Chapter 32: The Spider's Web — Part Two
Cole tore through the weakened webbing with desperate strength.
The strands resisted, cutting into his skin, but the Blutbad-enhanced muscles didn't care about pain. His right arm came free first, then his left, and he dropped to the floor in a crouch as more webbing shot toward him from Winters' spinnerets.
He rolled.
The web splattered against the wall where he'd been, immediately anchoring itself with structural strength. Winters hissed—actual hissing, the sound of something deeply inhuman—and scuttled up the wall to the ceiling.
She's faster in three dimensions. I can't fight her in the air.
Cole drew his pistol, but Winters was already moving—skittering across the ceiling with the horrible speed of her kind, changing position faster than he could track. He fired twice, the suppressor coughing, but she anticipated his aim and the rounds punched into plaster instead of flesh.
"You're stronger than I expected." Her voice came from above and behind, then above and to the left—she was circling, staying out of his sightlines. "The others I've fed on, they never resisted. But you—" More webbing shot toward him. "—you're different."
Cole dove behind a couch, using the furniture as cover while he assessed options. His enhanced senses tracked her movements through sound and vibration, but she was too fast to pin down with gunfire.
She's adapted to hunters. This is her territory, her web. I need to change the environment.
His eyes found the floor lamp near the window—old-fashioned, with exposed wiring at the base where the cord met the socket. Exactly the kind of fire hazard that would make an insurance adjuster weep.
Show knowledge. Spinnetod webbing is flammable.
He remembered reading about it—not in this life, but the one before, in forums and wikis and the accumulated trivia of a TV show he'd watched for entertainment. The webbing was organic, protein-based, and burned like hair when exposed to flame.
Cole moved.
He grabbed the lamp and smashed it against the wall, sparks flying from the destroyed socket. The electrical discharge caught the nearest web strand, which blackened and began to smolder.
Then it caught fire.
The flame spread with terrifying speed, racing along the webbing that covered the room's corners and ceiling. The intricate trap Winters had built became an inferno in seconds, orange light illuminating the horror of her true form as she dropped from the burning ceiling.
She landed badly, one leg tangled in burning strands, shrieking in a frequency that hurt Cole's enhanced hearing. He was on her before she could recover.
His hands found her throat—or what passed for a throat in her woged form—and he drove her backward into the thickest concentration of burning webbing. She thrashed against his grip, mandibles snapping inches from his face, but the Skalenzahne strength held.
"Who told you I was coming?"
The question came out cold, controlled, even as the heat from the fire began to singe his clothes.
Winters' compound eyes reflected the flames. "Information broker. Don't know—" She coughed, smoke filling her lungs. "Don't know the name. Underground network. They sell to anyone who pays."
"Who's buying?"
"Everyone. Verrat. Royals. Independents." Her struggles weakened as the fire consumed more of her web-covered body. "You killed the wrong people, Collector. Made the wrong enemies."
Cole held her down until she stopped moving.
[TARGET NEUTRALIZED]
[ABSORPTION INITIATED]
[SPINNETOD ESSENCE DETECTED]
[UNIQUE PROPERTIES: PATIENCE ENHANCEMENT, TREMOR-SENSE, FLEXIBILITY AMPLIFICATION]
[WARNING: INTEGRATION WILL MODIFY NERVOUS SYSTEM ARCHITECTURE]
[ESTIMATED DURATION: 72-96 HOURS]
The essence flowed into him—different from the others, subtler, like cold water seeping into cracks rather than fire burning through barriers. He felt his nervous system react, new pathways opening, sensitivities emerging.
[ABSORPTION: 23%... 47%... 68%... 89%... 100%]
[SPINNETOD ESSENCE: RAW — INTEGRATION PENDING]
[HUMANITY: 84%]
Two percent. Each kill cost him pieces of whatever made him human. At this rate, he'd be more Wesen than man within a year.
Worth it.
The fire was spreading beyond the web now, catching furniture and curtains. Cole retrieved his pistol, wiped down any surfaces he might have touched, and moved toward the back door.
The flames would destroy any physical evidence. Sarah Winters would be written off as another suspicious death in a house fire—Portland's supernatural cleanup crews working overtime to maintain the masquerade.
Morris would wake up tomorrow feeling inexplicably better. He'd attribute his sudden health improvement to rest, or diet, or the expensive supplements his wife had been pushing. He'd never know how close he'd come to dying.
Small mercies.
Cole slipped out the back and walked two blocks to his car, forcing himself to maintain a casual pace despite the sirens beginning to wail in the distance. By the time the fire trucks arrived, he was three miles away and accelerating.
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