Page 10 of Venom (St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy #1)

Venetia

V iper manoeuvres the car along a winding, red-bricked drive that cuts through perfectly manicured lawns.

The place is impressive, I’ll give it that.

Ancient, ivy-clad buildings of dark stone loom on either side, their tall, arched windows like vacant eyes watching our approach.

It feels less like an academy and more like a mausoleum for the obscenely wealthy and morally corrupt.

Groups of students are scattered across the lawns, but they all turn to look at us as we roll by.

They look like a pack of sharks that have just scented fresh blood in the water.

“Looks like you’re the talk of the town already,” Viper murmurs, a hint of amusement in his voice. He pulls the Range Rover to a stop in a designated space in front of the largest, most intimidating building.

“They’re looking at you ,” I retort, my gaze fixed on a tall, dark-haired guy leaning against a stone balustrade.

He’s dressed in a Tom Ford suit, and he’s watching us with an unnerving, predatory stillness.

He doesn’t look away when our eyes meet.

Instead, a slow, calculating smile touches his lips.

“Doesn’t matter who they’re looking at,” Viper growls, cutting the engine. The sudden silence is heavy. “They answer to me now. Just like you do.”

I ignore him, holding the guy’s stare. He’s different from the others. He’s not a shark. He’s a fucking kraken, lurking in the depths, waiting to pull the whole ship down.

Viper’s door slams shut, a sharp crack of noise in the charged quiet. He stalks around the front of the car, his presence a brutish wall of muscle and menace that blocks my view of the suit-wearing kraken. He yanks my door open.

“Out,” he commands, his eyes dark with a possessive fury that has nothing to do with the students and everything to do with the man I was just staring at. We both know it.

I slide out of the car, my heels clicking on the red brick, refusing to be intimidated.

I can feel the weight of dozens of eyes on me, but my attention is pulled back to the kraken as he pushes himself off the balustrade and starts towards us.

His movements are fluid, almost graceful, nothing like Viper’s raw power.

“Venetia Corbyn-Hale,” the man says, his voice smooth as aged Scotch. He stops a few feet away, his gaze sweeping over me with an appreciative yet calculating air that makes my skin prickle. He offers a hand. “A pleasure. I’m Blake Locke.”

He ignores Viper completely, as if he’s nothing more than hired muscle, a piece of furniture. It’s a deliberate, calculated insult.

Before I can respond, Viper steps slightly in front of me, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “She’s not interested.”

Blake’s smile widens, his eyes glinting with amusement as he finally acknowledges my bodyguard. “I wasn’t aware I was speaking to her keeper.”

“And I wasn’t aware I was talking to you at all,” Viper snarls, his body tensing like a coiled spring.

Blake’s gaze slides over him, slow and dismissive, before returning to me. The sheer arrogance of it is a weapon in itself. He’s sized Viper up and found him wanting, a guard dog to be ignored. It’s a dangerous game to play, but Blake Locke seems to thrive on danger.

My father sent me here with a beast. He didn’t mention that the place was already home to monsters of a far more refined, and perhaps deadlier, breed.

Tired of being the prize in their pissing contest, I step around Viper’s rigid form, deliberately brushing against his arm. I place my hand in Blake’s. His skin is smooth, his grip firm but not crushing. It’s the touch of a man used to control, not force.

“Blake. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard things about your family’s syndicate.”

Viper’s growl is a low, guttural sound of pure fury behind me, a promise of retribution that sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

Blake’s smile doesn’t waver, but his green eyes flash with triumph. “All good things, I hope. Welcome to St. Sebastian’s, Venetia. I have a feeling you’re going to be a most welcome disruption.”

Blake’s thumb brushes over my knuckles, a subtle, proprietary gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed. Viper’s hand shoots out and slams into Blake’s chest. The move is so abrupt, it rips my hand from Blake’s grasp.

“Touch her again and you lose the fucking hand,” Viper snarls, his voice a low threat not meant for Blake alone. It’s meant for everyone within these walls.

Blake simply straightens the cuff of his jacket, a picture of unruffled calm. He doesn’t even glance at Viper, his gaze remaining fixed on mine. “It seems your pet has a temper. You might want to get him a shorter leash.”

My blood sings with the thrill of it. The raw, primal fury of Viper against the cold, sharp steel of Blake. Before I can throw another match on the fire, a new voice cuts in, laced with raw amusement.

“This is going well, isn’t it.”

I turn my head. A third man is lounging against a nearby stone archway, watching us with an amused grin. He’s ruggedly handsome, his casual clothes are different from Blake’s suit, and his eyes promise nothing but trouble. He saunters over.

“Rafferty Warrick,” he says, his voice a gravelly purr that does things to my insides. “And you must be the chaos we’ve all been waiting for.”

Viper hisses and pushes me behind him. “Introductions are over. Miss Corbyn-Hale is no longer accepting puppies who need adopting. Fuck off and leave her the fuck alone before I start making a nuisance of myself.”

Rafferty laughs, a deep, throaty sound that holds no fear, only pure, unadulterated enjoyment.

“A nuisance? Mate, you’re the most interesting thing to happen to this place all year.

Don’t stop now.” His gaze slides past Viper’s shoulder to pin me, a flicker of something hot and predatory in his blue eyes.

I’ve had enough of being shielded like some fragile doll.

I shove Viper’s arm away and step back into the centre of their triangle of testosterone.

