The Spider Queen

by Emma Slate

  “He told me his name. I can talk to him, Hunter,” I admitted in a shameful whisper. “I hear him in my mind.”

  After that admittance, I waited for him to stand up and haul me out of Waffle House, back to the hospital, back to being tranquilized like an animal.

  “Do you hear him now?”

  My eyes snapped to his. He wasn’t being facetious or taunting. In fact, he looked rather…serious.

  Thane?

  Silence.

  I shook my head. “I haven’t heard him since before I was in the hospital. I thought it might have been the drugs in my system, but—no, wait. I did hear him. I’m sorry, my mind is still foggy. I heard him right before I fell asleep. You’d just taken over driving and were getting us out of Charleston…” I felt the blood drain from my face. “He told me my dream wasn’t a dream. That it was real. Now do you think I’m crazy?”

  “No. I told you that you weren’t,” he reminded me.

  Shaking my head, I let out a huff of frustration. “Why would I have died if I’d stayed in the hospital?”

  Our gazes locked. I needed answers.

  Tension built between us.

  It was disrupted by the waitress arriving with our plates of food. She plopped them onto the table and then turned away without saying a word.

  Neither of us reached for our silverware.

  I stared him down. I could feel it. He was so close to answering. I willed him to reply, to give me all the missing answers.

  “I have one job, Poppy,” he said, his voice so quiet I had to lean in to hear him. “And that’s keeping you safe.”

  “Because you’re my boyfriend. Right? And you care about me.”

  He went to pick up his fork. “Eat your food, Poppy. You don’t want it to get cold.”

  “Hunter—”

  “Later, okay? I can’t tell you anything now. Not the way I want to—the way I need to. We need privacy for that.”

  I started to eat my food. “But you will tell me?” I asked, feeling panic at the unknown swell in my chest. If anything was going to make me insane, it was the continued secrecy.

  “When we get to Nashville,” he promised. “I’ll tell you everything then.”

  We ate our food quickly, both of us wanting to get back on the road. I pushed away my empty plate and then used the restroom while Hunter paid the check.

  “Why do you do that?” I demanded as I slid back into the passenger seat of the car. I closed the door and then buckled myself in.

  He turned on the ignition and then reversed out of the parking lot. “Do what?” He shot me a quick look, frowning.

  “Promise me answers and then not deliver.”

  “You’re so damn impatient.”

  “Impatient?” I growled. “Are you kidding me? How would you feel if you were in my position? Huh? I just got broken out of a psych ward. Then I admitted to my boyfriend that I can talk to a spider, and he doesn’t even flinch.”

  “Did you ever think that I’m just trying to figure out how to tell you everything I want to tell you? Because there’s so much, Poppy. And I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”

  “Rip off the Band-Aid.”

  “I will,” he promised. “When we get to a private hotel room. I need to be able to look at you and—”

  “And what?” I demanded.

  “Hold you when you need holding.”

  “Am I going to need that?”

  He didn’t pause, but said flatly, “Yes.”

  “You’re going to clobber me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, at least you’re honest about it,” I muttered, looking out the window. Hunter and I fell into silence. The last thing I wanted to do was be alone with my thoughts.

  Thane? Are you there?

  Silence.

  I really need you.

  I felt something. A tiny pulse, a thread, an acknowledgement.

  Can you hear me?

  The tiny pulse flickered.

  You can’t respond, can you? But you can hear me…feel me?

  The pulse flickered again.

  Are you trapped, Thane?

  The pulse stilled.

  Are you in a state where you can’t be with me—in my mind?

  The pulse flared to life.

  Okay. I was getting somewhere.

  I chanced a glance at Hunter. His eyes were on the road, his hands clenching the wheel, his jaw tight.

  Can I trust Hunter?

  The pulse throbbed with intensity.

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  Tell him…about me…

  Thane’s voice in my head was weak, distant.

  I did tell him about you. Well, that I could speak to you.

  More…all of it…

  “Hunter?”

  “Yeah, Poppy?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m ready to tell you everything about Thane.”

  Chapter 32

  “Do you want to pull over?” I asked. “All this might come as a shock.”

  “Poppy,” he said, a trace of humor in his voice, “I broke you out of a hospital room because your cousin had you committed for some very terrifying behavior. I think I can manage to keep us on the road.”

  “I wonder what she thinks,” I murmured more to myself than Hunter.

  “About what she and Jonah saw?”

  “About you springing me from the loony bin.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  I looked out the window, staring at darkness. I could make out the faintest traces of trees and grass as they whizzed by the window. “It’s weird, you know? Not knowing if your mind is betraying you. All this started the night you took me to that junk shop.”

  I recounted everything from that evening on. From finding Thane, noticing the changing of his coloring, to throwing the glass box into the lake when I heard his voice in my head. I held nothing back. And by the time I was finished, we were entering Nashville proper.

  “Say something,” I demanded.

  “I saw the spider’s changing color, too, remember? I even asked you about it.”

  Somehow I’d forgotten that. My eyes widened when I looked at him, a rush of relief engulfing my entire body. It was one thing for Hunter to tell me I wasn’t crazy. It was another for him to have seen what I’d seen.

