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CHAPTER EIGHT

A va could barely process what was happening as Serrik’s lips crashed against hers with a strength like—well, like a runaway train. His lips were hard, demanding, bruising against hers.

He didn’t ask for entry. He took it, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Meeting her anger with an unstoppable force. She was frozen, stunned, unable to do anything as he tangled his free hand into her hair. He yanked her head back, deepening the kiss.

The effect it had on her was overwhelming and undeniable. She moaned—equal parts anger and pure surrender. She felt a wave of bliss, desire, and frustration pour over her as he devoured her lips with his.

She wanted to go limp in his arms. To just let him take. That was the unavoidable end. That was what she wanted—that was what he was clearly after. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew that was where this dance was leading.

And every fiber in her body was screaming out to let him have everything they both clearly needed.

But fuck if she was going to make it easy for him.

She was going to fight him with everything she goddamn had .

He wanted this?

She was going to make him fucking work for it.

Ava bit down on his tongue. She tasted the coppery tang of blood and was shocked how little that bothered her. She had no idea what his dream-blood could do to her, if anything. She figured she was about to experience much worse.

Serrik drew back his head with a growl that was distinctly not human. It was primal, it was animalistic, and when he looked down at her, his golden eyes were almost black, his pupils had blown out to such a degree.

When he smiled—a feral expression she had never seen him wear before—it was a sadistic, twisted expression that revealed his fangs. They were oozing a toxic-looking, neon-green substance she didn’t recognize.

It was precisely at that moment that she realized she was once again very much in over her head.

“You may wish you had not done that, little butterfly…” Serrik ran his tongue along his lips, licking up his own blood, clearly enjoying the taste of it.

Ava’s breath hitched, trapped in her throat. The sight of him—his golden, glowing eyes now dark with desire, the slick, unnatural green dripping from long fangs, the raw, unrestrained hunger twisting his beautiful features into something terrifyingly animalistic—didn’t just scare her.

If it just scared her, that wouldn’t be a problem.

But God. Interwoven with that fear was a dizzying, undeniable pull that went all the way down to the marrow of her bones.

A dark, magnetic draw towards the very danger he represented. This was the power she’d sensed simmering beneath the surface, the beast he fought to control, now unleashed. And she, fool that she was, had deliberately provoked it.

Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm in her chest, a confusing beat of terror and escalating need. The coppery tang of his blood lingered on her tongue, a stark reminder of her defiance, but the sheer intensity rolling off him now threatened to swallow that defiance whole.

He felt…inevitable.

Still, the instinct to fight, to claw back some semblance of control, to make him earn it, surged.

She forced her chin up, meeting those all-consuming black eyes, hating the tremor she felt deep inside, the one that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the overwhelming presence of him.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” The challenge sounded breathless, thinner than she intended, undermined by the frantic pulse she knew he could feel.

“Going to poison me? Get it over with, spider-freak.” It was a desperate gamble, a shield thrown up not just against him, but against the part of her screaming to surrender to him, consequences be damned.

A low, predatory rumble vibrated through his chest, pressing against her, and his feral smile deepened. The sight sent another wave of conflicting heat and fear through her.

“Poison?” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over her with an unnerving intimacy, as if he could see straight through her flimsy defenses to the chaos beneath. “Oh, little butterfly…my venom is so much more interesting than mere poison.”

He leaned closer, his heat enveloping her.

His breath, sharp with citrus and herbs and that strange, electric tang of raw power, ghosted against her cheek.

The tip of one venom-slick fang deliberately traced the shell of her ear, and she shuddered violently, the strangeness of it warring wildly with a jolt of pure electricity.

“One drop,” he murmured, his voice a rough, hypnotic caress that resonated deep within her bones, “and this fight you cling to? It vanishes.” He shifted, pressing her somehow closer, his hold on her wrists behind her back tightening, arching her spine, forcing her body into undeniable contact with his.

His hand fisted tighter in her hair, tilting her head back, exposing her throat to him.

“You wouldn't just yield, Ava. You would beg .

You would unravel in my arms and plead for more.

