“Tell me, June,” he continues, moving closer until I can see the depths of his golden eyes, “what do you think is happening right now?”
“I’m caught in your web,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Beyond the obvious physical circumstance. What’s happening between us?”
The question catches me completely off guard. Between us? I mean, sure, I’m having some sort of weird primal response, but there’s really no “us.” There’s just me, getting the hell out of here before this throbbing that’s building between my legs becomes impossible to ignore.
“Nothing’s happening,” I say, but my voice comes out breathless and unconvincing even to my own ears.
“Your pulse spikes when I move closer,” he observes, doing exactly that. “Your pupils dilate. Your breathing becomes shallow. Your skin flushes.” One claw traces the air just above my cheek, not quite touching. “These are fear responses, yes. But they’re also…”
“Don’t say it,” I warn, my voice barely audible.
“Arousal responses,” he finishes, ignoring my plea. “You find this situation stimulating.”
The silk around my thighs seems to tighten at his words, and I bite back a sound that would only confirm his assessment.
“That’s ridiculous,” I manage, but it’s obvious to us both that I’m lying.
“Fascinating,” he says, more to himself than to me. “I never imagined I’d catch a human with such… particular tastes.”
“I don’t have particular—” I start to protest, but he raises one clawed finger to silence me.
“Your body disagrees. Quite emphatically, in fact.” His voice drops to something low and intimate. “Tell me, June of Hartwell Delivery, have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be completely, utterly at someone’s mercy? To surrender all that careful control you humans like to cling so dearly to?”
The question leaves me at a loss for words. God, yes. I’ve spent my entire adult life being competent, reliable, in charge of every situation. The thought of letting go, of being overwhelmed by something bigger and stronger and infinitely more dangerous than myself…
“I can see that you have,” he says, reading my silence correctly. “And now I find myself in a dilemma. Civilized human protocol dictates I should cut you free, accept my delivery, and send you on your way. But Vyders such as myself follow a different set of rules… You see, to my kind, it’s extremely rude to simply release a responsive female who’s displayed so perfectly in one’s web.”
I swallow hard. “What are you going to do?”
His six eyes glitter in the growing darkness, and when he smiles—an alien expression made of mandibles and sharp edges—it’s the most beautiful and terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.
“Why, I’m going to give you exactly what you desire,” he says simply. “After all, what kind of host would I be if I left a guest wanting? And you, June of Hartwell Delivery, are clearly very, very wanting…”
I know I should scream. I know I should protest.
I know I just might be seconds away from being devoured.
And yet here I am, secretly hoping he does just that.
I’m so screwed.
Chapter 2
Bonus Package
Riven
The notification chime from mylaptop cuts through the evening silence like a particularly smug cricket. Another delivery update. My fuzzy slippers are finally en route.
I lean my torso over the custom-built desk, mahogany reinforced with steel brackets because standard furniture wasn’t designed with a twelve-foot arachnid in mind, and peer at the glowing screen.
This digital realm still feels like navigating a web spun by a drunk spider, despite months of Celeste’s patient lessons. The dusty mothman had practically vibrated out of her own exoskeleton when she’d convinced me to embrace the “modern marketplace experience.”
Apparently, my perfectly functional system of having her discreetly broker my textiles to wealthy collectors was “charmingly antiquated but utterly inadequate forcontemporary commerce,” and she insisted I start familiarizing myself with this Internet thing.
I’d resisted, naturally. The idea of exposing myself to the vast network of human activity seemed about as appealing as molting in public. But Celeste had worn me down with her relentless optimism and those enormous compound eyes that somehow managed to convey profound disappointment despite belonging to a creature whose brain is roughly the size of a pinecone.
