Page 2 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

Our banter makes me feel less like an idiot, and honestly, these two are the best chaos-management team I could ask for. Tria’s energy, Xaden’s calm, and my true crime obsession somehow make us work.

But there’s no time to relax. We practically sprint to the lecture hall, weaving through the hallway like it’s an obstacle course. By the time we slide into our seats, the professor’s already mid-sentence.

Breathless and flustered, I try to tune in.

My notebook is open, but my brain is still playing catch-up.

I sit slouched in the back row of the psychology hall, completely zoned out.

My mind refuses to stay tethered to the discussion at hand.

Instead, it keeps pulling me back to Zane Valehart.

The haunting images from the documentary replay in my head like a broken reel.

The professor’s voice floats over me as he talks about the link between early life experiences and criminal behavior. His words feel like they’re aimed directly at the specter of Zane, making the lines between lecture and documentary blur in my mind.

The hum of students typing, scribbling notes, and murmuring fills the room, everyone seemingly locked into what Harrington’s saying. Meanwhile, I’m anything but present. Giving in to the itch, I open my laptop under the guise of taking notes.

I can’t resist. My fingers move almost on autopilot as I find myself back into the digital rabbit hole of Zane Valehart’s life. The articles, transcripts, and the back-and-forth between him and the investigative reporter Marissa Smith.

Marissa Smith: Mr. Valehart, aren’t you afraid of facing God’s judgment for what you’ve done?

Zane Valehart: Afraid of God’s judgment?

The notion of divine retribution assumes there’s a moral framework to begin with.

I’m not concerned about a higher judgment.

I’m well aware I’m destined for the depths of hell.

But you know what? Who gives a shit? There’s an odd liberation in embracing damnation.

Zane’s response strikes a nerve, his words challenging not just conventional morality but the very fabric of existence itself. I continue to listen, the sensation of his eyes locked onto me through the screen growing ever more pronounced.

Marissa Smith: Killing is inherently wrong. How do you justify taking another person’s life?

Zane Valehart: Justify? Justification implies adherence to a moral compass.

The idea that life is inherently sacred is a man-made construct.

Wrong is a construct of society, a label that serves to maintain order.

The only thing that’s wrong about killing is that it’s breaking the law.

And laws are nothing more than rules devised by those who hold power.

If you restrict somebody from it, they’re going to want it more.

I glance up briefly, catching the tail end of Harrington’s explanation about childhood trauma and how it can manifest in deviant behavior. My gaze flickers to Tria, a few rows ahead, diligently taking notes, and then to Xaden, who leans back in his chair, looking effortlessly engaged.

Marissa Smith: People label you as Evil. What do you say to that?

Zane Valehart: Evil is a term tossed around carelessly, a label slapped on those who defy societal norms. But understand this, Marissa, there’s no objective Evil. There’s no cosmic balance that determines one’s wickedness. Evil, in essence, is an expression of God.

Marissa Smith: Evil isn’t an expression of God.

Zane Valehart: Ah, but it is. Evil, in its origins, traces back to a follower of the fallen. Satan, Lucifer—the names change, but the essence remains. They represent rebellion, the guts to go against God. And by doing that, they become the opposite of a kind and loving creator.

Zane’s voice is dark, low, and magnetic, even through the damn screen. It’s like his creepy presence is seeping out of the documentary and into the room with me.

And then, out of nowhere, Dr. Harrington’s voice decides to drag me back to reality. “Miss Collins, care to share your thoughts on how early trauma messes with psychological development?”

I damn near jump out of my skin, blinking up at the professor. Not having a clue of how to respond, I glance over at my open laptop, to see the paused documentary still frozen on the screen. Zane’s haunting eyes stare back at me, capturing a moment that is basically frozen in time.

“Uh… sure. Early trauma kind of rewires the brain, right? Like, it messes with how someone processes fear, trust, and even love. Instead of learning to feel safe, they learn to survive. So everything after that… it’s built on defense, not development.”

The silence that follows is almost deafening. Every eye is on me, some curious, others straight-up judging. Even Dr. Harrington looks caught off guard for a second before he gives a small, approving nod.

“Thank you, Miss Collins. Your perspective is a poignant reminder of the complexities that shape human behavior.”

As the lecture rambles on, my heart is still racing, but I can’t deny this weird sense of feeling badass. Zane’s interview had somehow infiltrated my response, like his story and his voice had joined forces with my understanding of psychology.

Tria leans over, her eyes wide with shock. “Did you just pull that out of your ass on the spot?”

“Pretty much.” I shrug, trying to play it cool.

When the lecture wraps up, Tria and I exchange a look before packing up. As we head for the door, Xaden falls into step with us.

“Nice work in there,” he says, giving me a quick grin. “You always know how to shake things up.”

“Sometimes, the most unexpected sources can offer insights,” I say, feeling a little more confident now.

“Amen to that. It’s about finding the shades of gray, even in the darkest shit.”

His words stick with me as we walk out into the hallway. There’s something about them, about all of this, that feels like it’s opened a door in my brain.

I head to the cafeteria after that, needing a break. The place is packed, buzzing with voices and clattering trays. I find a spot by the window and drop into a chair, letting out a long breath. The quiet feels good.

I’m halfway through zoning out when Trevor, a third-year law student, appears with a tray in his hand. He’s got that easy grin he always wears, the one that’s probably gotten him out of trouble more times than I can count.

