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CHAPTER NINE

W hat had he done?

May the void consume me.

But it was too late now.

Too late for his cursed and damnable soul.

For she had surrendered to him. Stretched wide upon his table like a feast, he had played her, seduced her, tormented her. And now? Now? She offered him not his deepest, most depraved desire, perhaps—for that was truly unthinkable.

But this…

This he could not resist. She might be bound, but it was he who was on a leash, begging at her feet for whatever scraps she was willing to throw to him. He was the prisoner, the slave, the pauper. He would do whatever she desired, if only she obeyed him.

How could he turn away?

How could he deny himself his butterfly?

His Weaver?

“Oh, Ava…”

When she turned her head away, he needed no other sign. Something between a growl and a purr left his chest as he nuzzled in close to her throat, running his tongue up along the tendon there, tasting her beautiful skin.

With one more curse to himself, he sank his fangs deep into her skin and let his poison seep into her veins.

May my soul meet oblivion in the end.

For I deserve nothing less.

What had she done?

It was too late, now.

Too late to change her mind.

“Oh, Ava…”

It was a breathless, reverent exhale. Said like a man kneeling at an altar for prayer. He licked her throat, and then it happened.

His fangs sank in.

Every time she’d watched a vampire movie, she’d always wondered what the bite would feel like. The thought idly flitted through her mind, brief but palpable, as the sharp sting hit her. It was intense enough that she cried out, jolting against the restraint of the golden threads.

But it was the immediate, shocking sensation that followed that had her shaking like a leaf.

It was a feeling like liquid fire—impossibly warm and electric, flooding through her veins from the point of contact.

Her eyes went wide at the sensation. It spread with seemingly unnatural speed, a potent wave washing through her, seemingly dissolving everything in its wake.

All fear.

All thoughts of betrayal.

All pain.

All sorrow.

Everything that wasn’t pure… sensation.

Her mind went blissfully and perfectly blank, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Everything around her was just more. More everything.

As the venom raced through her system, the world slowly came into focus, but altered—the cool wood of the table beneath her had her squirming to feel more of it on her overheated skin.

The bite of the threads had her pulling her wrists on them, wanting it to hurt more, because the hurt suddenly felt good.

The slight sting where his fangs remained embedded? She wanted him to bite harder.

They were all brands, marking her skin—all him, claiming her, inputs feeding into a single amp in her head and it was short-circuiting in the most perfect, amazing, and wonderful way.

Fuck poison.

This was a drug.

And it was fucking amazing.

Tension melted out of her limbs. She arched her body up into his, seeking friction.

She knew what he wanted—she knew what this was all about.

Why wasn’t he rutting her like a madman yet?

She wanted him to bend her over this table and fuck her raw, maybe even as his true self, that would be phenomenal…

She moaned involuntarily at the thought of it. At the idea of an enormous spider monster approaching her with the same lust and bestial possessiveness that Serrik had just displayed. It shouldn’t have turned her on nearly as much as it did.

But here she was, all the same.

All conflict in her mind was gone.

All that remained was the truth.

The truth of his touch, and a desperate, burning, ache for more. It was an urgent need that eclipsed everything else. It was a mindless kind of seeking that she hadn’t ever experienced before.

She could feel him withdraw his fangs, the sensation strangely intimate, leaving behind a dull throbbing warmth that anchored the spreading fire within her. Her head lolled slightly on the table, vision swimming, struggling to focus on the dark shape looming over her.

Serrik .

Her mind clung to his name, his image, the source of this devastating pleasure, the only thing that seemed real in the swirling chaos of sensation.

Her body felt fluid, heavy, yet paradoxically light, every inch of her skin tingling with anticipation.

The arch in her spine increased, a subconscious offering, driven by the venom’s insistent pull towards him.

She wanted to drown in him.

In his power.

In his control.

“Serrik…” She moaned his name.

And felt him shudder over her.

The sound of his name leaving her lips in need…

It removed any lingering guilt and replaced it with his own desperate hunger.

Serrik watched her transformation with rapt attention, drinking in every detail. He saw the haze clouding her gaze, the complete surrender in the laxity of her limbs, the flush painting her cheeks, the slight parting of her lips as her breathing grew shallower.

