Fun not.
I don't care.
She muttered for several seconds, the words indecipherable but their meaning clear. Happy not, as she would say. Then she said, Can nibble?
Not even a little taste. She is Hunter's meal, not yours.
Eat Hunter, she muttered.
That, I replied grimly, might yet be an option in the future.
She perked up no end at this and began humming happily. I took a deep breath, released it slowly, and wished the nerves and the tension would just fuck off. They didn't, however, so I just called to the Aedh once again and carefully made my way inside the house.
To hear music rather than the sound of lovemaking.
I inched forward, following the haunting, melodious sound, and found the shifter and the Jorõgumo in the living room. He was sitting on a chair, his jacket dumped on the floor and his shirt undone to the waist. His eyes were closed, and his expression was one of bliss. I couldn't actually see why—the music, while different, wasn't exactly a sound that would put me into raptures. But then, my tastes tended to run to pop and rock rather than more classical stuff.
Besides, his state didn't really have a whole lot to do with the actual music, but rather the lute it came from. Zaira had said the instrument was magic, and the room was thick with it.
The Jorõgumo knelt at his feet, her head bent and her dark hair cascading over what looked to be a small, odd-shaped lute. She plucked the strings with nails that were long and glistened with silver—silver that fell onto the wood floor and spun up and around the shifter's sneakered feet.
Her web.
The music spelled him, distracted him, while she spun her cocoon around him.
Remember, I said to Amaya, although I wasn't entirely sure she could hear me when we were both little more than energy particles. No consuming. Just containment.
With that, I called forth the Aedh and re-formed—but only enough to give Amaya room to do her stuff. There was no way in hell I was about to risk baby spiders being thrown at me.