Chapter 12 #2
Looking down to where they were joined, she remembered that he could control it—and—oh god—the claspers made sense now, she supposed.
A lot of things made sense now. A spider on a web having sex like a person would tear a web to shreds, wouldn’t it?
He withdrew almost all the way before slamming into her again.
Pleasure crashed over her, all lightning and fire, and she let out a strangled, wailing cry.
He laughed, quiet and dark. “My beautiful Weaver…do you understand, now?” He shifted, leaning back, so that he could watch her, gazing down at them as she jolted in his strands, while he stayed still—yet pistoned inside her like a machine.
Her breaths were coming in ragged gasps. It felt beyond perfect—the venom that coursed through her, the way he filled her. Completed her. How long they went on like that, she had no idea, with him stroking her body reverently and cruelly in equal measure with his hands.
Again and again, countless times, through the haze of the poison that rampaged through her mind, she met pure bliss as he made good on his threats.
Or so she thought.
Turns out…he hadn’t even begun.
His two front legs shifted to position him better, and the threads holding her suspended lifted her. Before she could even process what was happening, up became down, and she was suddenly face-down on a tight span of golden webs, several feet off the ground, her hips above her.
She felt the claspers hook over her thighs where they joined her hips, pulling her flush to his body.
“Now that you are truly ready for me…” His hand was in her hair, pinning her head to the tight network of strands.
What happened next was a blur.
She felt him inside her. There was so much of him. Again, and again. Filling her. Painting the insides of her with him. Claiming her. She remembered crying out his name.
And when that promised thing at his base threatened her with entry, she felt nothing but a raw, primal, roaring need for it.
She might have even begged him. It had been a white-hot pleasure that had emptied out everything from her when it had finally slid its way inside, when he had gone deeper into her body than should have been possible. When he had truly claimed her.
The pleasure had been unlike anything she had experienced before in her life. Anything she had ever thought was possible. If she fainted, she was certain it didn’t slow him down.
How long they stayed like that, she didn’t know. How many times he sank his fangs into her throat and took her, she had no idea. Or maybe she had dreamed a few rounds.
When she slipped into unconsciousness, all she knew was one thing.
That when they were finally done, laying in his web, suspended off the ground, and she was cradled in his arms?
She had never felt more loved in her life.
Time was easy to ignore when it was measured only by the gradual slowing of heartbeats and the soft whisper of threads as Serrik reformed his creation into something that resembled comfort.
He cradled Ava against his chest, his threads weaving themselves into an intricate hammock suspended between the costume racks.
The scent of her filled his senses—sweet and human, now mingled with his own musk and the fading traces of his venom.
Every breath she took sent small tremors through the web, and he found himself cataloging each one like a precious treasure.
She stayed.
The thought echoed through his mind with wonder that bordered on disbelief.
After seeing him in his true form, after experiencing the full extent of his inhuman nature, she had not fled.
Had not recoiled. Had welcomed him with a surrender so complete it had nearly shattered what remained of his carefully constructed control.
She yawned, and curled against him, groaning quietly in protest.
“Are you…well?” The question escaped him before he could stop it, though he immediately cursed himself for the vulnerability it revealed. But the venom was fading from her system, and with it might come clarity—and with clarity, regret.
“Mmm.” She pressed her face against his chest, and he felt the warm puff of her breath against his skin. “Better than well.”
Relief flooded through him so intensely it left him momentarily light-headed.
His muscles relaxed beneath her touch. One of his spider legs moved of its own accord to brush a strand of hair from her face, the gesture so gentle it surprised even him.
“I was afraid that when the venom faded, you might…”
The fear had been eating at him even in the midst of their joining—that she would wake from the chemical haze and see him for the monster he truly was. That horror would replace the wonder in her eyes.
“Regret it?” She lifted her head, and he found himself lost in those gray-green eyes that held no trace of revulsion or fear. “No. Never.”
Never. “You remember everything?” He had to know. Had to be certain that her acceptance was real and not some lingering effect of his poison.
“Everything.” She grunted and put her head back down.
But the weight she put behind the word told him she understood what she was acknowledging—not just the physical intimacy, but the complete surrender of control, the trust she had placed in a creature that could have destroyed her without thought.
“And I'm glad I do. Well. To be clear. I remember everything up until the end when things got…really intense. But that’s not my fault.”
