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CHAPTER TWENTY

S errik's words hung in the air between them, as tangible as the golden threads he wove with his magic.

I love you.

Three words Ava had never expected to hear from him. Three words that changed everything—and somehow changed nothing at all.

She stared up at him, momentarily speechless, trying to process the confession. The cold, calculating creature who had ensnared her in his web, who had manipulated and maneuvered her from the start…loved her?

“You don't get to do that,” she finally whispered, her voice unsteady. “You don't get to drop that on me in the middle of a fight.”

His golden eyes never left hers, burning with an intensity that made her breath catch. “When would be an appropriate time to confess such a thing, Ava? When would you have me lay bare this great weakness?”

“Is that what love is to you? A weakness?” She tried to step back, to create space between them, but his arms remained firmly around her waist. He backed her into one of his bookshelves, and suddenly she had nowhere to go .

“For a creature like me? Yes.” His voice was low, almost pained. “It is a vulnerability I never anticipated. Never desired.”

“But convenient timing, isn't it?” She couldn't help the bitterness that crept into her tone. “Just when I'm demanding answers, demanding honesty, suddenly you love me?”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. “You think I would stoop so low as to falsify such a thing?”

“I think you'd do whatever it takes to keep me on your side.” She met his gaze unflinchingly. “And right now, I was walking away.”

For a moment, something like hurt flashed across his face—so brief she might have imagined it. Then his expression hardened. “You think me so calculating? So cold?”

All she had to do was smile up at him. She didn’t even need to say the words “Have you looked at yourself lately?”

Growling in frustration, he kissed her again. Unlike before, this wasn't desperate or violent. It was deliberate, thorough, as if he were trying to prove something through the press of his lips against hers.

Despite herself, Ava responded. Her hands, which had been pushing against his chest, now curled into the fabric of his shirt.

The familiar heat of his touch, the taste of him—it was intoxicating, disarming her anger and suspicion even as some rational part of her brain screamed that this was exactly what he wanted.

When they broke apart, she was breathing hard. “That doesn't prove anything.”

“Doesn't it?” His thumb traced the line of her jaw. “I have lived for centuries, Ava Cole. I have known desire, known lust, known the peculiar fascination that comes with finding a worthy adversary. This... is none of those things. And all of them.”

“Serrik—”

“You asked for truth,” he continued, cutting her off. “You asked for honesty. Here it is. I love you. I, who have hated for longer than your ancestors drew breath, find myself consumed by this inconvenient, irrational feeling for a once-human woman who defies me at every turn. ”

There was something raw in his voice, something she'd never heard before. It made her heart lurch painfully in her chest.

“If it is manipulation you suspect,” he added, his voice dropping lower, “consider this—I gain nothing by admitting such a thing. It gives you power over me. It weakens my position. It is, by any strategic measure, an error. You do not feel the same for me, therefore, what do I have to gain from it?”

She couldn't deny the logic of that. Serrik was many things, but rarely foolish.

“Then why tell me now?” she asked, softer than before.

His smile was bitter. “Because you were leaving. Because I saw the certainty in your eyes, the finality. And I found I could not bear it.” His hand moved to cup her cheek. “I have existed in isolation for so long, Ava. The emptiness of it…you cannot comprehend.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his touch, was disarming. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to accept that this cold, ancient being had somehow developed feelings for her that went beyond calculation or desire.

But doubt lingered, whispering in the back of her mind.

“I still need answers.” Her voice lacked its earlier fire. “I still need to know what I'm becoming. What you really are.”

“And if I told you that the answers would hurt you? That they would change how you see me—how you see yourself?”

“That's not your decision to make. And it doesn’t change the facts.”

Serrik's eyes closed briefly, as if in pain. When he opened them again, there was resignation there. “Very well. But not here. Not like this.”

He led her to the large armchair near the fireplace, settling into it and drawing her down onto his lap, straddling him. It should have felt strange, this sudden intimacy after their heated argument, but somehow it didn't. It felt…right.

His arms encircled her, pulling her a little closer. “I have more questions you’re probably not going to answer,” she said quietly, though some of the fight had gone out of her.

