Ensnared: An Alien Romance Trilogy (The Spider’s Mate Book 1)
Ensnared: Chapter 7

Ivy woke with a pained groan. Before she could so much as gather her wits, her stomach cramped. Agony bloomed through her abdomen, and she curled up on her side, muscles tensing and sweat beading on her skin. She felt hollow and nauseous, in danger of emptying her stomach—not that there was anything in her stomach to begin with.

She pressed a hand to her belly, willing the sensations away with deep, even breaths. She was hungry and thirsty, and her body was suffering the aftermath of cryosleep. She’d heard the medical techs refer to it as stasis sickness.

But someone was supposed help her. That was the protocol. The med techs would assist everyone after they’d been woken from cryosleep, would help manage the pain and discomfort of anyone suffering stasis sickness, would ensure everything returned to normal.

And then it would be sunny days on a beautiful new world where Ivy could be whatever she wanted to be.

All she had to do was endure this a little longer…and wasn’t this pain a small price to pay for a fresh start?

Something brushed over her ankle—something warm and rough. Ivy’s brows knitted as a large hand cupped her heel, lifting her foot into the air delicately. Why would a tech start a med exam with her feet?

That something—a finger?— lightly swept across the bottom of her foot, tickling her. Ivy jerked her leg and raised her head to look over her shoulder. Her breath caught in her lungs as her eyes fell upon the creature behind her.

Everything came flooding back in that instant.

She wasn’t on the Somnium. She wasn’t being tended by technicians and doctors. She wasn’t on Xolea.

She’d been taken by a spider monster to its nest, where it was going to…to…

To what?

Ivy forced herself to really see what was happening. The creature—Ketahn, he’d said—held her foot in one of his four hands with a long finger from another hand extended, having trailed that finger across her sole. He was staring at her with eight violet eyes, his head tilted slightly as though to ask, what the heck, woman?

She’d been taken by a spider monster to its nest, where it was tickling her feet.

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, Ketahn reached forward with a third hand, delicately took her big toe between his forefinger and thumb, and wiggled it.

Ivy arched a brow. “Are you playing piggies now too?”

The whole situation struck her as bizarre, though she could understand his curiosity considering he didn’t have toes—or even feet.

“Noth ven kess lenaal kuix ithin?” he asked, dropping his gaze to her foot again. He wiggled her remaining toes then stroked her sole once more with the pad of his finger.

His touch was so light that it made her shudder and sent a tremor up her leg—an oddly delightful tremor.

Her breath hitched, and she scrambled back, wrenching her foot out of his grasp. She sat with her back to the wall, legs drawn up to her chest, and feet flat on the fur covered floor. She wagged a finger at him. “No. No tickling.”

Ketahn released a huff, mandibles drooping. “Tih-kling?”

She had no idea how she was going to explain tickling. Instead, she pointed to her foot. If he was curious, she could give him an anatomy lesson. “Foot.”

A clicking rumble vibrated his chest. He extended his arm and pointed to her foot. “Voot,” he said, making a chuffing sound closer to a v in place of the f.

“Foot,” she said again, emphasizing the f.

Ketahn shifted his attention to her mouth. “Ikar et ikarahl vana, Ay-vee. Vhoot.”

“Okay, so maybe you can’t make that sound because you don’t have lips.” She pointed to her mouth. “Mouth.” She tapped her bottom lip. “Ivy has lips.”

“Nowth.” He gestured to his own mouth. “Shev.”

“Shev,” she repeated.

There was a chance that Ivy and Ketahn really would be able to communicate with each other. She should’ve been scared out of her wits, but that chance…she had to cling to it, and to the hope it signified. Because if he’d found her, he had to know where the ship was, didn’t he? She just had to figure out how to ask him to show her. To bring her back.

Monstrous spider-person or not, Ketahn was all she had right now. And as long as he didn’t plan to eat her…

Ivy didn’t back away when he leaned toward her, expecting him merely to point at her mouth, but his hand did not stop until the pad of his thumb had stroked her lower lip. She tensed, eyes locked on him, as her lips parted. She might not have backed away, but him being this close put into perspective just how big he was compared to her—and how scary he looked.

“Lit,” he said with a click of that purple tongue.

“Close.” She placed a hand hesitantly over his and pushed it away.

Ketahn dipped his chin toward their hands, lifting hers a little. “Hani.” He displayed his other hands with fingers splayed. “Hani.”

