Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
The taste of her blood on his tongue was sweeter than any wine, more intoxicating than any power he had ever wielded.
Serrik felt his fangs sink deep into the delicate skin of Ava's throat, felt the moment his venom began to flow into her bloodstream, and knew with absolute certainty that he was lost.
Mine, the thought echoed through every fiber of his being, again and again and again. Finally, you are mine.
He had dreamed of this moment for so long—had imagined it a thousand different ways during the endless centuries of his imprisonment.
But nothing had prepared him for the reality of holding her suspended in his golden threads, feeling her pulse flutter against his lips as his poison transformed her from defiant human to willing supplicant.
Through his multiple eyes, he watched the venom take hold with the fascination of a scholar and the hunger of a predator. First came the sharp intake of breath as the initial sting registered, her body going rigid in his bonds for a heartbeat before the true effects began.
The transformation was exquisite.
Her gray-green eyes, normally so sharp with intelligence and, most of all, her stubbornness, began to cloud with a dreamy haze.
The tension fled from her muscles, leaving her pliant and soft in his threads.
A small sound escaped her lips—not pain, but something closer to wonder as the chemical euphoria spread through her system.
“Serrik…” His name fell from her lips in an exhale of pure surrender, and he felt something dark and possessive unfurl in his chest.
He withdrew his fangs slowly, savoring the way she shivered at the loss of contact.
Two perfect puncture wounds marked her throat now, already beginning to heal but still seeping the faintest trace of blood mixed with his luminous green venom.
The sight of his mark on her skin sent a surge of primitive satisfaction through him. “How do you feel, my little Weaver?”
“I feel…” She blinked slowly, her pupils dilated until only thin rings of color remained. “Everything. Nothing. This…isn’t like the time in the dream.”
“Because you are different, now. You are the Weaver. And you are awake.”
“Oh…” She furrowed her brow. “I can’t…why can’t I think?”
“Because you don't need to think," he murmured, one hand coming up to trace the delicate line of her jaw. “All you need to do is feel. To feel, and submit…”
The venom was working exactly as it should—dissolving her barriers, her defenses, her ability to resist what she truly wanted.
He could see it in the way her breathing had deepened, in the flush that spread across her skin, in the way she strained against his threads, not to escape but to get closer to him.
Her eyes drifted half shut at his touch. “Yes…”
The strange, primal clicking noise began in the back of his throat, a sound he had not heard himself make in…thousands of years. One he had not allowed himself to make. But there was no stopping it. It was too late for that now.
Too late for him.
Too late for her.
He began to map every curve and hollow of her body with his hands while his threads adjusted to grant him access, lifting her and shifting her weight as his unconscious thoughts dictated.
His multiple eyes tracked every expression that crossed her face, cataloging each gasp and moan like precious treasures.
This was what he had dreamed of during the endless years of his imprisonment—not just her body, but her complete and willing surrender. Not just physical pleasure, but the knowledge that she chose this, chose him, knowing exactly what he was.
“Tell me,” he commanded softly, his lips brushing against her collarbone. “Tell me what you feel.”
“Everything,” she breathed, her head falling back in abandon. “Fire in my veins. Your hands like lightning. I can feel every thread against my skin, every breath you take. It's overwhelming.”
“Good.” His satisfaction was growing positively evil in its darkness. And he was reveling in it. “You shall never forget precisely to whom you belong.”
One of his spider legs moved to trace along her thigh, the golden tip drawing delicate patterns on her skin. She shivered at the alien contact, but there was no fear in her—only wonder and escalating need.
His hands moved lower, mapping the curves and hollows of her form while his threads adjusted to grant him access. The venom had made her pliant and eager, responding to his every touch with soft sounds that drove his hunger to new heights.
“I have dreamed of this,” he confessed against her skin. “Through all the endless years of my imprisonment, you were the dream I didn't know I was waiting for.”
“And now?” she whispered.
“Now I am awake.” His multiple eyes met hers. “Now you are real, and willing, and perfect in my web. Now I can show you exactly what it means to belong to a creature like me.”