  “If you saw that, and I saw that, then—”

  He turned and smiled faintly. “Now do you believe me? Now do you trust yourself?”

  “Yes,” I whispered through a tight throat. “But it still doesn’t explain why all this is happening to me. Unless…” I looked at him. “You know, don’t you?”

  He paused and then nodded.

  “All this time?”

  “Yes. I had my suspicions. But until you told me you could communicate with the spider, I didn’t know for sure.”

  A wave of fury assaulted me. He’d kept me in the dark. He’d let me think I was unraveling.

  I kept my mouth shut, too full of anger to even think about talking.

  He pulled up to a bright, modern hotel and parked outside the front doors.

  “We’re staying here?” I asked, surprise loosening my lips. I stared up at the hotel through the glass window of the passenger side.

  “Yes.”

  “I would’ve settled for a Motel 6 or a La Quinta.”

  He let out a chuckle. “I wouldn’t have. Come on. Let’s check in.” After climbing out of the car, he gathered his backpack and cell phone. We walked into the lobby and Hunter made a move to reach for my hand but stopped. At least he knew how to read my body language.

  He spoke politely to the cute desk attendant while I examined the lobby. Everything was rich and warm, the lighting sensual and low.

  It made me aware that I was filthy.

  Check-in was fast, especially after I saw Hunter hand over a black Amex. I inhaled sharply. The guy had money. We’d never talked about it; it hadn’t come up.

  We all had secrets, only
mine were all out in the open.

  Who was Hunter?

  He took the card back and put it in his wallet, glancing over his shoulder at me. His expression was bland.

  “I’m still me, Poppy,” he said as we made our way to the elevators. “I’m still the man who slept next to you so you wouldn’t worry about sleepwalking. I’m still the man who came for you in the hospital. Money doesn’t change that.”

  “But it does change other things,” I pointed out.

  “Sure. Money makes things easier. It gives you choices, opens doors, buys freedom.”

  That was all true.

  “Have I ever acted like a rich, privileged kid?”

  “No, actually. You haven’t.”

  We rode the elevator in silence to the thirteenth floor, and when the elevators opened, we stepped out onto white carpet.

  This was a luxury hotel. Only luxury hotels had white carpet—it screamed money. White was easily soiled, and needed cleaning and replacing often. The walls were a chalky gray and the art was modern black and white photography, with scenes of lovers in different stages of undress. The photos were erotic and beautiful.

  “This is a really unique hotel,” I said.

  “The Rex is known for being different.”

  We continued down the long hallway until we arrived at the last door in the corner. Hunter waved his keycard in front of the lock and it unlatched. He pushed open the door and let me in first.

  I flicked on the light and caught my breath. Sheer opulence—the king-sized, four-poster bed, the red and black masculine décor.

  I felt like I was in a place for sin.

  “Wow,” I said, moving through the room.

  The washroom was just as lavish. Huge tub, a separate shower, two sinks, and the finest toiletries money could buy.

  Hunter fiddled with a knob on the wall next to the light switch. “Heated floors.” He winked.

  “No.”

  “And heated towel racks.”

  “Damn, this place goes all out.”

  “When I travel, I prefer to stay in Rex Hotels. They’re well worth the price.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Take a shower. Or a bath. When you’re done, we’ll talk.”

  “Talk. Right.” I felt the anger seep out of me. I could’ve held onto it, but what was the point? Hunter had been there for me when I’d needed him. So he’d kept things from me? I’d kept things from him. Maybe if I’d opened up sooner, he would’ve told me what I’d wanted to know.

  “I don’t trust easily,” I admitted, “but you already know that.”

  “I do. What does that—”

  “I look for reasons to push people away.”

  His face cleared of confusion. “Ah.”

  “And I can’t be mad at you for keeping things to yourself. Especially when I’ve done the same.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back his neck “Yeah. But that might all change. After we talk.”

  Turning my back on him, I removed the shirt Hunter had brought me and tossed it aside. I never wanted to see it again. It reminded me that I’d been at the mercy of those that deemed me mentally unfit.

  The door closed with a soft click and I was left alone. I showered, washed everything twice, but still didn’t feel clean. I swore I could smell the starch of the hospital gown on my skin. Sighing, I dried off using a huge, white terrycloth towel. I wrapped up my hair and threw on the bathrobe, realizing I didn’t have any clothes. Maybe Hunter had another set for me in the backpack. I brushed my teeth with the complimentary toothbrush and toothpaste and then gargled with mouthwash.

  I had a long way to go before I felt like myself.

  When I came out of the bathroom, I saw Hunter crouched at the mini-bar, pulling out tiny bottles of liquor. He gathered them in his hands and lined them up on the cherry wood desk.

  I crawled up onto the bed to watch him. “I’ve heard mini bottles are expensive in hotels,” I said, striving for levity when I knew it would all disappear soon.

  “About fifteen bucks a pop,” he admitted.

  “Jeez.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Pick your poison,” he said, turning to me. The low light of the bedroom caught the blue of his eyes.

  I stared into them for a long moment, taking them in, pretending we were a normal boyfriend and girlfriend away for a romantic weekend.

