Page 26 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE BEAUTY

M y breath stalls.

Every single instinct in my body screams at me to run.

But my feet stay rooted to the spot by the sheer impossibility of what I’m seeing. This isn’t an illusion. It isn’t some trick of the light or a mindfuck from the House of Illusions.

It’s Zane. In the flesh.

He doesn’t move from the armchair, but there’s an energy coiled around him, something dangerous , like a predator ready to strike the second I make the wrong move.

How? How the fuck is he here?

“What—” I grit my teeth, hating the way I sound. I force myself to breathe, to focus, then try again. “How is—what—how are you here?”

It’s a stupid question, but my brain is short-circuiting, and the words tumble out before I can stop them. My eyes flick to the knife still twirling between his fingers as if he wants me to keep watching.

I brace myself, sucking in a breath, shoving down the panic curling inside.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“I thought you’d be smarter than that, Faith.” Zane runs the pad of his thumb over the blade’s edge. “Do I look like the type to give warnings?”

No.

No, he fucking doesn’t.

He looks like the type to strike first, to leave no room for hesitation.

I keep my expression blank. “Then why are you here?”

Another smirk. Another fucking pause. I can tell he’s enjoying stretching this moment out, watching me squirm even though I’m doing everything in my power not to.

“I was bored.” He twirls the knife again, rolling his wrist. “Thought I’d stop by.”

“Bullshit.”

Zane chuckles, like he likes my answer.

“Alright,” he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe because you’re interesting.”

“You broke out of prison and showed up here because I’m interesting?”

“I wouldn’t say broke out,” he muses. “That implies I wasn’t meant to leave.”

A shiver rips through me, but I ignore it. “You’re a criminal.”

He lifts a brow, unbothered. “And?”

“And,” I snap, finally stepping closer despite every instinct screaming at me not to, “you being here doesn’t make sense.”

Zane watches me, his amusement shifting into something quieter, something that makes my pulse skip for a reason I don’t want to acknowledge. “Does it need to?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. Because I don’t fucking know.

Seconds stretch between us. Then, in one smooth motion, Zane stands.

And fuck, I hate how my body reacts to it.

Because he’s tall. Tall in that looming kind of way, the kind that demands space and attention without even trying.

I take a step back.

He notices and his smirk widens.

I clench my fists. “What do you want?”

The tip of the knife lifts, tracing a path from my lips down to my collarbone, then lower.

The second it brushes against my tits, I physically shrink.

My shoulders curl in like I can somehow make myself smaller, make myself less of a target, and when I finally force my eyes up to his, there’s something terrifying in the way he looks at me.

“I want to mark you as mine.”

A spike of fear shoots through my spine, and I jerk back. “No,” I breathe, then louder, stronger—”NO.”

I turn, lunging for the door and wrap my fingers around the knob.

But before I can twist it, a sharp yank at my hair rips me back.

Pain explodes at the base of my skull and a tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. My knees nearly buckle, my body screaming at me to fucking do something, but—

Cold steel presses against my throat.

My breath shudders out.

“Go ahead,” Zane murmurs dangerously. “Give me a reason to paint this room red.”

A choked sound catches in my throat. I don’t dare move, don’t even breathe too hard.

His breath ghosts over my ear, and I feel it more than I hear the next words.

“You wanted a monster, good girl,” Zane whispers, the blade nudging against my skin like a promise.

His fingers tighten in my hair, tilting my head just enough to make my throat stretch.

“Now don’t cry,” he coos as if he’s soothing a child.

I bite the inside of my cheek hard, tasting blood, because crying is the last thing I want to do.

A cruel smile curves against my neck.

“Monsters don’t care if you're sorry.”

The blade tilts slightly, just enough to make the sting real.

“I—I won’t—”

“You don’t have to be scared of me.”

I laugh. A breathless, disbelieving sound. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He tsks, as if my reaction disappoints him. “I’d rather you be scared of the right things,” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” I snap, finally finding my fucking voice. “Like what?”

“Like what happens when you start wanting the things that scare you.”

My blood freezes.

His words coil around me, settling deep, taking root. And I hate it. I fucking hate it. I jerk against his grip, shoving back, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he just tightens his hold.

I force myself to meet his eyes. My heart is still hammering, but my voice is steady this time. “Let. Me. Go.”

Zane studies me for a long moment, and then, just as easily as he grabbed me, he lets go. I stumble forward, catching myself as I spin around, pressing my back to the door.