“Hey, Faith,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation. “Mind if I join you?”

I look up, managing a small smile even though my head’s still spinning from everything. “Go for it.”

His grin stretches wider, and he leans in, bracing his elbows on the table. “You know, I’ve seen you around campus. You always look like you’re deep in thought. What’s on your mind, huh?”

“Oh, just some psychology stuff and, you know… life.”

Trevor chuckles, his eyes lighting up with easy amusement. “Psychology, huh? That’s pretty intriguing. But you know what’s even more intriguing? Getting to know someone over a cup of coffee.”

I glance at my laptop, Zane’s frozen face staring back at me from the paused screen. The pull to dive back into his world is strong, but Trevor’s still sitting here, waiting for an answer. “Coffee sounds nice, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”

“Come on, Faith. Life isn’t all work and no play.” He leans back in his chair, flashing a charming grin.

“I appreciate the offer, Trevor, but I’ve got something I need to finish.”

For a split second, disappointment flickers across his face, but he masks it with an easy shrug. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

He stands, giving me one last grin before sauntering off. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and turn back to my laptop.

Tria plops into the seat across from me, smirking like she’s just watched a soap opera. “Wow, Faith, you really know how to handle a potential relationship situation. You completely blew him off!”

“Not on purpose,” I mumble, but Tria just shakes her head in amusement.

She pushes herself up again, grabbing her wallet. “I’m getting coffee and bagels. Try not to disappear into your dark criminal rabbit hole while I’m gone, yeah?”

“Got it,” I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Take your time.”

Tria walks away and I turn my attention back to the screen. The mysteries and the complexities of human behavior captivate my thoughts, reminding me that there was always more to explore.

As the cafeteria bustles around me, I find myself lost in the sea of articles and information that my laptop screen displays.

It’s as if I have fallen into a vortex, driven by an insatiable curiosity about Zane Valehart’s story.

This isn’t my usual approach—I don’t typically immerse myself so deeply in a single case—but something about Zane’s case has ignited a fire within me.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, scouring the web for any juicy bits about his past and the crime that made him infamous.

I dig into articles, interviews, and forum discussions, soaking up every detail.

The layers of this case are intricate, with twists and turns that keep me both hooked and seriously freaked out.

And then, as I scroll through some forum, I stumble upon a link that gets my heart racing.

The site is called “ Criminal Archives ” and the name just has that ring to it that hits the sweet spot of my obsession.

The site seems like a goldmine for profiles of notorious criminals, offering a peek into their twisted lives and minds.

With a racing heart, I click on the link, my curiosity soaring at the thought of uncovering more about Zane Valehart. The page loads, revealing an ominous design. The site’s banner has a badass logo with the words “Write A Criminal” in a bold, sinister font.

I scan the page, checking out the profiles of various criminals, each with a quick personal blurb and a taste of their crimes. And then, like some invisible hand guiding me, my cursor hovers over the search bar.

With a deep breath, I type “Zane Valehart” into the search bar. The results page loads with a list of possible matches. There it is—the profile I am itching for. Zane Valehart’s name is in bold letters, and it comes with a seriously chilling picture of his mugshot.

My mouse hovers over the profile, and I don’t know why but my fingers are shaking. What the fuck am I going to discover in these pages? Before I can dive deeper by clicking that profile, Tria’s voice comes crashing through my concentration.

“Hey, I’m back with coffee and bagels,” Tria announces as she rolls up to the table, with a tray in hand.

I damn near jump out of my seat, slamming the google tab shut in a hurry. My heart is still racing, and the screen now shows the article I’d been looking at earlier. I shoot Tria a grateful smile, relieved that she hadn’t seen what I’d been up to just moments before.

“Thanks, Tria. You’re a lifesaver,” I say, grabbing the coffee and bagels she’d set down.

Tria gives me a playful wink. “You owe me, big time. I knew you’d be too engrossed to take a break.”

She settles into her seat, the rich scent of fresh coffee filling the air, I can’t help but feel grateful for Tria’s knack for reading my moods and having my back. It’s a blessing I definitely don’t take for granted.

As we sip our coffee and bite into the warm bagels, the atmosphere around us feels cozy and familiar. Tria’s playful smile makes it clear that she has something on her mind.

“So, what had your attention before I came back? Some scandalous article?”

I choke mid-sip, coffee nearly coming out of my nose as I cough and set the cup down. My brain short-circuits for a second because… seriously, of all the things to ask?

I plaster on what I hope is a casual smile, even though my face feels like it’s on fire. “Just doing some research, you know?”

“Research, huh? Is that what they call it these days?”

My heart sinks as I realize the implications of what she might be thinking. My mouth opens, ready to defend myself, but she’s quicker.

“You’re blushing! Faith, you sly dog. You were watching something... interesting, weren’t you?”

I can feel my face heating up like a furnace, and no amount of forced laughter or fake calm is going to save me now. The worst part? She’s so wrong, but her teasing makes it impossible to explain without sounding even guiltier.

I run a hand through my hair, letting out a groan. “Tria, no. I swear it’s not like that.”

“Sure, Faith. Keep your secrets. Just remember, there’s a time and place for those things.”

I laugh awkwardly. Tria’s ability to find humor in any situation is a quality I cherish, even when I am the target of her playful teasing.