potential mate responds to prowess displays the way you had… it signals acceptance. My actions were meant to demonstrate worthiness. Consider them a sort of… courting display.” The words are slow, careful, as if he’s translating a concept he’s never had to explain before.
“Courting?” My voice cracks on the word.
Jesus, if that was courting, I can’t even imagine what full-blown dating is like with this guy!
“Well, yes. The Vyder equivalent.” Riven gestures with one of his upper arms, a surprisingly human-like shrug.
“Your human courtship rituals are… perplexing. You’ll have to forgive my inexperience with the subject, though I have done extensive research.
For instance, I know that it is customary for males to present females with roses, the symbolic vegetation for love, but I have none to give.
They don’t grow well on this mountain, you see. ”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “Where exactly are you getting your information on human courtship?”
“Anthropological documentaries,” he says with perfect seriousness. “Primarily The Bachelor and Love is Blind. These documentaries present consistent patterns of competitive mate selection in controlled environments. Very illuminating.”
The image of this terrifying creature taking notes while watching reality TV dating shows is so profoundly absurd, my composure finally breaks. A real, honest laugh bubbles out of me. “Riven, those aren’t documentaries.”
He seems genuinely perplexed. “They’re not? But the subjects agree to compete for mates under scientific observation. It’s classic behavioral study methodology.”
“It’s really not.” And just like that, my heart skips in my chest. Because underneath all that alien predator magnificence, he’s desperately trying to figure out how to court a mate properly.
Based on reality TV.
“Well,” I say, and my voice comes out softer than before. “For future reference, dinner is usually a good next step. No symbolic vegetation required.”
“Noted,” he says, before reaching into a hidden compartment in his exoskeleton and pulling out a thick roll of bills, pressing it into my hand. “Now, some payment for your trouble. I know this mountain road is a difficult drive.”
I look down at the wad of cash. It’s a small fortune. “Riven, this is way too much. Usually people tip me in ones and fives, or, if I’m really lucky, home-baked cookies.”
“A Vyder provides well for his intended. It is our way,” he says simply, as if this is an indisputable fact.
His intended.
The words echo in my mind.
He’s not being cold or transactional; he’s following a script from his own culture, one that’s a thousand times more serious than I realized. I feel a dizzying mix of panic and exhilaration.
“I should probably head back,” I say, reluctant but practical. “It’s getting late, and my dad worries if I’m out on these mountain roads after dark.”
“Of course.” He follows me to the edge of the path, and his mandibles twitch in his version of a smile. “Well, then. It was lovely having you trapped in my web. I anticipate more impulse purchases in the upcoming days.”
I swallow hard, before meeting his gaze directly. “And I look forward to delivering them. Maybe next time I’ll even stay for dinner.”
With that, I hurry inside the truck and start the engine with trembling fingers.
As I drive away, he remains on the porch, watching until I turn the corner.
The whole way home, I’m a mess of contradictions.
One hand grips the steering wheel while the other unconsciously traces the edge of my repaired pants, knowing underneath lies the silk he crafted specifically for me.
The questions spin in my head, a chaotic storm of anxiety and wonder.
Did that really just happen?
Did I just agree to be courted by a twelve-foot spider man who learns about love from reality television?
And what the hell am I going to tell my dad?
God, who knows. Maybe nothing.
But first, I have to focus on making it home without crashing, because every time I shift in my seat, the silk underwear he made me moves against my skin like a whispered promise.
A promise of what, I’m not exactly sure yet.