CHAPTER 4
CELESTE
Sylvus weaves a contract: one of the advanced, metaphysical abilities of Arachnoids. I read a description of how they work once—Arachnoids craft most of the binding contracts that make the ICSS go ‘round—and after sixteen pages I was more confused than when I started.
The best my human brain can do is conceive of it as a magical contract that can’t be broken.
It also safeguards against deception and ulterior motives during the contract-making process.
These aren’t tricky wordplay contracts—they’re bound to intent, to the spirit of the agreement, via the consciousness energy of each party in the contract.
At least, when they’re made by a skilled Arachnoid.
Andromeda says Sylvus is the best.
If she trusts him, that’s good enough for me.
On the restaurant table, Sylvus presents me and Razul with a circular panel of silk. Impossible colors scintillate through it, like a rainbow made of stardust. I place my palm against it, and Razul does too.
I gasp as a strange sensation fills my mind. My eyes flutter shut, and it’s as if I’m standing before a shining golden sphere. Warm energy arcs off it like solar flares. The image cracks and twists in kaleidoscopic fragments.
Time feels strange—I see flickers of memories that can’t have already happened.
It’s as if the contract’s magic is testing me, seeing how I’d react to different scenarios.
The images are vivid as they happen but disappear quickly, like a dream that vanishes a moment after waking up, leaving you without memory of what happened, only the ghost of how it felt.
I open my eyes.
There’s a warm sensation around my wrist, and rainbow light that resembles the silk forms an abstract filigree under my skin, like a ghostly bracelet. The same shines on Razul’s wrist, then slowly fades.
Oh, this was a very, very, very bad idea. I am going to fall head over heels for this gorgeous, strange male, and then it’s going to end, like everything always does.
But for once, it might be worth it.
I muster my courage. “So, next is the… transformation?”
Andromeda squeezes my hand. “You’re going to be just fine.”
I’m not sure whether it makes me feel better or worse that the transformation is temporary. It would be a relief to just have it over with. To just be Razul’s hucow from now on and hope for the best.
But there’s something about Razul… I think if he merely tolerated me, it might break me. I need him to want me.
Exactly the reason to run in the opposite direction. And yet, here I am.
Andromeda climbs into Sylvus’s arms, and Razul extends a hand to me.
I stare at him blankly.
“Unless you’d rather walk.”
Oh. Oh. I tentatively take his hand. It’s warm and rough and gigantic. Mine barely spans his palm.
Then suddenly I’m in his arms. His warmth surrounds me, laced with the scent of incense and spice.
Razul is quiet as we walk. I just listen to the sound of his breathing and try not to think about what happens next.
Sylvus leads us through the city along a winding array of branches and silk and wooden platforms to one of his houses. The way Andromeda says ‘one of’ implies Sylvus has a lot of them.
The house is even more three-dimensional than the rest of the city. Everything is made of silk, which forms connecting tubes and chambers that weave around each other. Art objects and paintings decorate the walls, and I even spot a few Earth artifacts, which is extremely illegal.
As we enter a moderately sized chamber, its purpose is immediately clear. Milking equipment hangs on the far side of the room, looped over silk hangers and tucked into cubbies: steel motors, glass tanks, polymer attachments…
Sylvus sets Andromeda just outside the room and says something quietly to her, and she nods and clambers over the silk, going wherever he told her to.
The Arachnoid then fiddles with the milking equipment, getting it connected.
“It’s here if you want it,” he says to Razul. “But you don’t need to use it.”
When Sylvus is satisfied, he comes back over. I peek out from around Razul’s massive bicep.
“I need to bind her now,” Sylvus says.
Hucows are prone to hurt themselves during the transformation, Andromeda told me. The stretchy silk bindings prevent permanent damage.
Razul’s arms tighten around me.
Sylvus reaches out.
Razul steps back.
The Arachnoid shakes his head. “You old beetle. I don’t want her. Unless you sprouted fangs recently, need I remind you, you can’t do this yourself.”
“Make a syringe. Give it to me.”
Sylvus gives a patient sigh. “You know I can control the dosage so much better when I do it directly. She’ll experience less discomfort. Do you really want her in pain because you’re thinking with your cock?”
Razul makes a low, wary noise.
Sylvus flashes a fang-filled smile. “You trust me, remember? I’m very trustworthy.” Wicked mischief glints in his eight eyes.
It makes me curl tighter into Razul’s chest.
“You’re scaring her,” he growls.
