Page 43 of The Unseelie War
A rush of heat ran through her and she knew she must have been absolutely beet red.
“Are you afraid?” Those black orbs bored through her.
“No.” She met his gaze. And it was true. She wasn’t. Notreally.This was the kind of fear she had going through a haunted house…safefear. Fear she trusted not to hurt her for keeps.
One of his long spider legs reached out, the golden tip tracing delicately along her bare shoulder. It was needle-sharp and the touch was exceptionally light. But it carried an implicit threat—a reminder of exactly how dangerous he truly was. “I will not be gentle with you, Weaver…I am not able to be.”
“Show me.” She tilted her head back and to the side, baring her throat. “Show me what you need, Serrik.”
The sound he made was purely monstrous—a growl that seemed to resonate from somewhere deep in his chest. His human hands framed her face as he stepped up and leaned in close to her, his multiple eyes drinking in every detail of her expression.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his breath warm against her throat. “What you havealwaysdone to me.”
She could feel the sharp points of his fangs against her skin. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
“Then show me,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. “And let me show you how much I trust you.”
Serrik sank his fangs deep into the soft skin of her throat.
The sensation was immediate and overwhelming—a sharp sting followed by liquid fire flooding her veins. The venom spread through her system like warm honey, dissolving every thought, every fear, every inhibition until there was nothing left but pure sensation and the desperate need for more.
Her head fell back as the poison took hold, her body going pliant in his golden bonds. The world narrowed. Everything was simply that moment, that feeling, and the overwhelming presence of the creature who held her so completely.
“Mine,”Serrik growled against her throat, his voice muffled by the contact. “Finally, you will now become completelymine.”
And as the venom carried her into blissful surrender, Ava knew with perfect clarity that she was exactly where she belonged.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The taste of her blood on his tongue was sweeter than any wine, more intoxicating than any power he had ever wielded. Serrik felt his fangs sink deep into the delicate skin of Ava's throat, felt the moment his venom began to flow into her bloodstream, and knew with absolute certainty that he was lost.
Mine,the thought echoed through every fiber of his being, again and again and again.Finally, you are mine.
He had dreamed of this moment for so long—had imagined it a thousand different ways during the endless centuries of his imprisonment. But nothing had prepared him for the reality of holding her suspended in his golden threads, feeling her pulse flutter against his lips as his poison transformed her from defiant human to willing supplicant.
Through his multiple eyes, he watched the venom take hold with the fascination of a scholar and the hunger of a predator. First came the sharp intake of breath as the initial sting registered, her body going rigid in his bonds for a heartbeat before the true effects began.
The transformation was exquisite.
Her gray-green eyes, normally so sharp with intelligence and, most of all, her stubbornness, began to cloud with a dreamy haze.The tension fled from her muscles, leaving her pliant and soft in his threads. A small sound escaped her lips—not pain, but something closer to wonder as the chemical euphoria spread through her system.
“Serrik…” His name fell from her lips in an exhale of pure surrender, and he felt something dark and possessive unfurl in his chest.
He withdrew his fangs slowly, savoring the way she shivered at the loss of contact. Two perfect puncture wounds marked her throat now, already beginning to heal but still seeping the faintest trace of blood mixed with his luminous green venom. The sight of his mark on her skin sent a surge of primitive satisfaction through him. “How do you feel, my little Weaver?”
“I feel…” She blinked slowly, her pupils dilated until only thin rings of color remained. “Everything. Nothing. This…isn’t like the time in the dream.”
“Because you are different, now. You are the Weaver. And you are awake.”
“Oh…” She furrowed her brow. “I can’t…why can’t I think?”
“Because you don't need to think," he murmured, one hand coming up to trace the delicate line of her jaw. “All you need to do is feel. To feel, and submit…”
The venom was working exactly as it should—dissolving her barriers, her defenses, her ability to resist what she truly wanted. He could see it in the way her breathing had deepened, in the flush that spread across her skin, in the way she strained against his threads, not to escape but to get closer to him.
Her eyes drifted half shut at his touch. “Yes…”
The strange, primal clicking noise began in the back of his throat, a sound he had not heard himself make in…thousands of years. One he had notallowedhimself to make. But there was no stopping it. It was too late for that now.
