Page 67 of Craving Venom

I tap my fingers on the desk. “Maybe I can speed things up for you.”

“Wait, you know how to fix it?”

I shrug. “I’ve got a way with computers.”

That’s all it takes. She scoots her chair aside, practically presenting me the keyboard.

I angle toward the keyboard, fingers flying. She drifts nearer, closer than she needs to be. Her perfume hits me. It’s cheap and overly sweet.

She tucks her hair behind her ear. “God, if you actually fix this, I could kiss you.”

I keep my face neutral, but inside, I’m seething.

I flick through the student record system. Find what I need.

Collins, Faith. Room 307.

Gotcha.

Then, just because I am that petty, I erase everything she’s been working on for the last six hours.

I glance at her. “This system’s a mess. Should be running faster now, though.”

She clicks something and her screen flickers. She prompts a frown as she clicks again, but nothing happens.

Her brows pinch. “Wait… what the fuck?” She starts typing furiously. “Where—where the fuck did my files go?”

“Weird. Looks like they, uh… disappeared.”

Her eyes widen. “Disappeared?! I just spent six fucking hours.”

“Damn,” I say, like I actually give a shit. “That sucks.”

She stares at me, panic setting in. “Oh, no. No, no, no. What the fuck did you do?!”

I glance at the screen. “I fixed it.”

She gapes. “You erased everything.”

“It’s just a shitty system.” I shrug.

She makes a strangled noise. “I have to redo all of it.”

“Good luck with that.” I flash her a grin and turn away, strolling off while she’s still gaping at the screen.

I take my time getting to Faith’s dorm. Her door stands in front of me, locked.

I crouch, working the lock with practiced ease. A second later, there’s a soft click, and I push the door open, stepping inside.

The first thing that hits me is the smell.

It’s the scent of burnt vanilla, sweet, but charred at the edges, something once pure that’s turned decadent. Red wine laces through it in a way that slides slow and settles deep, staining everything it touches. It’s indulgent. Addictive.

But there’s something else beneath it, something heady, almost forbidden. It reminds me of midnight air after a storm, humming with something just out of reach. Or maybe it’s more like the ghost of a touch that never quite fades, the kind that lingers on your skin long after it’s gone.

Whatever it is, it fucking stays with me.

Then I take in the rest.

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