Page 144 of Craving Venom

Then maybe I’m just as twisted as he is.

“Why are you doing this? What, are you some kind of twisted god now? Meting out punishments? Deciding who gets to fall and who doesn’t?”

Zane chuckles and dips his head, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

“Don’t fool yourself, good girl,” he murmurs. “I’m no god. Gods are merciful. And the Devil? He ain’t got shit on me.”

The leather around my wrists suddenly loosens, the pressure easing as he releases me completely. My arms drop limply to my sides, feeling foreign after being bound for so long.

Zane pulls away, and the absence of his weight leaves my skin feeling cold. I exhale shakily, forcing myself to open my eyes.

The ceiling above me blurs, and for a moment I wonder if it’s the light or my eyes, but then a tear slips past my temple, weaving silently into my hair. I should feel violated. I should feel something sharp enough to scream.

But all I feel is exhausted.

There’s movement in the room.

I turn on my side slowly, dragging the covers up over my chest. My eyes land on Zane. The snakes are moving toward him,not away. One slithers up the length of his arm. Another winds around his calf before he gently gathers it into his palm.

They come to him like they’ve always known where he is. And he doesn’t command them. He doesn’t dominate or threaten. He waits. He lets them choose.

One by one, he lifts them with a tenderness I didn’t think him capable of, guiding them back into the case.

It hits me then.

This isn’t the first time.

They know him.

They own him.

They trust him.

And what stings the most is that I recognize it. That some deep, unbroken part of me is still capable of recognizing trust.

I rest my cheek against the pillow, voice so soft it doesn’t even sound like mine.

“You’re right.”

He doesn’t look back so I continue.

“Some broken part of me,” I say slowly, “does trust you.”

That’s when he turns. I expect the smirk. The smug reply. The wolfish amusement.

But none of it comes.

Instead, Zane sits back on his heels. “I know.”

“I hate that part of me,” I whisper. “The one that looks at you and… doesn’t run.”

“You’ll come to love it,” he says softly.

“Why?”

“Because we’re both too used to cages,” he says. “It’s why we don’t run when the door opens.”

I know what he’s really saying.

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