It suddenly goes slack as he tangles me in it, then wraps me up again.
“Hey!”
“Try, ‘Thank you.’” His voice is cold.
Shit. “I was going to befine,I would’ve landed on web, anyway.”
Sylvus’s legs shift, tugging on the silk around me, flipping me to face downward. The light above us brightens.
I hover inches from jagged stalagmites.
Oh, fuck. Fuck, I almost died.“Why is there a death trap in your home?!”
“Why onEarthwould you presume what is and isn’t in my home?”
“We aren’t on Earth,” I snap.
He flips me back over roughly, then looks down at me like I’m the universe’s stupidest creature.
“It’s afigure of speech,” he says, incredulous. He turns away as he climbs up the tunnel, hauling me behind him.
Anger rankles in my chest. He could have warned me.Hewas the one sleeping on the job.God, my head hurts.
I lose track of the tunnels again.
When we reach the kitchen, Sylvus tosses me unceremoniously back into the hammock by the table.
This time I land on my back, at least. I try to wriggle enough to see him, but my exhausted muscles refuse to cooperate. My vision blurs, and the pounding in my head worsens.
I stifle a whimper.
Ceramic presses against my lips. “Drink.”
I’m already reflexively swallowing as the cool water flows into my mouth. The water runs dry, and I let out anembarrassing, needy noise. Another cup touches my lips an instant later, and I drink again.
Fuck, I’ve never been so thirsty.
I drink more than I thought possible, and the painful fog lifts from my body.
I see the reason for the strange pattern of cups at my mouth—three of Sylvus’s limbs form a sort of bucket brigade, refilling empty cups and bringing them to my lips as soon as the next is empty.
As my head clears, my anger turns to guilt.
My stomach finally feels full, and I stop drinking.
Sylvus sets the cups down and silently puts on a tea kettle.
I wince. I don’t have any reason to believe the guy is sentimental, but nearly seeing a body turn to splatter would be enough to rattle any sapient.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is hoarse, but my throat is no longer sore.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Reallysorry. I… yeah, my brain was clearly not working. I don’t have a death wish, I swear.”
“Save your breath.” He fiddles with something else in his ‘cabinets,’ which I hope is edible for me. Now that my thirst is sated, my hunger returns with a vengeance.
“So… you’re really letting me off the hook?”