“My keeper is mistaken,” I say, my voice dripping with ice as I meet Rafferty’s gaze.

“I’m always in the market for a new puppy. Especially one that knows how to bite.”

Rafferty’s grin widens into something feral. “I do more than bite, sweetheart.”

“Enough,” Viper snarls, grabbing my arm. His grip is like iron, but I don’t flinch. I just turn my head and give him a look that could curdle milk.

“A word of advice, Stone,” Blake says. “The more you tighten your grip, the more she’ll enjoy slipping through your fingers.”

Viper’s gaze pins Blake’s. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?

” With a low growl, he walks me to the boot and opens it.

He hands me my toolbox and hauls the suitcase out.

I sling my bag over my shoulder before I hoist the toolbox higher, tightening my grip.

Viper slams the boot shut and strides with me, practically running to keep up with him, his hand bruising my upper arm.

He steers me towards what appears to be the main building, but we are both flying blind. It’s a lucky guess as we see a sign that says ‘Reception’.

“Get yourself enrolled or whatever the fuck it is you are meant to do, get your room key, and make it snappy,” he says.

I wrench my arm from his grasp the moment we’re through the heavy oak doors, the skin already blooming red. “Keep your hands to yourself,” I hiss, rubbing the sore flesh. “Or the next time you touch me without permission, I’ll break your fucking fingers.”

He grunts, his eyes scanning the cavernous, wood-panelled reception hall.

It’s deathly quiet, smelling of floor polish and old paper.

A severe-looking woman with a tight bun and spectacles peers at us over a grand mahogany desk.

Her gaze lands on Viper’s tattoos, and she visibly sneers.

I can’t help the small smile that touches my lips.

I sashay towards the desk, dropping the heavy toolbox on the floor with a loud thud that makes the woman jump. “Venetia Corbyn-Hale,” I announce, my voice echoing slightly in the silence. “I believe you’re expecting me.”

The woman’s expression shifts from disdain to nervous deference. “Of course, Miss Corbyn-Hale.” She fumbles with a stack of papers and a small, ornate brass key.

I lean against the desk, giving her a slow smile while being acutely aware of Viper’s thunderous presence behind me.

She glances at Viper, who looms behind me like a storm cloud, and a flicker of distaste crosses her face. “Guests are to be signed in and are not permitted overnight.”

Viper leans forward, planting his hands on the desk. “I’m not a guest,” he says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I’m a permanent fixture. You have a problem with that, you take it up with Anton Corbyn-Hale.”

The woman pales, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. She wisely decides not to argue.

The woman pushes the key and a welcome packet across the polished wood. “Your room is in the west wing. Top floor.”

Viper snatches the key before my fingers can even graze it, his knuckles brushing the wood of the desk.

“Let’s go.” He doesn’t grab me this time, but his body is a wall at my back, herding me towards the grand, sweeping staircase.

Every step up the worn stone feels like a step deeper into my own personal hell.

The portraits of stern-faced dead men lining the walls watch our ascent with disapproval.

“You didn’t have to be such a dick to her,” I mutter, just to piss him off.

“She was a cunt to me first,” he retorts without looking back. “She needed to know the score. Just like those pricks downstairs.”

“Jealousy is such an ugly colour on you, Viper.”

He crowds me against the wall, his face inches from mine, his breath warm on my skin.

“This isn’t jealousy, wildcat. This is me doing my fucking job.

Locke and Warrick see you as a prize. A toy.

I see you as a goddamn liability who’s going to get herself killed if I take my eyes off you for five seconds. ”

The raw fury in his voice is almost convincing.

Almost. Before I can reply, the sound of a door opening down the long, shadowed corridor draws our attention.

A girl with platinum blonde hair and a face that looks like it’s been sculpted by a surgeon’s knife steps out.

Her venomous gaze sweeps over us, a sneer twisting her perfect lips as she takes in my dress and Viper’s entire existence.

She looks me up and down, her eyes filled with scorn. “I see the trash has arrived.”

“Ana Cuntridge,” I drawl. “Sorry, I mean Count ridge. How unpleasant to see you again.”

Viper raises an eyebrow at this catty exchange and sighs.

Her gaze rakes over Viper again, but this time, she likes what she sees. The prim princess looking for a rough and ready guy to take for a spin.

In her fucking dreams.

Ana’s gaze lingers on Viper, a predatory gleam entering her cold eyes.

She dismisses me with a flick of her wrist, as if I’m a gnat she can’t be bothered to swat, and steps towards him, her hips swaying in an exaggerated performance.

“You must be the hired help,” she purrs, running a perfectly manicured nail down Viper’s tattooed bicep.

“I could find a much better use for a man like you.”

Viper doesn’t even look at her hand on his arm.

His gaze remains locked on me, a dark promise swirling in its depths.

He moves so fast Ana doesn’t have time to react, his hand clamping around her wrist with a grip that makes her gasp.

“I’m sure you could,” he says, his voice a low, terrifying growl.

“But I’m not interested in repressed cunts like you.

If you ever touch me again, I’ll break every bone in this pretty little hand. ”

He releases her with a shove that sends her stumbling back a step. Her face contorts with rage and humiliation. The victory is swift, brutal, and so incredibly satisfying I almost laugh out loud.

Viper turns his back on Ana as if she no longer exists. He starts down the corridor, not waiting to see if I follow. I give Ana a sweet, mocking smile before sauntering after him, the sound of her furious, impotent sputtering the most beautiful music I’ve heard all day.