The beast within him, the one she had foolishly provoked, purred in satisfaction. This was control, absolute and intoxicating. He reached out, tracing the mark of his bite with one sharp, golden talon, keeping his touch gentle against her heated skin.

“Ava,” he murmured, he kept his voice low. He knew she would be sinking deep into the poison’s effects. Too much would have her reeling. But he wanted to hear her voice again, test the extent of the venom's hold. “Look at me.”

It took immense effort for her to obey. Her eyelids likely felt heavy.

She blinked, trying to focus. Slowly, she dragged her gaze upwards, finally locking with his.

Seeing him seemed to sharpen her awareness, grounding her.

He was the sun, and she was merely a planet caught helplessly in his orbit, pulled inexorably towards his heat.

“Good. That’s it, little butterfly.” It was hard not to rip her clothes from her body in a fit of violent need. To shift to his true form and mate her properly—to truly mark her as his. But his sins were great enough this night.

“Serrik,” she breathed, his name a sigh on her lips, devoid of its earlier anger or fear. It was just a statement, an acknowledgment of his presence, his power, as the center of her universe now.

A slow, devious smile spread across his face.

While he would not go as far as he could, there was still a great deal of pleasure to be had.

He lowered his head again, not to bite, but to nuzzle the sensitive skin just below her jawline, inhaling her scent.

His hand, still resting beneath her shirt, began to move again, fingers spreading wide across her abdomen, then sweeping upwards, thumb circling the peak of her breast through the thin layers of fabric.

He was going to punish her for her impudence.

Ava gasped, her back arching sharply off the table, straining against the bonds. “Please,” she whimpered.

“Please what , little butterfly?” Serrik prompted, knowing precisely what she was asking for, yet enjoying the game. He wanted her to articulate it. His thumb pressed down before he pinched her now hardened nipple, and she cried out softly, her hips bucking from the table.

He watched the wave of pure sensation wash over her face, the way her eyes clenched shut, the slight tremor that ran through her limbs. This was what he had needed since he had first laid eyes upon her. What he had fantasized about every time she came near him.

His butterfly.

His Weaver.

His.

He considered the golden threads binding her. They were hardly necessary now; the venom held her more securely than any physical restraint ever could. Yet, he left them. They were part of the tableau, a visible symbol of her surrender, of his ownership.

Tilting his head, he studied her flushed, panting form.

“You feel it now, don't you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, hypnotic.

"The Web is tightening. Not my threads, Ava, but the threads that bind us. This creature that surrounds me. It pulls you here by your own desire—a desire you now know is inescapable. Soon, you will come to admit there is no room for anything else.”

She could only shake her head slightly, unable to form words, adrift on the sea of venom-induced sensation.

He understood her silent plea. All her world was rendered to nothing reasonable, nothing rational. His hand moved again, bolder now, sliding fully beneath her bra, his bare palm cupping her breast, sharp talon tracing patterns around the nipple that had already hardened at his touch.

Ava gasped, her body jolting, a broken sob escaping her lips. Every touch sent clear shockwaves through her.

“Mmmh…that’s it, little butterfly. So responsive,” he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction.

He leaned down, capturing her lips in another searing kiss, deeper this time, more demanding.

He drank her moans, swallowed her gasps, his tongue tangling with hers.

While he kissed her, his other hand went to the fastening of her jeans, undoing the button.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers, giving her all the space to protest—if she had the will.

His fingers deliberately, slowly, lowered the zipper, the sound rasping against the backdrop of her ragged breathing.

The air hit the newly exposed skin of her lower abdomen, making her shiver, arching again into his touch, seeking friction, seeking him .

He moved his hand from the zipper to the threshold, fingers hovering over the lace edge of her underwear, letting the anticipation build, watching the desperate wanting flood her expression.

“Tell me,” he commanded softly. “Tell me you want this, Ava. Tell me you want me . ”

He needed to hear the words.

He needed to.

“Please, Ava,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she choked out, the word fractured, barely audible, but absolute. “Yes—Serrik—God, I?—”