With new panic, I tried to clamp my mouth shut and hold my breath, but the smoke moved too fast. It was like I could feel it sinking in through my pores.
“Wid,” the gargoyle demon groaned before dropping to his knees.
My own head felt dizzy at the toxins flooding my system, and it was already too hard to see through the smoke.
I fell to the floor a second later, but to my surprise, my body didn’t crash to the hard tile or even against sticky webs. Instead, Tomb had somehow gotten to me in time to catch my fall. He held me cradled to his body, tucking me against him as if he could keep the world from hurting me. And for some reason, even though I knew it wasn’t true, I felt safe.
The last thing I heard before blacking out was the scientist’s mumbled words. “Hmm. Subject three-four-two seems to be very territorial of the black widow hybrid now.”
He was right. Tomb’s steely arms wrapping around my body were evidence enough. But what the scientist failed to notice was that my spider had started to wrap webs around Tomb, as if she were trying to hold him right back.
Territorial, indeed. But I had no idea what it meant.
Chapter 9
“Again,” the bitter voice of my trainer boomed before another knife came careening toward my skull.
I’d been at this for hours. Sweat poured down my face as I wrenched my arm up and shot out a cage of webs to try and stop the sharp weapon from slicing my cheek. I learned the hard way that they wouldn’t wait for me to be ready. The dried blood on my ear was evidence enough of that.
I lifted up my black Spector t-shirt and used the bottom hem to wipe the sweat from my forehead. Besides the S logo on the front, the shirt and sweatpants were a step up from the hospital gown I was used to wearing.
After what happened with Tomb, they decided to start training me. Strength, endurance, offensive, and defensive moves, they made me do it all until I collapsed in my cell every night in a puddle of sweat and exhaustion. My days all blended into each other, starting with breakfast served in my cell, then training for hours on end, a quick cold shower, and a chemical induced sleep.
I hadn’t seen Tomb in a week. I learned to keep time based on my routine, and I was thankful for the small pleasure of knowing how long had passed, but it was a bittersweet gift. Each day that went by, I grew more and more worried that Tomb had been punished for protecting me. Or that they’d been doing tests on him for coming back to life. I wasn’t naive enough to think that they hadn’t monitored us in the tank. I knew better than that.
I’d begged for answers, but I got none. I kept my eyes peeled in the training room, but he never showed up. I searched for his familiar face in the halls, praying that whatever I did to him didn’t hurt him, but I never spotted him.
I worried. I missed him. It was like there was a hollow disconnect in my chest, as if a part of me was missing.
I craved more of Tomb. Not just physically—though the sex was amazing—I missed his easy smile and determination to accept me. I liked that, with him, I wasn’t the villain.
“Why do we have to do this?” I asked Oz—the stingy man responsible for my training. He was dressed in black fatigues, with a mop of brown hair and a scowl.
I wasn’t expecting an answer from him. I’d grown accustomed to Spector’s secretive ways. They refused to tell me where Tomb was or what their plans for me were after what had happened in the tank. Tomb was dead—I’d seen it. And then he woke up with my spider’s mark on his neck, leaving me with unanswered questions and an intense longing for him.
The strangest thing about feeding from Tomb was that he sustained me for much longer. When I’d fed from the humans, it had felt like I was on a crash diet, trying to fill myself with empty meals that didn’t fully nourish me. But Tomb had been a five course meal, leaving me fully satisfied despite the fact that I hadn’t even had any of his blood.
At first, when the hunger didn’t return, I wondered if I’d been cured. I briefly allowed myself to hope that feeding from him had somehow eradicated it for good. But I soon learned that I wasn’t cured. Just full.
But the more Spector made me train, the more my reserves ran dry. I wanted to go as long as I possibly could because I wasn’t ready to kill again, and the thought of having sex with anyone but Tomb made me sick. But at the current rate I was going, I would need more food—and soon.
“The researchers need to see how quick your reflexes are. Apparently, they were up four hundred percent after your last feeding, but based on how horrible you’ve done today, you’ve steadily declined,” Oz answered.
His answer surprised me because I hadn’t expected him to actually respond at all. In my week of training, the only words spoken to me were demands.
“I see.”
Oz just confirmed what I already knew. Spector wanted to push me, monitor me, see how I’d changed in response to feeding off of Tomb. Tomb had resurrected, while I’d become stronger. And Spector was going to use that. My particular skills were so unique that it terrified me to think of exactly what they’d use me for. I didn’t want a lifetime of seducing men and killing them for Spector’s agenda.
My eyes drifted across the space, noting the several others also currently training in the large room. Everyone was doing different things based on what kind of demon