The promise in his words made her shiver with anticipation rather than fear, and Serrik knew with absolute certainty that this moment would be burned into his memory for all eternity.
Not just the physical claiming that was to come, but this—the moment when she looked at him in his true form and chose surrender instead of escape.
It seemed the Weaver still had some of herself left as the venom sank in. “Well…what are you waiting for?”
And he was lost.
The haze of the venom wasn’t nearly as total as it had been in her dream.
Part of her was happy for that. She would remember this moment. She would be able to savor every second of it.
Part of her—
A strange, inhuman growl left Serrik, coupled with a low, thrumming click-click-click that resonated through her.
It almost made her eyes roll back into her head.
The sound itself triggered something in her.
All the air rushed out of her lungs as she tried to think through the combination of the venom and the sound.
His hands stroked over her body, adding to the overwhelming sensation that was flooding her.
She was still suspended in the air, though she wasn’t fully vertical anymore, but reclined at an angle, trapped in an ever-increasingly elaborate network of threads that Serrik was building between the structure of the room and her.
It was hard to focus, when he was kneading and squeezing at her body, nipping at her skin with his teeth, and—
“Ah!” Ava arched her back as he sank his fangs into the swell of her breast, feeling more of his venom flood her body. “Fuck!” The burning ache and the need lanced through her.
He chuckled as he withdrew his teeth from her, licking at the puncture wounds before twisting her pert nipple between his fingers. “You retain too much of yourself…” His words were strained, barely audible through the thrumming. The man was almost subsumed entirely by the animal.
All she could do was moan in response. Everything else was beyond her capacity.
“Good, my Weaver…” The web he had built shifted ever so slightly as he climbed onto it with her. It still amazed her how little it moved despite his size.
It was the claspers that spread her legs and lifted them, pinning them to his web as he loomed over her, freeing his hands to caress her body.
It was so bizarre—so inhuman, so alien, it made her head spin—but she moaned and arched her back against his hands, pressed against the soft fur and impossible strength of his spider’s legs all the same.
She wanted to feel every ounce of it. Wanted to know the crushing power of the creature above her. Wanted him to ravage her like he threatened and breed her. Primal. Raw. Because he loved her. Because he wanted her. And because she loved and wanted him. “Serrik… yes—”
And he was done with restraint. She felt the length of him grind against her, those ridges sliding against her core, teasing her, promising what was to come only briefly before making good on it.
Serrik swallowed her cry with a harsh and claiming kiss as he sank himself deep into her. He didn’t wait for her to adjust to his girth. He didn’t need to. She was more than ready. But there was no pause of hesitation, no gentleness as he rammed himself home.
And it felt like bliss.
She lifted her hips as much as she could, but she was caught fast—trapped in his golden web. Trapped in the grasp of his claspers. In the grip of his hand that he threaded into her hair to yank her head back and force her mouth open to tangle his tongue with hers.
His claspers tightened around her upper thighs to pin her body flush to his hips. She might as well have been bound to him by iron rods. Every inch of her was straining to take him—and there was more of him left.
And he hadn’t even started to move.
She moaned against him, pleasure rushing through her body. The burning fire of his venom, the sound of the strange, inhuman clicking and growling that still echoed from him. It was too much.
Ecstasy crashed over her in an unexpected wave, her body tightening around him in a spasm as she wailed, muffled against his lips.
He broke away, looking down at her, smiling in pride. “Look at you, my little Weaver…coming undone so quickly…?”
She couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t focus on his words. Couldn’t focus on anything except him, and how good he felt, buried inside her. And that there was more. More that he wasn’t giving her. “Please…”
The feeling of him in her body withdrew until only the tip remained—but he didn’t move. The claspers held her pinned tight to him. His hips never left her. His legs never shifted on the web.
She blinked in confusion.
He grinned, vicious and more than a little cruel. “As you wish.” All at once he surged back into her body—once more without moving. She jerked with the force of it, but he hadn’t moved. Only—