Page 41 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE BEAUTY

M y lungs seize.

My vision blurs.

My stomach drops so fast I nearly throw up right there on the floor because my room is crawling with snakes .

Hundreds of them.

At least it looks like hundreds of them because my eyes are so full of tears that everything is blurry. I might just be seeing double, hell triple, at this point.

My gaze drifts toward the door, following a low rustle. There’s a large black case on the floor, wedged near the entrance. A light pulses from a slit near the latch. It looks… cool, almost like a large carrying case, but I’m no reptile expert. I don’t know what I’m looking at.

What I do know is—

There are more snakes inside it.

They’re slithering out in slow, unhurried waves, almost as if they’re exploring.

Their scales shimmer under the pulsing light, catching flashes of dull olive, deep charcoal, and streaks of muddy tan that twist along their bodies.

Some have faint patterns, jagged bands, and others are blotched with mottled patches.

And they’re all heading deeper into the room.

Toward me.

My bare foot is hovering over the floor, because I can’t put it down.

Where the fuck am I supposed to go?

I force myself to look again, to make sure I’m not imagining it, that it’s not some hallucination crafted by my own panic.

But no.

Zane didn’t just fill my room with fear.

He filled it with power.

His version of beauty.

A sharp chill bursts down my spine, sweat breaks out along my neck, my back, my chest, but at the same time, I feel hot from the inside out, like my body doesn’t know how to handle this much fear at once.

One slithers over the foot of my bed, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the fear pouring off me in waves as a choked whimper slips from my lips.

I slam my back harder against the headboard. I have to get out. My head snaps toward the nightstand, my shaking hands already reach for my phone—only for my vision to black out at the edges when I see a beautiful snake with orange stripes and black blotches coiled tightly around it.

“Go baby.”

The words barely register before my body locks up completely, my spine presses so hard against the headboard it might break through the wall behind me.

My eyes shift to follow the source.

Zane stands in the center of the room. And somehow the room full of snakes looks less intimidating than him.

Because while the snakes are wild, instinctual, and primal.

He is deliberate.

He is intentional.

And he’s looking right at me.

As a kid, I always wanted to be a Disney princess, but right now? I’d sell my soul to be the Hulk. I’d crash through the goddamn wall just to get away from the way Zane’s looking at me.

A shudder rips through me so violently my teeth clack together, my nails dig into the sheets, and my entire body coils tight.

I want to cry.

I almost do.

But I won’t.

Not in front of him.

I will cry until the capillaries in my eyes shrivel up, until my body physically can’t produce another fucking drop, but I won’t now.

“Don’t tempt me,” I whisper. “I just might.”

I force my lips to move, trying to calm my own panic, to put some logic into this.

“I’m sure they’re not even venomous.”

Not that it matters.

Venomous or not, I’m not stepping foot on that floor.

The line of Zane’s jaw tightens briefly before relaxing.

His expression changes, not with amusement this time, but something closer to insult.

Like I just compared a piece of art to a kitchen spoon.

He moves, and my body contracts instantly as I press harder into the headboard, as if I can physically disappear into it.

When he pulls out a knife I shriek. “Please—” The word bursts from my lips before I can stop it, it’s ripped straight from the part of me that knows this could be it.

Zane steps forward, reaching for something on my nightstand. I don’t even breathe as he gently lifts the snake off it, setting it on the floor as smoothly as someone handling a silk scarf.

Then he picks up my wine glass.

“What are you—”

I don’t get to finish as he stalks toward me with the wine glass in one hand and the knife in the other, moving with a predatory grace that makes my stomach twist into knots.

He settles onto my bed, directly across from me, and suddenly, the mattress feels too fucking small. My eyes lock onto the blade and my body strains in preparation for pain. The closer it gets, the harder I tremble.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “I only want you to lick it.”

“No,” I whisper.

Zane smiles as though he was expecting this answer, like he enjoys the fact that I’m resisting just enough to make this interesting.

I have no intention of giving in, but then I feel a shift in the weight near my foot. A slither. My body goes rigid. Something moves closer, brushing against the bare skin of my ankle.

No. No, no, no, no.

“Zane.” My breath stutters out of me. “Please take it off the bed. Please.”