Ivy repeated the word, out loud and in her mind, storing it away as she’d done with the other, and raised both her hands. They trembled slightly. “Hands.” She closed the fingers of one hand until she was holding up two fingers. “Two. Ivy has two hands. One”—she lowered one finger and lifted it again—“Two. Two hands.”

His mandibles twitched, and he tilted his head aside, watching her curiously.

“Ketahn has four hands.” Slowly, she reached out and lightly touched each of his hands as she spoke. “One, two, three, four.” She held up four fingers. “Four hands.”

She had no idea if he would remember any of this. Was she going too fast?

“Hvor hands.” Ketahn turned his palms toward his face for a moment before looking at Ivy’s hands. “Two hands.”

Okay, so maybe he will remember.

He curled two of his upper hands into loose fists and raised his fingers one by one, reciting a word with each. “Ul. Tok. Ir. Set. Gon. Het. Urd.” With the eighth finger, he dipped his head toward her. “Vel.”

Ivy recognized that word. He’d said it many times, mostly in question, when speaking to her. Eight? Had he been referring to her as eight? Why?

“No vel.” She tapped her chest. “Ivy.”

He placed his hand on her chest, his splayed fingers easily spanning from one of her shoulders to the other. “Ivy.”

Her eyes flared, and her heart hammered against her ribs in response to his closeness and his touch.

“Kess elad Ivy. Kir unir ithin.”

Ivy shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Ketahn grunted, seemingly put out by this, but they resumed the anatomy lesson, each pointing to parts of their bodies, saying the words in their own languages and repeating them in each other’s language. Some of his words were difficult for her to say, and she knew she wasn’t pronouncing them right—knew that she couldn’t when some of them contained subtle buzzes and clicks. Ketahn continued to struggle with sounds Ivy made with her lips, but they both seemed pleased to be making progress.

Finally, Ivy gathered a portion of her hair and lifted it. “Hair.”

He hooked some loose strands of his hair with his finger. “Hair. Sutra.” He leaned close to her, holding his hair toward her as though wanting her to touch it.

Brows low, she glanced from his eyes to his hair, then slowly reached up and grasped the strands. Her lips parted in surprise at its feel; it was like silk. She rubbed it between her finger and thumb, then ran her fingers through it, marveling at its color.

“It’s so soft,” she said.

That low purring sounded in his chest. He lifted a hand to her hair, took a lock of it between his fingers, and rubbed it. “Kess’ani sutra alvos iln huthaal, varsi ree shendar iln syth.”

Ivy lowered her arm and watched him. There was almost a…reverence to the way he was touching her hair.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, but at least it sounds nice.”

After a few moments, he released her hair. “Kess elad ahn’jesh, Ivy. Kess elad’dak iln kir.” He rapped a fist on his chest, producing a dull thump. “Ketahn elad larak. Ivy elad jesh.” One of his hands moved to her chest, cupped her breast, and squeezed.

Ivy’s breath hitched, and her nipple puckered beneath his touch. It took her brain a moment to register what he’d done, and a moment longer for her to react.

She slapped his hand away, the sound of her flesh striking his shattering the quiet in the nest. “No.”

Ketahn snatched his hand back, spreading his mandibles wide and letting out a low, startled hiss.

Ivy yelped and shrank away, curling into herself against the wall and covering her head with her arms.

Way to go, Ivy. You’re getting eaten now. You just had to go and slap the spider.

But he groped me!

Is that worse than being eaten alive? He was just curious! It’s not like he has breasts.

“Please, please, don’t eat me. I’m sorry, Ketahn.”

“Ven kir’ur zikash kess, Ivy? Elad kess’ani ukata zikahl?” There was a light touch on her shoulder. “Ivy?”

She raised her head slightly to peek at him. He didn’t look threatening—or at least he looked as unthreatening as a hulking spider person could. He’d leaned his torso forward and lowered himself so that his belly was almost flat on the floor, putting his eyes beneath the level of hers for a change, and was holding himself up with his lower hands.

Ivy slowly lowered her arms. “Ketahn no eat”—she brought her fingers to her mouth and acted as though she took a bite of something and chewed before pointing to herself—“Ivy?”

“No eat?” His mandibles fell low as he mimicked her gesture, pantomiming the act of eating—which granted her another glimpse of that purple tongue and the fangs inside his mouth. “Kess elad vukod?”

She stared at his mouth, at those sharp fangs, and shuddered. “Ketahn eat Ivy?”

His eyes flicked a little wider, and he recoiled. “Ketahn no eat Ivy.”

Relief rapidly flooded her. “Thank you.”