The Arachnoid softens. “Well, how about the choice is hers? For the dosing method and the bondage. But you should both be sure you understand the consequences.”
“Give me a syringe and then leave,” Razul says.
Sylvus looks at me. “How good are you at taking direction?”
“Um… pretty good?”
“How about when deliriously horny?”
I hesitate. “Less good.”
“You’ll want restraints, then.”
Sylvus begins to spin silk, and Razul growls, low and threatening.
I startle.
The arachnid raises a brow at Razul. “Now you’re scaring her. I’m weaving restraints for you to apply. Make sure you do a good job, or you’ll be responsible for any pain she experiences.” His legs work blindingly fast, and he tosses a pile of silk loops at Razul’s feet.
“Celeste, do you want me to bite you? Or do you want Razul to administer an injection? It’s very important that he gets the majority of the venom into a blood vessel, not muscle.
Intramuscular injection can cause lingering burning pain for hours or days.
I’m incredibly precise. That said, Razul does all the veterinary care for his herd. He’s very medically skilled.”
Hesitant, I look up at Razul. He takes a deep breath, and his grip softens slightly. “It’s up to you.”
I glance back over at the Sylvus, and the sight of his eight glossy black eyes makes me press instinctively into Razul.
“The syringe is fine,” I murmur. “I can handle some pain.”
“I won’t hurt you,” Razul says quietly, though his wary eyes stay on the Arachnoid.
Sylvus heads over to the wall of equipment and pulls out the body of a very large syringe.
“Alright, Raz. You know the last thing I need.”
“What?”
Sylvus stays on the other side of the room. “I need to smell her.”
Razul’s growl is quieter this time. “No.”
The Arachnoid sighs. “Throw me her dress. She’s going to need to be out of it in a second, anyway.” He tilts his head. “It’s going to hurt her if you don’t.”
“It’s fine,” I murmur, wriggling the smock over my head. My blush spreads down my neck to my chest, but being momentarily naked is the least embarrassing thing that’s about to happen.
Razul looks down at me as I hand him the bundled-up dress, and the intensity of his gaze makes my breath catch.
He tosses the fabric at Sylvus.
The arachnid snatches it out of the air, then holds it to his nose and takes a deep breath. He shudders as if with disgust, then hooks a fang over the edge of the syringe body. As he bites down, dark purple venom splashes through the tube in pulses.
Sylvus affixes a plunger, then tosses it to Razul.
He easily supports my weight in one arm as he catches it.
Sylvus says gently, “Celeste, turn off your translator for a moment.”
The Arachnoid watches me until I obey.
Then he and Razul have a quick, intense conversation in their native language. Razul’s bass tones vibrate against my ear, and even though he’s agitated, I find them oddly soothing.
Sylvus strides by and leaves the room. It’s like a cloud over the sun has vanished, and the air lightens again.
Razul gestures at his ear, and I turn my translator back on.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“Just something personal,” he says, an unreadable expression on his face. “Nothing to worry about. Are you ready?”
I take a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Razul gently sets me down on a silk hammock nearby, then grabs the restraints Sylvus left. I try to relax as I let him move my body, binding my forearms together behind my back with a compression sleeve. Mitts wrap my hands, and a similar sleeve binds my calves together.
I manage a wry smile. “Do you really think I’m going to go delirious?”
Something dark flickers through his eyes. He leans over my ear. “I hope so.”
A shiver runs down my spine, pooling at my core, and I arch into the silk behind me.
This is crazy. I’m crazy.
I need this so badly.
I need my brain to turn off so I can just be.
“I’ll do my best to hold still,” I offer, trying to not look at the giant syringe in Razul’s hand.
The slightest smile crosses his lips. “No need. You won’t have a choice.”
His legs, which end in two hook-like toes, rise to clamp around my upper arms, holding my shoulders in place. His hand folds over my face, covering my eyes and applying warm, broad pressure.
That pressure sinks deep into my nervous system as if by magic, forcing me to relax. My breath deepens. My heart slows.
I can imagine Razul holding one of his caimites like this, covering their eyes to soothe them, holding just firm enough to steady them but not so hard as to cause pain and panic.
Something clicks deep in my core. This isn’t just like Razul holding one of his animals.
It’s the same.
I’m livestock to him.
The thought makes my brain go heavy and blurry, and the relaxation seeps deeper, all the way to my bones. A soft sigh slips past my lips.
Firm fingers palpate along my neck and shoulder, tracing my anatomy.
Razul’s deep voice falls over my ear. “Take a deep breath. Count to twenty as you exhale.”