Page 165 of Little Spider

Her eyes don’t blink. “Because if you left, you’d still come back. You’re mine too.”

And there it is—the answer I didn’t know I needed. She doesn’t say it as a threat; she says it like a promise, and something inside me ruptures.

She’s not the only one who gave her soul. I did too—and now she wears it better than I ever did.

She moves again, slower this time, eyes still on mine like she’s trying to see past all the versions of me she’s already survived. No fear. Just focus. And then she reaches for me—not the leash, not the sheets, me. Her fingers brush my wrist, tentative but deliberate.

“Come here.”

It’s not a plea. It’s not an order. It’s something in between—soaked in everything we are, everything we’ve done, and everything we’ll never take back.

I sit still for a breath too long, then I move. I slide forward, let her pull me onto the bed, let her guide me down beside her—not on top, not inside, beside—and that alone is enough to make something in my chest tighten.

She’s warm, soft, bruised in every place I made her mine. But her touch—gentle. My head hits the pillow; she turns, curling against me, one leg tangling over mine, her arm wrapping around my ribs like she’s the one protecting me now. And maybe she is, because I can’t remember the last time someone touched me without asking for something back—but she doesn’t.

She just holds me.

“You always come back,” she whispers. “Even when you leave. Even when you hide behind the others.”

I say nothing, because she’s right. Because she knows. She saw every mask and still begged for the man underneath.

Her lips brush my shoulder. “So stay.”

And for once—I do.

I don’t hurt her. I don’t command her. I just lie there, held—and finally, for the first time since I tore her open and fed on her worship, I feel human.

CHAPTER THIRTY

RAVEN

He looks different like this.

Still. Quiet. Human.

No mask.

No mirrored door.

No blood on his hands or a leash in his fist.

Just him.

Just… Damien.

His chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths. One hand curled near his face, the other still resting on my waist like he can’t stop touching me—even in sleep.

I watch the way his brow twitches. The way his lips part like he’s dreaming something he’ll never tell me and I wonder if it’s about me.

About the moment I screamed his name as I drowned. The moment I said goodbye to who I was. The moment I gave him everything—willingly.

I should feel used. I should feel ruined but all I feel is full.

His fire melted down and reforged every version of me that ever flinched. I trace a line down his ribs with my fingertip. Soft.Barely there but he twitches. Even in his sleep—his body knows mine.

I lean in. Breathe against his jaw. “You look peaceful,” I whisper. “But we both know you’re not.”

He stirs.