I turned my head and sunk my teeth in his neck, sating my thirst at the same time. Byron’s demon caroused in the heady lust I was pumping into him. I devoured his life and his blood, not bothering to save a single drop.
I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. The room was utterly quiet except for the sounds of Byron’s moans and my gulps.
And then Byron started to struggle. Through the disorienting fervor of his desire, he probably realized that I was draining him of his most essential piece. But my spider wasn’t going to let him go. Not when she’d caught her prey so easily.
We pulled and pulled, straining that tether of life as he moaned against the gag I’d created for him. My spider loved it. She loved the terror he was feeling as he began to unravel. She loved watching him realize that he was going to die, and the feeling of empowerment that kindled that. She loved that there was nothing he could do to stop her.
She was a vengeful beast.
And so was I.
With one last vicious pull, we snapped the cord connecting us, smiling in satisfaction as we guzzled down the last of his essence. He dropped to the floor, his arm bent at an awkward angle, and I wiped his blood off my mouth with a swipe of my hand. As Byron lay at my feet lifelessly, it wasn’t Tomb’s or Crow’s face looking vacantly back at me, but his own.
“Start the timer. I want to see how long the resurrection takes,” Lowell instructed, breaking the spell of the room.
I wasn’t ready to gain control yet or return to reality. I wasn’t ready to deal with the embarrassment or indignity of looking at my classmates and seeing the shock on their faces. I kept back, letting my demon celebrate her kill.
“Black Widow, can you explain why the nightmare demon showed the hybrids Crow and Tomb? Why are you afraid of them?” Lowell asked me.
She moved my legs, and we slowly walked over to Lowell. Before he could stop her, she plucked the coin from his pocket, brushing a predatory finger over his cock in the process. Lowell’s mouth parted in shock, and guards started stalking toward us, ready to defend the Spector scientist.
The coin burned through the skin on my fingers. It was a searing discomfort, but it was nothing compared to the determination my spider felt. She held the coin up, showing him how unaffected she was, then pushed the coin to her cheek at the place where Byron’s demon skin had brushed against mine, as if to burn the feel of him away.
“I fear nothing, little fly. I am fear,” my dark voice croaked.
I dropped the coin, and it landed on the tiled floor and rolled away, the sound echoing through the room. Everyone’s eyes seemed to follow it. All except for three.
My eyes locked on Tomb and Crow, and my spider grinned.
Mates.
The thought was so clear that I gasped. With that, she burrowed back inside of me, curling up in satisfaction, while I was left to stare at them wide-eyed as the realization of her word thrummed through me.
It was then that I knew with certainty that Byron Wills would never wake up.
Chapter 13
The training room was tense.
I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I struggled to do the moves that Oz was putting me through. His new favorite thing was to make me run until I puked up red-hot blood and then force me to shoot webs straight up to the ceiling and climb my way up the silken rope. I fell. A lot.
I couldn’t ignore the fact that my body buzzed, though. Byron’s essence had sated me and my spider. Not as well as Tomb had, and he hadn’t tasted nearly as good, but drinking from him was still leaps and bounds better than drinking from humans.
My fellow hybrids kept stealing looks at me, but unlike the way their stares had felt hostile or mocking while we’d been at Thibault, now it felt wary. They feared me.
Maybe if I were different, I would take advantage of that. Use this opportunity to turn the tables and bully and torment them. But that wasn’t me, and I still wanted what I’d always wanted—to be accepted.
My arms shook as hard as an earthquake while I struggled to heave myself up another few inches of the web rope. I hadn’t managed to make it to the top even once. Every time I fell onto the floor, Oz was there in my face, telling me to do it again.
My whole body hurt, and sweat was pouring down my face, my red hair in a messy topknot at the crown of my head. The Spector shorts and tank top I wore were damp as well, and they did nothing to protect me from the rope—or web—burn I now had on my palms, arms, and legs.
Just as I gripped the web to climb, using its stickiness to keep me suspended, my hands slipped, and I went falling down. Again.
Right before I hit the mats, I threw my hands out and caught myself in a quick web that sent me bouncing on my back as I stared up and tried to catch my breath. That landing was way better than the mats.
I barely stopped bouncing against my soft web before Oz was hovering over my face, scowling down at me. “No webs to catch yourself,” he reprimanded. “Now get up and do it again.”
I shook my head. “I-I can’t,” I panted.
My palms were bleeding, and my arms felt so weak I couldn’t even lift them up to wipe the sweat off my brow.
But Oz was an unfeeling prick, so he looked down at me with