  “I love you, Hunter,” I whispered.

  A flash of pain crossed his face. “Poppy—”

  “You don’t have to say it back,” I blurted. “I just needed you to know. Before all this goes down. I love you. I wanted to tell you the night before you left for North Carolina. But I was scared and stupid, and now I’m afraid of what will happen if you don’t know. I love you. You’re so…” I shook my head, unable to put into words what I felt for him.

  My protector, my friend, my lover.

  “You came for me. And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

  He took a seat next to me and pulled me into his arms. Plowing his fingers through my hair, he gently grasped the back of my head, forcing me to look up at him.

  Hunter gazed into my eyes. “I love you, too.”

  Chapter 33

  His mouth took mine in a consuming kiss. I tried to get closer to him, but the bulk of the bathrobe prevented it.

  “Off,” he commanded, tugging at the sleeves of the bathrobe.

  Our hands were everywhere, ridding each other of our clothing. We were in a frenzy. We weren’t tender or gentle.

  I fell back onto the bed and Hunter climbed over me. We fused our mouths and our feverish bodies. His hands grasped the sides of my head.

  “Open your eyes,” he rasped. “See me.”

  He eased into me, refusing to let me go.

  “Poppy,” he whispered, sounding broken.

  I clasped him to me, held on with everything I had, and rode out our storm.

  Crying out, my eyes snapped shut of their own volition. The pleasure was too much, and I came like a force. My body rippled and contracted, bowed and went slack.

  “Again,” he commanded, ruthlessly driving into me like he wanted to bind us together.

  “I can’t,” I panted.

  “You can,” he insisted.

  His hands moved, wandered in between our bodies, and soon I was erupting again. Hunter’s body tightened and then he came.

  An overwhelming sadness overtook me, but I couldn’t say why. Hunter whispered words I didn’t understand in my ear, and I started to cry. He held me while the sobs shook my body. His thumbs stroked my tears from my skin as he brushed his lips across mine.

  “You’re killing me, Poppy,” he stated, his tone shattered. “Don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.”

  “Something’s happening, isn’t it?” I mumbled against his shoulder. I breathed in the smell of skin, the salty muskiness of him.

  “Yes, Poppy. Something’s definitely happening.”

  I inhaled a shaky breath. “I think I might be ready for that drink now.”

  He let out a laugh, but it was muted and strangled. He slid out of me.

  After I cleaned up and put on the bathrobe, I sat in the center of the bed, clutching a mini bottle of tequila.

  Hunter pulled on his jeans, but left his chest bare. Running a hand through his hair, he paced back and forth across the carpet. Like he was gathering his words before he unleashed them.

  He stopped in front of the row of mini-bottles. He grabbed the bourbon, unscrewed it, and shot it.

  Gripping the bottle in his hand, his eyes found mine. “My name is Hunter.”

  I nodded, urging him to go on. I wanted to hear it all. No matter how rocky, how disjointed.

  “My father’s name is Hunter, my grandfather’s name is Hunter, and his father before him was named Hunter. And so on, and so on.”

  “Okay.” I frowned in confusion.

  “The first born son of every generation in my family is named Hunter, Poppy. Because we are hunters.”
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  “Hunters?” I asked. “What do you…hunt?”

  He walked over to the bed and sat down. His hand wrapped around mine and lifted the tequila bottle to my lips. “Drink.”

  It wasn’t a time to argue, so I drank.

  Hunter’s eyes refused to leave mine. “In every generation there is a woman, and she is always named after a flower. In my father’s generation, the woman was named Marigold. In my grandfather’s, she was named Violet. In my great-great-grandfather’s, she was named Amaryllis.”

  “Really?” I interrupted. “Amaryllis?”

  A small smile appeared on Hunter’s lips. “Really.” He let out a deep breath. “We—the Hunters—are meant to find the woman of our generation. And—”

  I shot off the bed when he trailed off, putting it all together. “Oh God. You’re meant to kill me!”

  He jumped up. “What? No! Why would I kill you?”

  “You just said you come from a family of Hunters and you’re supposed to find these flower girls—”

  “You didn’t let me finish!” he growled. “If you sit down, I’ll explain.”

  “Explain faster,” I demanded, moving to sit on the bed again.

  He rolled his eyes. “If I wanted you dead, why would I spring you from the hospital?” He raised his eyebrows and waited. “I told you if you had stayed there, you would’ve died. I could’ve just waited.”

  “Which is another thing I want to address—”

  “For God’s sake! Let me talk, Poppy!”

  I sighed. “Proceed.”

  “As I was saying, these women only come along once in a generation. Each Hunter’s lifetime is dedicated to finding and protecting them.” His eyes left mine to rest on the ceiling a moment before coming back to me.

  “But how do you find them?” I asked. “There must be thousands of women named after flowers—”

  “It’s not that simple. Not every woman with a flower’s name is special. The women we search for each have the potential to free a very powerful being from captivity, and that power is something Hunters are drawn to, like a beacon of light.”

  I blinked. The tequila was doing something screwy to my brain. Or maybe Hunter wasn’t being clear.

  “Free a powerful being?” I shook my head, trying to clear it. “What the hell—”