Free Spider-Touched by Jory Strong

locks clicking into place one by one, a domino effect spreading along the streets as humans gave over the night to the predators.
    Her companions picked up the pace, and she could feel their tension mounting, the need to hurry measured against the desire not to draw attention. They ducked into a darkening alleyway, then another and another, until emerging on a street that made Araña halt in her tracks.
    Brothels lined it, some connected by walkways, others standing alone. The woman glanced over her shoulder but didn’t stop. “You won’t make it to safety if you change your mind now. I’ve got a room here. You won’t be bothered.”
    With a thought, Araña found the demon mark on her shoulder and drew comfort from it. She caught up with her unnamed companions and followed them into one last alley.
    They stopped in front of an unobtrusive door. The man punched in a series of numbers to open it and Araña hid her smile. If they thought to betray her and lock her in, they wouldn’t keep her using a system like this.
    As soon as they stepped inside, her companions sagged with relief and identified themselves as Levi and Rebekka before indicating they were going upward. Araña told them her name as they began climbing a narrow set of stairs.
    Levi left them at the first landing. On the third, Rebekka pushed through a doorway leading to a dimly lit hall. “Clients aren’t allowed up here,” she said, producing a key and letting them into a bedroom.
    An open doorway revealed a small bathroom. Rebekka lit an oil lamp to take the edge off the darkness of the room. “I can’t stay to tend to your wounds. But there are salves and bandages in the bathroom. Use what you need.”
    “Why are you helping me?”
    “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
    Rebekka opened a drawer and pulled out clothing. As she had with the cloak, she shoved it into Araña’s hands. “We’re close to the same size. These should fit you. I need to get downstairs. I’m the healer here. I won’t be back until morning. You can take my bed.”
    She left and Araña showered, washing her clothing at the same time. Watching as clear water turned bloodred before disappearing down the drain.
    When she was finished, she bound the wound on her side then freed the clothesline coiled on one shower wall and attached it to a ring on the other so she could leave her clothes to dry.
    Exhaustion hit like a sledgehammer as she emerged from the bathroom. It made her movements slow and laborious as she pulled on a long shirt and slid under the blankets on the bed. But when she closed her eyes, sleep wouldn’t come.
    In the room beneath her the rhythmic creaking of bedsprings began. The thump of wood against wood intermingled with grunts.
    Pain lanced through her heart, harsher than what spasmed through her body. Memories washed over her, of lying in her own bed and hearing soft laughter coming from the bedroom next to hers as Erik said something to Matthew at day’s end. Of their lovemaking, muted by the heavy, exotic tapestries they’d hung on their wall when she’d entered their lives.
    Tears slid across Araña’s cheeks. This time she didn’t knock them away as she’d done on the boat. She let them flow freely to wet the pillow beneath her, and tried only to stifle the sobs that threatened to wrack her body.
    Her chest ached with the effort. Her fingers curled into fists.
    The feel of the skin stretching and pulling against the scarred tissue on her left hand made her aware of the demon mark. The spider rested on top of the brand.
    Guilt rose sharp and fierce with the worry that she had caused Erik and Matthew’s deaths. It lashed at her as mercilessly as the rod she’d once felt across her back each time her father claimed even the smallest wrongdoing was a result of the evil taint she carried in her soul.
    She’d gone by another name then. One she’d shed ten years earlier, on the night she killed her parents and the clergyman who’d pressed the hot