“Safer for who?”
“For everyone,” he says simply. “Especially humans. Your kind doesn’t respond well to… this.” He gestures to his imposing form.
“Some of us do,” I counter, deliberately brushing my hand against his.
He makes that rumbling sound low in his thorax that I find oddly comforting. “You’re an anomaly, June Hartwell.”
“I don’t think I am. Not anymore, at least. Not since the Great Unveiling.” I close the dishwasher and show him which buttons to press. “People are getting used to monsters being around.”
“Are they?” There’s a weight of experience in his voice that makes me feel young and naïve. “Three years after the Unveiling, I came across a family camping in my territory. A black bear was stalking their site—mother with cubs nearby, highly aggressive. The humans had no idea the danger they were in.”
I lean against the counter, watching his face as he speaks.
“I intervened. Drove the bear away without harming it. When I turned back to the humans…” He pauses, mandibles clicking softly. “The father was holding a knife, prepared to fight me while the mother screamed and clutched their child. The fear in their eyes… It wasn’t for the bear that would have attacked them, but for me, their protector.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling the words are inadequate.
“After that, I decided observation was sufficient. I watch human television, I sell my work through Celeste, I order what I need delivered. It’s a satisfactory arrangement.”
“Is it?” I challenge gently. “You have this beautiful home, but no one to share it with.”
“I have you now,” he says with such simple certainty that my heart skips.
“For a few days,” I remind him, though the thought sends an unexpected pang through me. “Until the roads clear.”
His eyes fix on me with laser focus. “Yes. Until then.”
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I fumble for a way to change the subject.
“So, you mentioned your work,” I say brightly. “Celeste said you’re a master weaver. Can I see where you create your tapestries?”
Riven goes completely still, all six eyes widening slightly. “You want to see my workshop?”
“Is that okay?” I ask, suddenly uncertain. “I mean, if it’s private—”
“It’s not that.” He shifts his weight, legs moving in that hypnotic pattern. “My workshop is… less human-accommodating than the rest of the house.”
“You mean it’s more… Vyder?”
He nods. “It’s the cave portion of my dwelling. The center of my web network.”
“Now I definitely want to see it.”
Riven studies me for a long moment, as if weighing a significant decision. Finally, he extends a hand. “Very well. This way.”
He leads me through the modern part of his home to a solid, natural wall at the end of a hallway. With a press of his palm against an imperceptible sensor, a section slides open, revealing a passage carved directly into the mountainside.
Cool air rushes out, carrying a faint, sweet scent I can’t identify. Riven hesitates at the threshold, suddenly looking uncertain.
“No human has ever entered this space,” he admits.
I take his hand, threading my fingers through his. “I’m honored to be the first.”
He nods, then leads me forward. The passage slopes gently downward, lights activating automatically as we move deeper into the mountain. The walls transition from finished drywall to polished stone, the ceiling gradually rising until I realize we’re entering a much larger space.
And then we emerge into the chamber, and I stop breathing.
The word “cathedral” comes to mind, but it’s wholly inadequate. We’re standing in an enormous natural cavern, at least three stories high, its ceiling lost in shadows. But what makes me gasp isn’t the size—it’s what Riven has created within it.
