He could taste his poison on his tongue, dripping from his fangs in anticipation of an event that he would never allow to come to pass. He had never mated with anyone in his hideous true body, and heneverwould.
What the Morrigan and Arachne had brought into the world was an abomination. He was never meant to exist. He was the product of the hubris of creatures who believed themselves to be gods and comported themselves accordingly.
He had no right to impose that upon anyone.
Let alone reproduce.
But it did not stop the mind from wandering.
Or his glamored body from tightening in response to the fantasies he conjured. Of Ava’s sharp tongue silenced by his manhood as he pushed it down her throat.
He was not a kind lover.
He was not a patient lover.
When the impulse struck him, it was a dangerous affair.
He needed Ava. He needed her to side with him against his half-kin. And ravaging her like a beast was no way to keep her aligned to his cause. So he would suffer through his desires. He would abate them in the privacy of his rooms when she was not haunting his dreams.
And he would let the loneliness ache in his heart the way it always had.
He had never expected this weakness within himself.
For eighteen centuries, he had schooled himself, concealed himself, in ice and stone. Had made himself a creature of calculation and plans spanning hundreds of years. Had taught himself to view the world as a complex game of strategy where emotions were merely weaknesses to be exploited in others.
And yet.
His fingers traced the rim of a crystal glass, still tinged with the faint impression of her lips from when she had drunk from it. Such a mundane thing to fixate upon. So…mortal.
The Web was changing around him. He could feel it. The vibrations in his carefully constructed prison had altered since her arrival. Possibilities and dreams that had been closed for centuries now trembled with potential. A door, long sealed, now whispered hints of opening.
His little butterfly was the cause.
She had collected the first key from the sisters. Serrik had felt a strange, burning sensation in his chest when the crone had violated her memories—a sensation he eventually recognized as anger. Not calculated. Not strategic.
Pure, protectiverage.
How curious.
It was more than desire she inspired in him.
More than simply lust.
One he could resist, he knew.
But the other?
The other worried him far more.
He approached the massive window that looked out over the impossible landscape of his prison. The trees had begun to bloom with silver flowers—something they had not done in over six hundred years.
Change was coming.
He pressed his palm against the cool glass. Beyond it, lightning flickered in a sky that had no clouds. The Web always reflected his moods, whether he wished it to or not.
And now it felt electric with desire, just as he did.
“My little butterfly,” he whispered to the empty room. “What have you done to me?” He closed his eyes, drawing in a breath he didn’t need. There was work to be done. Plans to be adjusted. He could not afford this…distraction.