He lifts his knife again and with the gentleness of a lover he presses the tip beneath my chin, tilting my face up. My stomach drops when his free hand clamps down on my breast.

“I’ll cut you a deal.” He pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting brutally until a sharp cry tears from my throat.

“I’ll give you one strike to kill me,” he says rolling the tender flesh between his fingers, and my body jerks against his grip. The sudden movement makes the blade scrape against my chin, sharp enough to sting, like the skin might split open if I move again. “And you get to leave unharmed.”

“But if you don’t,” his smirk sharpens, “then I get to do whatever I want with you.”

He releases my breast abruptly and grabs my wrist. My fingers tremble as he pries them open, forcing the handle of the knife into my palm.

It’s warm.

Not the blade—that’s still cool, still sharp, still deadly—but the handle. His heat lingers there, tainting it, making the whole thing feel wrong in my hands.

I stare at the weapon, horror flooding my veins.

No. No .

I shake my head, my throat too fucking tight to speak at first. But then I force the words out. “I—I can’t—”

“You have five seconds.”

Oh fuck.

He starts counting down.

“Five.”

“Zane, please.”

“Four.”

“Please, don’t do this.” It rips something out of me, but I don’t give a fuck.

I beg. I beg, because there’s no shame in it.

I don’t care if I sound pathetic, if I have to dig into the last fucking scrap of my dignity and throw it at his feet.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want you. Just let me fucking go. ”

“Three.”

I let out a strangled sob as my grip on the knife tightens. I can’t do this. I can’t kill people. No matter how worthy they are. I fucking can’t.

“Two.”

A scream gets caught in my throat.

Fuck it.I can’t kill him, but I can hurt him.

“One.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and lunge, shoving the knife forward, hoping to hit something and make a break for it. A sickening sound of flesh meeting steel fills the air. Something warm spills over my fingers, running down my wrist.

I open my eyes to see Zane smiling down at me.

And when I look at my hand—

He’s holding the knife by the blade. His fingers are wrapped tight, and blood is leaking from his palm where the steel has bitten deep. He pries the knife from my grip and tosses it away.

His hand, still slick with his own blood, brushes against my lips. “Good girl.”

I flinch, my stomach lurching.

“How about you honor our deal?” he murmurs smearing crimson across my skin.

I force down the bile rising in my throat and shake my head. “No.”

The word comes out steadier than I feel. He cocks his head and I turn, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it hard.

Nothing.

I try again.

Still fucking nothing.

It’s locked.

I whip around, forcing my features into something unreadable. I am not letting this bastard see any more weakness. But he sees it anyway.

His free hand lashes out, wrapping around my throat and suddenly I’m airborne. The door slams into my spine as he lifts me off the ground, his grip tightening just enough to make my pulse stutter.

I claw at him and let my nails dig into his skin as they rake down his arm and across his jaw and anywhere I can reach, but he barely flinches.

“Come on, baby,” he coos. “You can do better than that.”

I kick, swinging my legs, aiming for his stomach, his ribs but he dodges every single one of them. Rage flares beneath my panic, and I manage to dig my nails into his cheek, dragging them down hard enough to hurt.

Zane’s grip tightens.

My breath stops.

He leans in, his forehead nearly touching mine. “That’s more like it.”

I see red.

I dig my nails deeper into his cheeks, harder this time, until I feel the skin break beneath my fingers. Warmth pools under my nails as his blood smears against my fingertips.

For a split second, I think maybe, just maybe, this will make him stop. Maybe hurting him will make him realize I’m not some toy to fuck with.

But when I see the blood, when it registers that I’ve actually done this, my stomach twists. I let go, dropping my hands to my sides. The fight drains out of me as fast as it came.

I’m not this person. I’m not.

Zane releases me like I’m nothing, like I’m not even worth the effort.

I drop to my knees and my hands fly to my throat, clutching at the burning ache, trying to pull in air, but it feels like my lungs are on fire. I cough, choking on the breath I finally manage to drag in, and for a split second, I swear I taste death.

I never thought dying would be this fucking terrifying.

But it is. It’s the kind of fear that wraps around your bones, digs into your skin, and doesn’t let go.

And right now, it’s taking everything in me not to let the violent tremors in my body show.

I don’t know if I’m succeeding. I don’t think I am.

“Stand up,” he orders.

I don’t move.