Page 53 of Crowned In Venom
53
ANYA
T he first thing I feel is pain.
Not sharp, not overwhelming—just a dull, aching weight pressing over my entire body, like I’ve been crushed under stone and left there to wither.
My limbs feel heavy, my skin too tight, my breath ragged as I drag myself out of the darkness that has held me captive.
I don’t know how long it has been.
It feels like forever.
And yet, somehow, I’m here. Alive.
I inhale sharply, my throat burning as my lungs fill with air, the simple act of breathing foreign, like I’ve forgotten how.
The ceiling above me is unfamiliar—dark wood and flickering candlelight.
Where am I?
Panic coils, sharp and immediate.
"Varkos."
His name is a whisper, torn from my lips before I can stop it.
I try to move, but my body protests, a deep, bone-deep exhaustion settling in.
Then— the door slams open.
He is there.
Varkos.
Disheveled, exhausted— but his eyes burn as they lock onto me.
"Anya."
I barely have time to breathe before he crosses the room in three steps, falling to his knees at my bedside.
His hands find my face, my shoulders, grasping me like I might vanish.
"You’re awake." His voice is rough, raw. "I?—"
His words cut off, his throat working as if he can’t force them out.
I touch his face, fingers grazing the sharp edge of his jaw, the hollow of his cheek. He’s lost weight. He hasn’t slept.
"You look terrible," I rasp.
A breath of laughter leaves him, hollow and weak, but his hands tighten their grip.
"You died, Anya." His voice breaks on my name. "You— I thought?—"
I silence him by pressing my forehead against his.
"I’m here."
It is not enough.
But it is all we have.
Varkos exhales, his fingers burying themselves in my hair.
Something inside me shifts.
A cold tendril of awareness coils through my senses—alien, unnatural.
I freeze.
"Anya?" Varkos pulls back slightly, searching my face.
I barely hear him.
The air around me feels thick, heavy with something I do not understand.
I squeeze my eyes shut—and I feel it.
A pulse. A thread of something distant yet close.
A presence that does not belong to me.
The Matriarch.
My eyes snap open, my breath hitching.
"What is it?" Varkos demands.
"I—" I struggle to find the words. "I feel her."
Varkos goes still. Dangerously still.
"What do you mean?"
I shake my head, trying to make sense of it.
"It’s like… a thread. A connection. I don’t know how, but I can sense her."
His grip on me tightens. "She can feel you?"
Fear spikes in my chest.
"I don’t know."
A rustle of movement draws our attention.
The Ghost steps forward from the shadows, arms crossed. "She can’t."
Varkos and I both turn to him.
"How do you know?" Varkos growls.
The Ghost exhales, studying me like I am something unnatural.
"This poison—this ritual—it is ancient. No one understands its full nature." His eyes flick to me. "But I do know this. The Matriarch is not tethered to you. You are tethered to her."
My stomach twists.
"It’s one way?" I whisper.
He nods. "You underwent the ritual. You survived it. And now… you are something else."
The words settle over me like a weight I do not know how to bear.
I don’t know what this means.
But I know we can use it.
Varkos’s jaw clenches. "She won’t see her own downfall coming."
My fingers tighten around his.
"Then let’s end her."
For the first time, a smile ghosts over Varkos’s lips.
He leans forward, his breath brushing my skin.
"Anya—"
His voice is low, intimate, and when his lips find mine, it is not frantic or desperate.
It is steady. Grounding. Real.
I melt into him, tasting relief, exhaustion, everything we almost lost.
A future we can still have.
A future we will take.
The door bursts open.
"Apologies," Kareth drawls, his golden eyes glinting. "But we don’t have time for whatever lovers' reunion this is."
Varkos curses against my lips, pulling back.
I glare at Kareth, still breathless.
"You have impeccable timing."
"I do my best," he smirks. "But if you two are done, we have a war to plan."