The door opens, held by one of the males the widows will devour later. He smiles, happily accepting his life—his fate.
"Celeste is waiting for you."
He smiles his beautiful grin, offering me a wink which prompts Gage to draw me in closer.
As we walk into the seemingly normal home, a deeper chill finds its way into my bones. I really hate this.
The walls are adorned with priceless paintings, making this seem like a royal dwelling as opposed to a dark haven. Looks are always deceiving with the creatures of our world. Their homes are no different.
"Wait here," Peter Parker says as he motions for us to head into a gallant living area.
He walks away, and Gage's grip loosens on me. I gauge my surroundings with a wary eye, not missing the small spiders creeping along the white walls of the otherwise pristine room.
"I don't understand why these guys willingly stay with the widows when they know they'll be killed later on," I whisper, careful not to let my voice be overheard.
"Because we don't all die," the same guy says as he enters the room, grinning as he stares at me. Apparently I didn't stay quiet enough. "Only the ones who offer themselves as sacrifice to the heads will die. Some perceive it as an honor."
"And you?" I boldly ask, watching his grin only grow.
"I'm not a sacrifice. I also don't bed widows. I'm more into witches."
Gage grumbles under his breath, holding me closer again. Spidey boy smirks, staring down Gage, possibly trying to rile him up. All spider fey enjoy exerting dominance on outsiders. Come to think of it, all fey men love exerting dominance.
A woman walks in, breaking up the silent stare-down. Her wicked smile cocks up when she eyes me.
"So you're the witch who killed the spirit. Impressive."
"Just as you requested," Gage says, speaking before I can. "Why exactly couldn't you just trust me?"
She snorts derisively, as if he just asked a rhetorical question.
"No offense, Gage, but I've never been dumb enough to trust a dark user who is also a part of the Somage," she snarls.
I swallow hard, watching her as she glides across the floor. Her purple-hazed eyes are in plain sight, her fangs are bared, and her lips and nails are jet black. I can almost smell the deadly venom in her breath.
She appraises me with her devilish smirk—measures me with her widow eyes. A black veil falls just above her lips, and obstructs the view just slightly, but those purple warnings are hard to miss even through the tightly woven lace. At last, she takes a seat beside Spiderman and breaks the awkward silence.
"Before she was murdered, Syndea evoked the Widow's Oak. She gave us a vision through her eyes. You're definitely not the girl who killed her."
"You fucking knew what happened?" Gage growls. "And yet you did nothing to appease the Were council?"
A sinister grin replaces her smirk, making the chill in the room almost painful. Gage tugs me to him when I shiver, offering me a taste of his immortal heat. Unfortunately, it stirs more of my inane emotions that I wish to forsake. I step away from him just enough to break contact in an effort to thwart off the feelings I have to deny.
"Where's the fun in that?" she quips, her demonic laughter following. Gage's hands burn with power, his orbs starting to form, and the spidress rolls hers. "Calm down. I didn't know for sure. I haven't seen her before. Now, let's discuss business."
Gage's orbs extinguish themselves, and he pulls me back to him, placing his arm around my back and his hand on my hip. Her grin quirks up to be broader, as she seems to delight in his protective motion.
As soon as the conversation turns to business, their voices fade into hollow echoes. All the sounds around me seem to be rattling around inside a drum. I feel dizzy and sick, as a wave of fever and chills rush over me in unison.
I feel sweat on my brow and a breath at my face, but I can't breathe in here. When my eyes begin to blur and distort images, I stagger, feeling arms around me, guiding me outside.
I rip free just as I feel the touch of grass beneath my feet, and I flop to the ground, heaving for air and clarity, only to strangle on confusion and a toxic pull. I reach for—I don't know what. Prayers flitter through my head, but I'm answered by only more pain before it all goes black.
Chapter 7
Ma
ry Fisher