And just like that, my life has changed completely. Again.
Not long ago, I was a delivery driver terrified of spiders, caught in a never-ending cycle of safe, predictable routine. Now I’m standing in the middle of a supernatural disaster zone, in love with a giant spider monster who just saved my hometown from a vengeful dryad.
Dad is going to have a field day with this.
“So,” I say, leaning into Riven’s solid warmth. “What do we do now?”
His mandibles click thoughtfully. “According to my extensive research of human crisis response patterns on ‘The Real Housewives,’ this would be the appropriate time for a stiff drink and dramatic reconciliation.”
I burst out laughing, the sound carrying across the ruined street. A few people turn to look, surprised.
“Your research methods need serious revision,” I tell him with a grin.
“Perhaps,” he concedes. “But the results have been satisfactory, regardless. Look how well I’ve done so far.”
I reach up to touch his face, tracing the edge of his mandible with my finger. “Very true.”
And in that moment, I have never been happier.
Chapter 20
From Monster to Mister
Riven
I am being crushed todeath by the most lethal force known to Vyders: gratitude.
“Thank you so much for saving my shop!”
“Can I get a picture with you?”
“My daughter says you’re cooler than Spider-Man!”
The barrage of appreciation bombards me from all sides as I stand awkwardly in the center of Pine Ridge’s main street. Humans mill about, clearing debris and beginning repairs on the buildings Kestra damaged. I’m trying to be useful—my silk has excellent structural support properties—but every time I anchor a loose beam or stabilize a damaged wall, someone rushes over to thank me.
It’s excruciating.
My exoskeleton wasn’t designed for this kind of torture. Give me a vengeful dryad any day over this endless parade of smiling faces and extended hands. At least Kestra wanted to kill me quickly.
“You’re doing great,” June murmurs, squeezing my upper arm. She hasn’t left my side all morning, somehow sensing each time my fight-or-flight response kicks in. “Just breathe.”
“I don’t require breathing guidance,” I mutter, though we both know it’s a lie. My respiratory rate has been elevated since the moment we arrived in town to help with the rebuilding efforts. “I faced a homicidal tree entity yesterday. This should be significantly less stressful.”
June laughs, such a pleasant sound. “And yet your legs are doing that nervous tap dance they do when you’re about to bolt.”
I glance down. Indeed, my rear four legs are rhythmically shifting against the pavement, poised for a rapid retreat. Traitors.
“It’s merely a calibration exercise to maintain joint flexibility,” I lie.
“Sure it is, big guy.” She pats my thorax affectionately. “Hey, you want to help Dale move that fallen sign? It looks heavy.”
I nod gratefully. Physical labor is preferable to social interaction, and Dale has been surprisingly… not terrible. Since yesterday’s battle, he’s treated me with a cautious respect I hadn’t expected from a human law enforcement officer.
I move across the street, aware of the stares following my every step. Some are still fearful—that’s to be expected—but others are merely curious. A few children point and whisper excitedly, which is deeply unnerving. In my experience, human children are loud, sticky, and prone to throwing rocks at things with too many legs.
“Hey, spider-dude,” Dale calls, struggling with a large metal sign that once hung over the hardware store. “Mind giving me a hand? Or, uh, a leg?”
I lift the sign effortlessly, holding it in place while Dale secures the brackets.