And just as swiftly, that pang of hunger tore through her gut with as much intensity as it had possessed when it woke her. She winced, settling her hand over her belly as it growled and a wave of dizziness crashed over her, making her lightheaded and weak.

“Ivy elad vukod?” Ketahn asked. He made that eating gesture again. “Kess telenas saal ukaan?” He repeated both the gesture and that last word, ukaan.

“Yes,” Ivy nodded. “Ivy hungry. Ivy needs to eat.”

Ketahn backed away from her and rose to a far more imposing height. “Kir’al tavit dera kess, Ivy. Kir’al irel ukaanahl, vux ikesh’al ukaan.”

Ukaan meant eat, but what was that similar word? Ukaanahl? Did that mean…food? She wished this whole process was faster—and wished even more that she’d never woken up to replace herself in this situation—but this was a step in the right direction. Wasn’t it?

Ketahn turned away from her, snatching his bag off the floor and slinging it over his shoulders before taking his spear in hand.

Ivy sat up straight, eyes wide, and despite his frightening lower half—the spider half—being on display, she crawled toward him. “You’re leaving me? Alone?”

What if something else crawled into the nest while he was gone? Something that did want to hurt or eat her?

“Kir ven’dak ithaa ukaanahl dun, vux kir telenas tavit.” He turned toward her again, and his mandibles twitched and fell. He gestured at her with a flattened palm. “Ivy, sss-tay.”

She stilled. He’d understood and remembered. He was learning. She curled her fingers against the wood beneath her and nodded. “Okay. Ivy stay.”

Not like I have anywhere else to go anyway.

“Kir’al saavix dun ursh ul vi selyek.” Ketahn pulled aside the cloth hanging in front of the opening.

For a moment, Ivy had to squint against the light that streamed in; the jungle had been dark when she’d awoken in his arms, but that was no longer the case. How tightly woven was this nest to prevent any of that light from leaking through?

But the instant her eyes adjusted, she wasn’t concerned with the sunlight any longer—her attention was fully upon Ketahn. This was her first glimpse of him in bright light, and it was like seeing him anew…just without that initial terror.

His skin was black and had a slight leathery texture to it, and the purple and white of his markings was even more pure and vibrant than they’d seemed when they were glowing. His long black hair shimmered, and its white streaks lit up like strands of silver—and now she could see that there were violet streaks within it, also, too subtle to have spotted by the eerie blue light of the crystal. The hard planes on his torso and arms were inhuman, but there was an undeniable grace to his shape.

And she could not deny the humanity in his alien face.

Not humanity, I guess, but…intelligence and compassion.

His mandibles closed, the fangs at their ends lightly clicking together. “Sss-tay,” he hissed softly before slipping out through the hole.

The nest rocked and bounced with his movements. Ivy’s stomach lurched, and her heart quickened. She clutched at the woven wood beneath her, seeking stability that she knew she would not replace. Outside, branches creaked, and leaves rustled. Unfamiliar animal calls drifted on the air. She heard light scrapes on the exterior of the nest as he climbed along it.

As Ketahn’s rearmost legs slipped out through the hole, and the cloth covering fell back into place, plunging the interior of the nest into relative darkness until her eyes readjusted to the light of the crystal.

The nest violently swayed once more before it slowed to a halt. On trembling limbs, Ivy crawled toward the exit, her palms and knees brushing over the furs on the floor. She grasped the cloth and lifted it, peering out. She was immediately struck by a wave of vertigo as she looked down at the jungle below. The branches, leaves, and vines were so thick and jumbled that she couldn’t even see the ground, and everything was so big. She’d never seen trees so tall or immense in her life. Even this high up, many of the branches looked wide enough to be used as walkways, and some of the leaves were big enough that they would’ve covered her from chest to ankles if she held one in front of her.

Steeling herself, she lifted her gaze. Straight ahead, the tangled boughs and leaves formed a canopy that the sunlight pierced in brilliant shafts. But it was what she saw directly overhead that truly stole her breath.

A spiderweb. That was the only way to really describe it. A massive web spanned the trees and branches overhead, its many threads converging on the hanging nest. Just like the walls of the nest itself, the web was interwoven with the thick branches, but it was that silky material that was predominant in this case. And what appeared to be chaotic at first took shape as she angled her head to see more of the web; it was arranged in a neat pattern, with the primary threads and intersecting support threads spaced evenly throughout. Here and there, dewdrops sparkled in the sunlight along the web. There must’ve been many more before he’d climbed out.

Ivy let out a slow, shaky breath as she sat back and let the cloth fall into place.

I’m caught in a spider’s web.