Page 28 of The Unseelie War
But it was his eyes that held her—all eight of them, golden and ancient and focused on her with an intensity that made her feel like the only person in the world.
“You're staring.” It was impossible to know how he felt about that.
“You're worth staring at.”
The admission seemed to catch him off guard. His multiple eyes blinked, and she could have sworn she saw something like a blush darken his features. “Ava…you needn't feel obligated to?—”
“Stop.” She held up a hand, cutting him off. “Just stop. For the last time, I don’t feelobligated.And I’m not trying to just make youfeel better.I’m saying it because it’s fuckingtrue,Serrik.” She took a step closer, then another.
He remained perfectly still, watching her approach with something that might have been hope.
“You're…beautiful,” she continued, close enough now to see the intricate details of his true form. “Yeah, you’re terrifying”—she said through a small laugh—“but beautiful. Like a storm, or a wildfire, or…” She gestured at the web above them. “Like that. Dangerous and magnificent and absolutelybreathtaking.You’re a work of art, same as what you create.”
“I am a creature of nightmares,” he said quietly. “A monster parents use to frighten misbehaving children. And nightmares are what I create, Ava. That which beats within your heart now simply sees it differently. Forgive me when I say that I do not fully believe that your…words are entirely your own.”
That was fair. And that was what she feared when she had merged with the Web. That some part of herself would no longer beherselfwhen she came out the other side. But she held on to the knowledge that she had been fascinated by him—drawn to him—since the first time she saw him, in either form.
She was close enough to touch him now, close enough to see the way his breathing had quickened. “I don’t know what to say to you, to get you to believe me…except that I…” She trailed off, the words catching in her throat. What was she trying to say? That she loved him? That she trusted him? That despite everything—the lies, the manipulation, the world-shattering consequences of their meeting—she had gotten out of bed because he wasn’t there?
That she was starting to loathe the thought of her life without him?
All of those things were true. But they were also complicated, tangled up in circumstances that defied easy categorization.
Instead of speaking, she reached out.
Her hand hovered just inches from his chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. This close, she could see that the chitinous sections weren't hard like armor at all, but had a subtle flexibility that spoke of something soft.
“May I?” she asked softly.
For a moment, he didn't answer. His multiple eyes were fixed on her face, searching for something—doubt, perhaps, or disgust, or the fear he likely expected to see there. After a long pause, he simply nodded once.
Her palm came to rest against his chest, directly over his heart.The skin beneath her touch was warm and surprisingly soft, with a texture that was neither fully human nor entirely alien. Kind of…peach-fuzz. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.
She could feel his pulse. “Your heart is racing.”
“I am terrified.” He frowned.
“Of what?”
“That you will realize what I am and remember that you should be running.” His voice was barely audible. “That this moment will end and you will look at me the way everyone else does—with horror and revulsion.”
Stepping close, she placed her other hand against his chest. She could feel the complex patterns of his breathing, the way his entire body seemed to be holding itself in careful stillness. “I’m not everyone else anymore, am I? And I'm not running.”
To prove her point, she stepped even closer, so much so that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. This close, surrounded by his presence, she should have felt overwhelmed. Instead, she felt…safe.Protected. More than that. She felt cherished.
Special.
Loved.
Something she had never been before in her entire life. Well, except by her mom.
Pushing away the melancholy thought, she focused on the moment. “You're warm.” Furrowing her brow, she chuckled. “I don't know why I expected you to be cold.”
“Everything about me is meant to inspire fear,” he replied. “And I am a spider. Cold would be more appropriate.”
“Maybe. But that's not what you are, is it? Not really.” Her hands began to move, exploring the texture of his skin. She couldn’t help it. Her touch trailed down to his hip, to the line where fae and spider merged. “You're notjusta spider. You're just…Serrik. You’re one-of-a kind. It’s not your fault they only made one of you. That doesn’t make you a monster.” Grinning, she couldn’t help herself. “That just makes you weird.”
Quietly, he chuckled. One of his hands—still with its long, sharp golden nails—came up to cover hers. His touch was gentle, reverent, as if she were something precious that might break if handled too roughly. “Ava…” There was so much emotion in that single word—gratitude, wonder, love, and something that might have been relief.