A shudder ran through his entire form at her words. How was it possible that this small woman could undo him so completely with simple honesty? “You continue to amaze me, little Weaver. After everything I am, everything I've done…”
“You love me.” She shut her eyes. “And I love you. The rest is just details. Sexy, weird, kinky details.”
Details. She called his monstrous nature—the thing that had driven even immortals to madness—details. The laugh that escaped him was incredulous, almost broken with relief he hadn't known he needed.
“Details,” he repeated. “You call my monstrous nature ‘details.’”
“I said sexy weird kinky details.” Her small hand traced one of his golden tattoos, the touch sending electricity through his nervous system. “It's just…different. Okay, it’s monstrous, but not in a bad way. Not to me.”
Not to me.
In all his centuries of existence, no one had ever said those words to him. No one had looked upon his true form and seen anything but a nightmare. Even the Morrigan, his own creator, had regarded him as a necessary evil at best.
But Ava…Ava saw him as simply himself. Worthy of love despite his nature. Perhaps even because of it.
They lay in comfortable silence. Through his multiple eyes, he watched her with fascination, noting how relaxed she was in his web, how naturally she curved against his inhuman form. Her breathing had steadied, but she showed no inclination to flee his embrace.
“We should probably…” she began, then let the words trail off.
“Yes.” The outside world existed beyond this room, with its complications and demands. But for now, suspended in golden threads with the woman who had seen his darkest nature and chosen love anyway, he was content to let time stand still.
“Will you change back?” she asked, her fingers still tracing patterns on his skin that made him want to purr like some great cat.
The question gave him pause. His human glamour was so automatic, so ingrained, that he rarely considered it a choice anymore. But here, now, with her? “Do you wish me to?”
She was quiet for a long moment, and he found himself holding his breath as she considered.
When she finally spoke, her words sent warmth spiraling through his chest. “It’s entirely up to you.
It’s whatever makes you more comfortable.
Honestly? I think I prefer you like this. I like seeing all of you at once.”
All of you. Not just the palatable human facade, but every monstrous, alien inch of his true self. The golden stump of his missing leg, the predatory arrangement of his eyes, the fur-covered bulk of his spider body—she wanted to remember all of it.
“You are remarkable,” he said, the words barely adequate for what he felt.
“So are you.” Her smile was radiant as she looked up at him. “My beautiful, terrifying, impossible spider.”
The possessive growl that rumbled through his chest was entirely involuntary, drawn from depths of his nature that had little to do with civilization. The sound made her laugh—not with fear, but with delight—and he knew with absolute certainty that he would do anything to hear that sound again.
A distant noise from the hallway beyond finally intruded on their sanctuary—voices, footsteps, the reminder that they were not alone in the world.
“The circus calls,” Ava murmured with obvious regret.
“Indeed.” His threads began to shift, lowering them gently toward the floor with reluctance that surprised him.
For centuries, he had craved freedom from his prison, but now he found himself reluctant to leave this smaller cage of golden silk and shared intimacy.
“Though I find myself increasingly reluctant to share you with the rest of the world.”
“You don't have to share me.” She started gathering her clothes and putting them on. “Not really. This”—she gestured between them, encompassing the web, the room, the profound intimacy they had shared—“this is only ours.”
Ours. The word sent something warm and fierce blooming in his chest. Not just his obsession with her, but something mutual. Something shared. Something that belonged to both of them equally.
“Ours.” The word was glorious.
As they prepared to face whatever awaited beyond the costume room door, Serrik watched Ava catch sight of herself in a cracked mirror. Her hair was thoroughly mussed, her lips swollen from his kisses, and faint marks decorated her throat where his fangs had claimed her.
She looked thoroughly debauched.
She looked happy.
More than that—she looked like his.
“Ready?” With a breath, he reluctantly resumed his human appearance. It was, unfortunately, simply more convenient to walk through doors as a human. Buildings were not designed with his shape and size in mind.
She took one last look around the room—at the golden threads still glinting in the corners, at the space that had become sacred ground—and he felt an echo of her sentiment. This room would always be theirs now, marked by what they had shared here. “Ready.”
Whatever awaited them beyond this door, they would face it together. No longer as captor and captive, or even as allies of convenience, but as something far more powerful.
As two creatures who had found in each other something worth more than revenge or power or survival.
They had found love.
And Serrik would tear apart anyone who tried to take it from him.