Elara woke to the taste of brimstone and come on her tongue.

Her sheets were drenched. Not just with her own slick, but with something thicker, hotter, something that smelled like smoke and sex and ancient sin. She sat up fast, heart slamming against her ribs, blind eyes wide in the darkness that had always been her home.

The voice was still there, coiled inside her mind like a lover who refused to leave.

*“Such a greedy little weaver… stealing climaxes from mortals like candy. Did you think no one would notice?”*

She pressed her thighs together, but the movement only made her clit pulse harder. The memory of the...