“If you want to truly know someone, get trapped and starved with him by a bunch of overgrown magical spiders. Trust me, you’ll learn things you never wanted to know.”
~Maddie
The darkness had teeth. It chewed at Roan’s patience, gnawed at his composure, and threatened to swallow the tiny, stubborn spark of hope that had gotten him through too many hard centuries to count. Three days—though time was a slippery thing in the dark, and his body, ancient and resilient as it was, told him the truth. Three days since anyone had come, three days since he and Maddie had tasted anything but the sticky-sweet nectar forced through the slit in their cocoon.
He’d spent three days pressed so tightly against Maddie that he could count each of her breaths, feel the flutter of her heart against his ribs, and feel the restless twitch of her fingers whenever she thought he wasn’t paying attention. The webbing was relentless, a second skin—sticky, stifling, scented with dust, fear, and a faint undertone of sweet rot.
Maddie, for her part, seemed determined to fill the silence with whatever thoughts tumbled from her head—sharp, bright, and utterly unpredictable.
“You know,” she muttered, voice muffled by his shirt, “if I survive this, I’m never wearing silk again. It feels like betrayal. Like, can you imagine? ‘Oh, what’s this blouse made from?’ ‘Oh, you know, the bodily fluids of the creatures that almost digested me alive.’”
Roan snorted, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “You’re being dramatic. And human silk clothes are made from silk worms, not spiders.”
“I’m being traumatized,” she shot back. “There’s a difference. Also, I’m pretty sure I have a strand of web in my nose. If I sneeze it out, I expect you to be supportive. And, wearing silk that came from a worm is just as gross as spider butt silk.”
“I’ll be supportive if you don’t make it worse,” Roan replied dryly. He shifted, trying to ease the ache in his shoulder, but the cocoon only tightened in protest. “Don’t move so much. I think the web’s enchanted. I’ve noticed that the more you struggle, the tighter it holds. Tiny shifts don’t seem to affect it, but actively fighting against it tightens it. At least briefly. Then it seems to loosen back up.”
“Oh, so now you tell me,” Maddie grumbled. “I’ve only been wriggling for three days. I could have been conserving my energy—maybe plotting my escape, or planning your surprise birthday party.”
Roan tried, and failed, to suppress a smile. “I don’t celebrate birthdays. Not for a long time.”
Maddie stilled, and for a moment, a hush fell. He could feel her thinking, the way her energy changed—curiosity blooming in the dark.
“How old are you, actually?” she asked, her tone softer, less teasing. “And don’t say ‘old enough to know better,’ becausethat’s what my mom used to say to me right after I did something dumb. To which I had to point out that I obviously wasn’t ‘old enough to know better’ because I did the dumb thing.”
Roan exhaled, the sound heavy. “Let’s just say I’m older than much of your civilization.” Roan didn’t know why he was so hesitant to tell her his age. Something inside of him wanted her to look at him as a man, not a supernatural being, or–Visata forbid—an ancient artifact.
Maddie let out a low whistle, impressed. “Damn. You look good for your age, Roan. Like, if I saw you in a bar, I’d guess . . . twenty eight? Maybe twenty-five, if I was feeling generous.”
A chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. “The magic slows everything down. We age, but not like mortals. Most of us live,” he paused, wary of telling her the complete truth. “Many, many human lifetimes before, well, before the end.”
“The end. Cheery,” Maddie quipped. But her voice was thoughtful. “So. What do you do with all that time? I mean, besides getting kidnapped by eight-legged freaks and babysitting mouthy humans? It seems like you’d get bored. There’s only so much to learn and do on this floating ball of oxygen.”
He didn’t answer right away. The truth was, he hadn’t really lived, not the way she meant. His existence had been duty, service, endless war, and negotiation. For centuries, he’d buried himself in the work, the rituals, the politics—the things that kept him from remembering what he’d lost, and what he’d never dared hope for.
“You survive,” he said finally. “You serve. You try to keep the kingdoms from tearing each other—and the world—apart. Sometimes you make a difference. Sometimes you just . . . endure. Each shaman has a duty to the kingdom they’re assigned to, but their first duty is to Visata.”
Maddie was quiet for a long moment, her breath fanning warm against his chest. “So you’re not really a part of that kingdom. You’re an outsider constantly observing. Sounds lonely.”
Roan stiffened, surprised by the pang her words sent through him. “I suppose that is one way to look at it. But it’s necessary.”
“Necessary isn’t the same as good for you,” she said, so softly he almost missed it. “Just because you have a duty doesn’t mean you should neglect your own needs.”
“That’s exactly what being a servant to the Creator is. A sacrifice of self.” He could hear the frustration in his voice and felt guilt rise up. Roan served faithfully to Visata and loved his Creator. He knew that Visata loved his creations deeply and wanted what was best for them. It was why he’d allowed them to come into the human realm. But there was a part of him that did wish he could have something for himself. Something that belonged only to him, not another kingdom.
Maddie made a noise that sounded very much like she disagreed. And then proved it. “Mmm, no. I don’t agree. I’ve never been religious, but I do believe in God. I believe that much like we create humans, so to speak, and though I don’t have any experience in this, we love our children deeply. I mean, I can tell my mother loves me deeply.” There was a sadness in her tone as she spoke of her mom, but she continued speaking quickly, as if she needed to stay away from that topic. “I would think that God must love us the same way, and if He does, then he’d want us to find joy in the life he’s given us. Yes, I think we need to love, be kind, and help others. But, how do we not get drained until we’re empty from that if we’re not being refilled in some way? Isn’t that what a relationship is? Two people who love each other and refill the cup that gets drained by the world?”
“Our Creator can refill that cup more effectively than any living being,” Roan said, a bit defensively. He bit back hisannoyance as he continued. “I’m not saying that having a partner in life wouldn’t enrich our lives more. But our Creator is sufficient for our needs.”
“Perhaps the Creator meets those needs through another person.”
Her words punched him in the gut. For one so young, he had to admit she was more mature than many females he knew at her age. Roan didn’t respond. He couldn’t. If he did, he had a feeling he’d blurt out that he wantedherto be his partner, to be the one that helped fill his cup, and he wanted to be that for her. He didn’t think Maddie was ready to hear that. And he wasn’t really ready to admit it. Instead, he let the silence stretch, listening to the skittering of spider legs somewhere in the darkness, the faint hum of old magic in the air.
Maddie’s mind was a riot of thoughts, bouncing between panic, boredom, and outright fascination. Being trapped against Roan should have been awkward, maybe even embarrassing. But after three days, she’d gotten used to the constant contact—the way his heartbeat became her metronome, the way his breathing steadied hers when the panic got too big. And his warmth, well, she couldn’t focus too much on that. She’d never cozied up next to a guy and didn’t have a clue that it would be so—nice.Is that really the word I’m looking for?she asked herself. It wasn’t, there was a much better word for it, but she felt it was better if her mind didn’t go down that particular highway, which would definitely lead to a gutter.Keep moving, Maddie,she told her mind, and her hormones.
She was hungry—so hungry it almost didn’t matter anymore. Her stomach had stopped growling and settled for sulking. The nectar the spiders brought each day took the edge off, but it left her feeling weirdly numb, like she was floating slightly outsideher own body. Occasionally, her fingertips tingled, and her thoughts felt slow, sticky, like honey. She was starting to suspect the stuff was more than just food.
But now, with Roan pressed so close, she was determined to learn something real about him. What more could they do anyways? Might as well work out whatever thorn she was in his side and see if she could get past the walls. Though it would be tough. He was a fortress—strong, silent, stubborn. But he wasn’t as unreadable as he thought.