Every scrap of anger, every shield...dissolved.

Leaving only the need you're already drowning in. You would know only me .”

Her throat went tight. She knew, with a horrifying certainty that went beyond simple fear, that he wasn't lying.

Part of her, the part that thrilled even now to his dangerous proximity, yearned for that oblivion, that complete surrender.

The green venom dripped from his fangs, landing with a faint sizzle on the fabric covering her shoulder.

It didn't burn, not physically, but the implication scorched her all the same—the threat of having her will stripped away, leaving only the raw, undeniable wanting she was fighting so hard against.

“You wouldn't dare ,” she whispered, the words torn from her, less a statement, more a plea directed as much at herself as at him.

A plea against the dark allure of giving in.

Giving in to what they both wanted.

Serrik's smile was sharp, knowing, utterly devoid of mercy. His black eyes held hers captive, reflecting the desperate conflict raging within her. She knew he must see her fear, yes, but he must also see the desire shimmering beneath it, the very thing that made her tremble in his arms.

It was too obvious.

She was a shit liar.

This was why she hid when people flirted with her.

“Wouldn't I?” he countered softly, seemingly fascinated by her—by her torment.

“You bit me, Weaver. You tasted the predator.” He lowered his head slowly, deliberately, the tips of his fangs hovering a breath away from the frantic pulse hammering just beneath the skin of her neck.

“Now, isn't it only fair for the predator…to taste you?”

“You can’t be serious—you wouldn’t—” Who was she trying to convince? Her, or him? The answer was obvious. She was trying to convince herself.

The laugh that left him was unlike any she’d heard him make before. “Oh, believe me…I would.”

The air crackled with tension, thick and heavy with unspoken urges and primal fear.

Serrik’s fangs hovered, a breath away from her skin, the promise of oblivion—of ecstasy—contained in the glowing green venom.

That proximity, the sheer, overwhelming presence of him poised to strike, finally snapped something in Ava.

It wasn't logic. It was pure instinct. A surge of adrenaline flooded her system, fear mixed with desire turning into a last-ditch effort to escape. Because escape simply meant not having to deal with what he was forcing her to face—that she wanted him.

That she wanted this.

That she wanted to surrender to him.

And that what he was making her feel was going to make her world so much more complicated if she let it happen.

And she so desperately needed to let it happen.

With a choked cry that was half-rage, half-panic, she violently twisted her body and brought her knee up sharply, aiming for his groin. Simultaneously, she shoved with all her might against his chest.

It was a pathetic attempt. She was no match for a creature his size, age, and power.

Serrik reacted with unnatural speed, a low snarl ripping from his throat as he deflected her knee with his thigh and absorbed her shove with barely a flinch.

But her resistance, however futile, seemed to break the strange stasis.

His eyes, those consuming golden and black pits, flared.

In one fluid, terrifyingly strong movement, it was his turn to shove her, forcing her backwards.

Her ass hit the edge of a heavy, dark wood library table laden with his scrolls, relics, and ancient-looking books. They scattered, tumbling to the floor as Serrik pushed her down, slamming her back against the cool, unyielding surface.

Before she could even gasp, before she could try to writhe away, shimmering golden light flared around his hands.

Threads, impossibly fine yet radiating undeniable power, spun out like liquid gold from his fingertips.

They snaked around her wrists, lashing them to the edges of the table with binding strength.

She struggled instinctively, pulling against them, but they held fast, digging slightly into her skin, humming with contained magic. Another flick of his wrist sent similar threads snaking around her ankles, anchoring them firmly apart near the table's legs.

“Shit!” She was pinned. Exposed. Helpless. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart threatening to beat its way out of her chest. The reality of her situation—that she was bound beneath a creature of ancient power radiating feral intent—crashed down on her.

Fear warred with a perverse thrill. Anger churned with the undeniable pull she still felt towards him, even now.

Especially now.

Serrik loomed over her, his large frame blocking out the dim light of the dream library. His fangs were still bared, the green venom still dripping slowly, dangerously close to her face now. His black eyes scanned her, taking in the length of her clothed body, the rapid rise and fall of her chest.