Page 74 of Craving Venom

Darkness is the first thing that registers. There’s not a single thing I can see. No shadows, no shapes, no faint glow of the outside world seeping in from the cracks. My breath stutters and every other sense kicks into overdrive.

I smell black roses. The sweetness of black roses saturates the sharp tang of leather and the scorched remnants of wood still warm from the flames.

I reach for my phone, but my fingers brush against empty fabric.

Fuck.

Tria has it.

I force myself to think for an alternative. A way to navigate this goddamn funhouse without losing my way when light explodes around me. It floods my vision so fast, I snap my eyes shut against the sting.

I inhale sharply, forcing myself to adjust, forcing my eyes open again.

And that’s when I see Zane standing behind me.

Or at least, a reflection of him.

The mirror stretches in front of me casting back an image that doesn’t make sense. My brain fights to rationalize it, to come up with an explanation that doesn’t involve me completely losing my mind.

Maybe my subconscious is playing tricks on me. Maybe I want to see him so bad that my mind has conjured up a ghostly version of him.

Only this ghost, believe it or not, is the one I’d willingly let haunt me for all eternity.

He’s decked out in a way that can only be described as sinfully hot—a tux that makes him look like a goddamn movie star. And under this light, I have to admit, he looks good. And I don’t mean justgoodlike you’d describe a pretty girl. No, Zane has that universal kind of hotness that makes people do a double take.

His dark hair is all tousled, messy in that effortless,I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-looking-like-thisway. His eyes are intense like they hold a thousand secrets, and that classic Zane smirk? The one with a single dimple on the left cheek? Yeah. That just seals the fucking deal.

It’s no wonder the media calls him themost good-looking criminal alive.

But honestly? That title is a joke because it barely

scratches the surface of what he actually is. He’s not justhandsome, he’s magnetic. The kind of man who pulls your gaze without even trying. Who makes you want to look, even when your gut is screaming at you not to. And the way the light hits him? It just makes every sharp contrast, every dark edge, every impossible detail of him even more real.

Our eyes lock, and suddenly, nothing else exists.

My hand trembles as I reach for the mirror, fingertips brushing the cool glass, not because I expect it to shatter or pull me in but because he’s on the other side.

His eyes flutter and then he closes them.

Just for a second.

But fuck, that tiny movement sends a jolt of something hot and electric through me, like my body just got plugged into a live wire.

I turn away from the mirror, half-expecting him to be standing there behind me.

But all I see is my own reflection.

I look... unsure. And probably horny as hell.

A small smirk tugs at my lips. Jesus. Did I actually think Zane was going to step right out of the mirror? Talk about wishful thinking.

But before I can fully laugh it off, the mirrors around me shift. Smoke oozes from the edges, creeping along the glass, swirling through the air. The second it touches my skin, I shut my eyes.

When I force my eyes open what I see nearly knocks the breath out of me.

Every single mirror—

They’re all filled with images of Zane and me. The images in the mirrors don’t shift. They don’t glitch or waver like a typical haunted house illusion. They’re still. Almost… too perfect.

---