13. Flavia
Flavia
T he grove had changed since I had first arrived.
Ysu’s web had grown, silver strands threading through the forest. My sleeping hammock hung low, and he had built new webs around it, more intricate than elsewhere.
A beautiful canopy filled with his art, the webs creating tessellations and patterns I hadn’t seen anywhere else.
Had he done this purposefully, to surround me with beauty?
A part of me thought he hadn’t even realized what he was doing, which brought a smile to my face. My soft-hearted monster.
I stood beneath it, bare feet pressed against moss, and watched as the light of the moon caught in the water droplets like tiny stars.
Tiny blue flowers caressed my feet in the soft night breeze, and I felt richer than any centurion in their dead homes of stone.
Here, everything was part of the beautiful cycle of the world, and even if that meant I had to share my sleep with creatures of every sort, I knew that it was home.
Something snagged in the web, and the whole thing jostled, and the tiny dew drops landed on my face, a cool kiss. I wondered exactly what prey Ysu’s web had snared when I heard it—the forest’s call. It spoke, just like in my dream. But this time, it was no dream.
Come deeper , it whispered. The invaders build a new outpost to the north. They think stone walls will protect them from what stalks the wilds .
My body swayed toward the summons, muscles straining with the desire to change into something that would carry me swift and silent through the undergrowth. My hunger rose in response—not just mine anymore, but the land’s appetite flowing through me like sap through my veins.
“Going somewhere, neidr?”
Ysu’s voice came from directly behind me, though I hadn’t heard his approach. For all his size, he was still a hunter and annoyingly quiet when he desired. I turned to find him in his full form, mandibles slightly spread, all eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“The forest calls,” I said. “There’s prey to the north.”
“The forest.” His tone carried something sharp beneath its calm. “Yes, it speaks to you often now, doesn’t it? Whispers in your dreams, fills your mind with its ancient purposes.”
Something in his posture—the way his chitinous arms held perfectly still while his human hands flexed—sent warning through me, and had nothing to do with my new enhanced senses.
“You knew this would happen. You have heard its call.” It wasn’t a question so much as an accusation.
He crossed his arms over his chest, a very human gesture of petulance that almost had me laughing. “Yes, it calls to all of us. It thinks itself quite righteous. This curse binds me to it, but I have learned to ignore it.”
“You said I was becoming something more. I must go to it.”
He hissed, “I said you were changing, but you are mine.” The words emerged with a chittering underlayer that spoke of his agitation. He moved closer, his massive form casting shadows even in the darkness of the night. “Mine to transform. Mine to teach. Mine to keep.”
“But I’m also?—”
“Nothing else.” His hands seized my shoulders while his spider limbs wove around me, not quite restraining but definitely restricting. “You are nothing else. The forest may have called you here, but I claimed you. My venom runs through your veins and my web shelters your sleep.”
The possessiveness in his voice should have reminded me of Tiberius, of ownership enforced through violence. Instead, it sent heat spiraling through me—dark recognition of a predator who would tear the world apart rather than share his prize.
“The forest?—”
“The forest can find another fool to be its weapon.” His mandibles clicked mere inches from my face. “It has waited centuries; it can wait longer. You belong in my web, where I can see you, touch you, ensure no ancient power thinks to steal what is mine.”
I tested his grip, and found it unyielding. But beneath that immeasurable strength, I felt something else. “You’re afraid.”
The accusation hung between us. His multiple eyes blinked in sequence—surprise, anger, and vulnerability flashing through them before he found his cold mask again.
“I fear nothing,” he said, but his hands gentled on my shoulders. “I am simply... protective.”
“I thought only humans lied, Ysu.” I leaned into his hold rather than fighting it. “You’re afraid I’ll choose the forest over you. That I’ll disappear into the deep woods and become something beyond your reach.”
His silence spoke volumes. When he finally responded, his voice carried centuries of solitude.
“Everything I have ever claimed has been taken by time or hunger or the simple nature of mortal things. You are... different. Changing. Becoming something that might endure as I endure.” His hands cupped my face.
“I would not lose you to the very power I helped awaken.”
“Then come with me,” I said. “Hunt with me. Let the forest see what you have made me.”
“No.” The word cracked like breaking stone.
“You hunt in my territory, where my web can track your movements. Where I can follow the vibrations of your victories and feast on your conquests when you return.” His grip tightened again.
“The deep forest has its own guardians, its own hungers. I will not risk you to them.”
“You can’t cage me, Ysu.” Even as I said it, I felt my body responding to his proximity, to the tenderness I saw blossoming, as much as he tried to hide it. The serpent in my belly coiled with different appetites. “A silk prison is still a prison.”
His smile revealed all his teeth. “You forget, neidr—you gave yourself to me completely. Mind, body, and soul, sworn beneath the blood moon. The forest may call, but you answer to me first.”
He lifted me effortlessly over his shoulder, carrying me back toward the heart of his domain despite my half-hearted struggles.
His hand traced up the back of my thigh before gripping down on the flesh of my ass until his nails bit in, and all thoughts of leaving fled my mind.
The forest’s whispers faded with each step, replaced by the singing of his web as it recognized its mistress returning.
“This discussion is not over,” I warned as he set me down in our usual resting place, silk already beginning to wind around my ankles.
“No,” he agreed, but his wide smile told me the truth.
He settled his massive form around me like a living cage.
“But you are mine, neidr. The forest will have to make do with lesser servants. I did not wait three centuries to share you with anything—not Romans, not gods, and certainly not the ambitious dreams of trees.”
His possessiveness wrapped around me tighter than any web, and I found myself torn between the wild calling of the hunt and the dark comfort of being so thoroughly ensnared. In the distance, I could feel the forest’s patience, vast and implacable.
It would wait. But Ysu’s eyes promised he would not.