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3
RIKA
The sins of my past seem to have accumulated in one day, staining my soul a tarry black. It shouldn’t feel like this. I know better. I know the drill. Lure them in. Pleasure them as best as I can. Not just because the elders force me to, but because it’s the least the victims deserve. Feed, because it’s what I must do to survive. And then let them go when their bodies weaken and the sickness grows prevalent. I’ve watched so many men dragged away kicking and screaming. Watched the Eaters take them whole. Sure I’ve felt sorry for them. But it’s just the way things are. The way things have always been. Until now. Untilhim.
Everett weighs heavy on my mind as I spin a new piece of decor for my chamber. It’s something I do when I’m restless. I’m a Web Maker, after all. It’s a gift that draws other spiders to me. Which is why dozens of tiny spiders of various species are scurrying around my chamber. As a Web Maker, I can communicate with them. I find their presence comforting.
Being a Web Maker means I was blessed with the ability to spin and ensnare. My body spills shimmering thread out in soft, strong strands. I wind them up, twisting my fingers in intricate patterns until I’ve created something beautiful and unique. It reminds me of making paper snowflakes with my parents when I was little. I would fold the paper, cutting as many ways as I could, and unfold it with great expectations. More often than not mine ended up as an uneven square with most of the middle cut out. My mother on the other hand could create masterful pieces with such brilliant and delicate details. Her snowflakes were beautiful, just like she was. Just like I am. And how I suppose I’ll always be, never growing old so long as I’m filled with Jorogumo’s curse.
That strange sensation tugs at my chest the way it always does when I think of my parents. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them. I often wonder if my memories are even real anymore, or if they’re nothing more than desperate dreams fabricated by the broken mind of a lonely monster. That’s what I am, after all. A monster. And lonely doesn’t even begin to describe the vast emptiness inside me.
Something has felt different since Everett arrived. Well, since I lured him here. It’s like I’ve been thrust into the endless black of a frozen night sky and Everett is the only star for a million miles. His energy is warm, bright. I’m drawn to him in a way that I’ve never been drawn to the others. And there have beenso manyothers. More than I care to remember. If I had to count them, I fear I’d be swallowed up in a guilt so powerfully potent it would rip the soul from my body and incinerate it on the spot.
“They’re ready for today’s feeding.” Atree peers into my chamber, startling me. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you would hear me coming.” She gives me an apologetic smile. Atree was taken two years after me. Her short black bob remains as perfect as the day she arrived. It frames her youthful face. She was only eighteen when she inherited Jorogumo’s curse, which makes her the youngest human of our group to have been turned.
I feel a kindred pull to her. She and I will likely lose our human forms around the same time. We might even end up in the same feeding group. The day you lose the ability to transform fully into a human, is the day you become an elder. There are always three elders and a pleasure pet in each feeding group. Pleasure pets are exactly what they sound like. They provide pleasure to the men to make their blood as tasty and lust-filled as possible. They also handle the needs of the elders when they grow tired of each other.
I suppose there are worse fates. I could have been reborn as an Eater instead of a Web Maker
“You just surprised me. I’m in my own world today,” I offer back with a sigh.
“Because of your new feeder?” Atree asks, curious.
“Maybe,” I say with another deep exhale. “It’s nothing. I’ll go get him ready.”
Everett’s asleep when I reach his cavern. The simple woven mat that serves as his bed is hardly thick enough to comfortably bear his weight. I make a mental note to spin him a few extra layers when no one is looking. His hands rest in front of him, their mobility limited by the shackles tightly encircling his wrists. My gaze slides over the carved shape of his body. He’s exceptionally large and covered head to toe in knotted muscles. He’s clad only in briefs, giving me a sumptuous view of the rest of his masculine form.
“Do I look good enough to eat?” His deep voice shatters my silent voyeurism. The slightest flush warms my cool cheeks. Everett opens his eyes, giving me a cocky half grin. Shame makes my stomach tighten as my mouth waters. The memory of his blood makes my fangs tingle, aching to descend from my gums. He does look good enough to eat. His blood was rich, salty, with a honeyed aftertaste. Everett’s eyes darken. “Rika…”
“Sorry.” My gaze drops to the floor. “They’re ready for you again.”
Everett’s blue eyes flash with what appears to be a mixture of terror and curiosity.
“Will it be just like yesterday?” he asks, his voice husky as his eyes drop to my lips.
“Some variation of that. Yes.”
His stare is piercing. He lifts his hands, jerking slightly on the chains. I take the hint, crossing the room to remove them from where they attach to the floor. Everett rises to his full height. He looms above me, his height impressive by human standards. As a Jorogumo, I never feel small. Or I never feel weak, I suppose. I’m stronger than a dozen men combined. But in the shadow of Everett’s massive frame, I do feel small. I feel several unexpected things. My thighs tighten as I imagine our roles reversed. Him with all the strength and control. Him chaining me to the wall as he pleasures me with his mouth. Everett’s pupils dilate and I shudder. We’re too in sync, it’s too soon. I turn away without a word, walking him back to the feeding chamber.
The dark of the hallway swallows Everett’s large form. But I know he’s there. I can feel the pressure against his chains and sense his strong heartbeat.
“Why is it so damn dark down here? You spiders like it dark?”
“We have to be careful with the torches.”
“Why?” Everett stops beneath one of the few burning torches. I lift it from its mount, holding it high enough to illuminate the ceiling. Everett’s eyes bulge as he takes in the mass of webbing strung across one side of the tunnel roof to the other.
My fingers strum along a low pocket. “Flammable.”
“Right,” Everett murmurs, still staring at the white-draped ceiling.
The feeding chamber is being used by three other groups when we enter. “Must be the dinner rush,” Everett jokes. His mannerisms seem casual, but I can hear the shakiness in his words. He swallows thickly, fear filling his eyes as he watches the other men being feasted upon. Their reactions vary. Some men moan, others cry.
The worst are the screamers. They don’t usually last long here. The strange thing about men is that they can be crying their eyes out and still manage to come. Their brains are hardwired for pleasure. They just can’t seem to help themselves. Even the screamers manage to come at some point, their horror disappearing beneath lust for a few fractured moments.
“Over here, darling,” Nilani calls. The three of them are seated around a stone table. My throat tightens. The stone table can only mean they want one thing. Blowjobs are simple, impersonal. They allow me to keep my distance. But sex?
I peer up at Everett who’s now gazing down at me intently. He’s a dog at the end of his owner’s leash, waiting for a signal of what’s to come next. His pulse hammers loudly, the sound of his uptick in blood making me squirm. Something flutters low in my gut. Why am I nervous? I’ve done this before.