His fingers traced idle patterns on her arm. He seemed fascinated by her tattoo—no, more than that. He looked in awe of it. “I likely will not. But ask them anyway.”

She hesitated, trying to organize her thoughts. There was so much she still needed to know, still needed to understand. But one question pressed forward.

“How do you know what's happening in Tir n'Aill?” she asked. “How did you know I'd spoken to the Morrigan? About Bayodan?”

Serrik's hand stilled on her arm. “I have my ways.”

For once, it was her turn to tilt his head up to look at her. “Do you have spies? Allies in the courts?”

A hollow laugh escaped him. “Allies? In the courts? No, Ava. I have no friends in that world or any other. I have no allies. No friends.”

Ouch. “Then how?—”

“Where the Web goes, I go.” Those golden eyes met hers. “And you, my butterfly, are the Web.”

She frowned, trying to understand. “What does that mean?”

“It means that as your bond with it increased, so has mine. And I am able to sense more and more of your experiences.” His fingers resumed their gentle tracing on her arm. "Not details. Not specifics. But impressions. Emotions. The presence of certain…entities.”

“Like the Morrigan.”

“Yes. She leaves a distinctive signature. As does my half-brother. And Bayodan. As for a spell to kill me? That was a simple deduction.”

Glancing away, she did her best to think it through. It made a certain kind of sense, given their connection. Given what she was becoming. But it also raised more questions. Namely, about what kind of life she could have if she didn’t kill him and decided to…what? Move on with her life?

Fuck Lysander?

“I know what you are thinking.” There was a defensive edge to his voice. “Our connection simply exists. I do not actively seek to intrude upon your privacy.”

She wasn't sure she believed that but decided to let it go for now. There were more pressing matters. “And what about?—”

“Mmhm.” He pulled her closer to him, hands sliding up her back to urge her to lean into him. His lips found the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

A small gasp escaped her as he traced the curve of her neck with slow, deliberate kisses. “Serrik,” she protested weakly, “I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”

“By all means,” he murmured against her skin, “continue.” But his hands were moving now, one sliding up to tangle in her hair, tilting her head to give him better access to her throat, the other slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to trace the bare skin of her lower back.

“Serrik,” she accused, though the heat in her voice had nothing to do with anger. “Stop trying to distract me.”

She felt his smile against her collarbone. “Is it working?”

It was. God help her, it was. The press of his lips, the warmth of his hands, the solid strength of his body beneath hers—they were driving all coherent thought from her mind.

Replacing questions with a different kind of hunger, a different kind of need.

“That's not fair,” she managed, though her hands were already moving to the buttons of his shirt. Last time, she didn’t even get to touch him. Lame.

“I never claimed to fight fair, Ava.” He caught her lips with his again, a kiss that was slow, deep, and thoroughly intoxicating.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons, desire making her clumsy. With a sound of impatience, Serrik caught her hands in his, bringing them to his lips.

“Allow me,” he said, his voice dropping to a register that sent shivers down her spine.

With deliberate slowness, he began undoing the buttons himself, his golden eyes never leaving hers.

The firelight played across his gradually exposed skin, highlighting the lean muscle beneath.

She realized he had tattoos as well—golden ones in odd symbols shimmered and shifted when she looked at them directly.

Once his shirt hung open, he reached for the hem of hers. “May I?”

The formality of the question, the unexpected courtesy after the heat of their argument, caught her off guard.

She nodded, lifting her arms as he drew the fabric up and over her head, leaving her in just her bra.

The spiderweb tattoo went across her collarbone, dipped a little lower onto the top of her breast, but stopped there.

His eyes darkened as they swept over her, hunger plain in his gaze. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his hands moving to trace the curve of her waist, the line of her ribs. “So impossibly beautiful.”

The reverence in his touch, in his voice, made her heart skip a beat. This didn't feel like manipulation. Didn't feel like a calculated effort to distract or disarm. This felt…real.

As real as anything between them could be.

She leaned forward, her lips finding his again as her hands pushed his shirt from his shoulders. The feel of skin against skin sent a jolt of electricity through her, a heady rush of desire that drove all remaining thoughts of questions and answers from her mind.