“Why are you so scared of her?” he asks softly, tilting his head toward the creature coiled near my foot. “She’s not going to hurt you.”

My throat works, trying to form words, trying to say what’s clawing at my insides.

No, but you are.

“Please,” I say again. “Please take her off the bed.”

“Fine. Lick the knife,” he says softly. “And I will.”

I look at the snake.

Then at the knife.

The knife gleams with cold, cruel potential. The snake is calm, indifferent, she isn’t even looking at me.

But fear doesn’t care about logic.

Before I can talk myself out of it, my tongue darts out and barely grazes the metallic surface of the blade, and I gag.

Zane hums in approval, pulling the knife back. With a calmness that terrifies me more than rage ever could, Zane gently lifts the snake from the bed like he’s cradling something delicate. He walks to that strange black case, the one by the door and tenderly lays the snake inside it.

A soft click of a lock opening follows.

I can’t see clearly because his massive back blocks my view, but the sound makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

How the fuck had I slept through this?

Through him bringing all of this into my room?

He turns.

Walks back to me.

And sits right on the edge of my bed, like we’re having a casual conversation instead of me mentally debating whether I could break my window and jump three stories without dying.

And when my eyes scan him, I swear to God, my eyes damn near pop out of my skull because now, there’s a snake wrapped around his neck.

It’s coiled loosely around his neck, its body shifting slightly as he moves, its head resting near his collarbone like it’s the most comfortable fucking place in the world.

It looks so comfortable.

Almost as if it’s familiar with Zane.

Then, without warning, he presses the knife to his palm and slices. A sharp gasp catches in my throat as I watch deep red spill from his skin, sliding down his fingers.

I can’t look away.

The first drop falls into the wine glass.

Then another.

Then another.

My throat was dry a second ago.

But now?

Now, my mouth waters.

I hate the way my eyes stay stuck on the blood, the way something in me likes seeing it drip from him, the way my heart pounds harder the moment he pulls the glass away from his hand.

I hate how satisfying it is.

Zane shifts slightly, tilting the glass in his hand. The snake around his neck stirs. and its hood flares.

“What are you—”

Before I can finish, the snake opens its mouth and lifts her head as Zane shifts slightly to angle the glass.

Her hood flares. Then, with a grace her fangs lower, and a thin stream of pale venom drips into the glass.

It’s almost like Zane knew exactly how to coax it, like this was something they’d done before.

I scream, jerking back like it hit me instead.

It didn’t.

It landed right in the blood.

Zane doesn’t flinch at my scream.

He just watches the glass like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Like the swirl of blood and venom is art. His lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smile, but it’s close.

I feel stupid.

So fucking stupid.

Minutes ago, I had the audacity to say these snakes weren’t even venomous.

As if Zane Valehart, the man who broke out of prison just to crawl into my bed and haunt me in ways nightmares couldn’t even compete with, would bring something harmless.

“Did you know,” he says calmly, “that most snakes aren’t venomous?”

I blink, still pressed to the headboard, still watching that glass like it might explode. “What?”

“People think venom equals danger. But it’s not true. Most snakes don’t have venom. And the ones that do?” He lifts the glass slightly. “They’re not aggressive. They don’t chase. They don’t kill for sport. They only strike when they’re cornered. When someone bigger decides not to listen.”

By “people” he means me because I told him, I’d walk out of the door if the snakes weren’t venomous.

His fingers brush the snake’s smooth body, stroking it like it’s something holy. “Snakes are not monsters. People just don’t like what they can’t control.”

I stay frozen, silent, but my eyes are locked on him—on them.

Zane shifts again, just enough to make the creature slither across his collarbone. “You think she’s dangerous because she spits. But she was warning you, not attacking you. She could’ve aimed for your eyes. She didn’t.”

“Because you trained her?” I ask quietly.

He chuckles. “You don’t train snakes. You respect them. That’s the difference.”

He looks down at the cobra like she’s royalty wrapped in muscle and instinct. “You fear her, but she’s not the threat in this room. I am. And even I have to earn her trust.”

I watch the deadly liquid mix with Zane’s blood, it coagulates, curdles and turns into something even worse, even darker, even more terrifying than before.