Page 12 of Craving His Venom

As we eat, servants continue to bring fresh plates, clearing away used dishes with quiet efficiency. At one point, Mira passes near Rahlazen to replace an empty carafe, and I sense her unease. Her shoulders stiffen as he blatantly rakes his gaze over her. It grates on me, though I keep my expression still. She’s a servant, yes, but something primal in me hisses at the idea that his filthy stare could harm her in any way.

She finishes pouring the beverage, then steps away, head lowered. Rahlazen’s eyes gleam. “That one,” he murmurs in a tone meant to be private but loud enough for me to catch, “she has a lovely shape for a human. Where did you pick her up?”

He’s prodding me, testing whether I’ll react. My breath claws at my throat. Carefully, I set my utensils aside. “Does her origin matter?”

Rahlazen laughs. “No, I suppose not. I only wonder why you haven’t used her as a personal plaything. With a figure like that, it’d be a shame to let her remain a mere maid.”

I remain silent, a muscle jumping in my jaw. The other servants hustle about, deliberately ignoring the conversation. Mira stands at the edge of the hall, possibly waiting for a signal to collect empty plates. Her posture is stiff, as though each word from Rahlazen’s mouth burrows into her. The flickering candlelight highlights the tension in her shoulders, the set of her chin.

Some hidden spark ignites in my chest, an urge to defend her. It’s absurd—she’s just a servant. Yet the notion that this low-born noble dares speak of her with such contempt rakes at my composure.

Instead of replying, I swirl the wine in my goblet, forcing my voice to remain calm. “If you are finished with your meal, we can move to the sitting room for further discussion of your concerns about orcs.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t be so stiff, Vahziryn. We’re old acquaintances, are we not?” His gaze lands on Mira once more. “You there, come here.”

My claws dig into the arm of my chair. Every instinct commands me to intervene, but I wait—unsure if I should reveal how deeply his gall rankles me.

Mira obeys, stepping forward with her chin dipped. She folds her hands before her, gaze on the floor. “My lord?”

Rahlazen leers. “You can speak, can’t you? Tell me your name. I might require your services for the evening.”

She doesn’t raise her eyes. “My name is Mira.”

A smirk curves Rahlazen’s mouth. “Mira...not a bad name. Do you sing or dance? Perhaps you can perform for us.”

Bile rises in my throat. The staff hushes, the entire dining hall going still. I sense Mira’s trepidation, the subtle shift in her stance. She swallows, struggling to maintain composure. “I only clean, my lord.”

Rahlazen snorts. “Useless, then. I suppose you just stand there and look pretty.” He reaches out with a scaled hand, making a motion as if to grab her chin. “How about you kneel instead? Let’s see you do that gracefully.”

Before I realize I’m moving, I rise to my feet. My voice resonates, low and dangerous. “That won’t be necessary.”

He gives me a sideways glance, one brow arched in mocking surprise. “Why not? She’s your property, is she not?”

I meet his stare without blinking, heat simmering in my chest. “I don’t share my property.”

His lips twist into a sneer. “Ah, so you do keep her for yourself. You should have said so. Or are you just squeamish about letting others handle your scraps?”

Mira’s hand clenches around the edge of her apron, and a torrent of fury surges through my veins. Before I can temper it, I feel my venom glands pulse beneath my fangs, a bitter tang flooding my mouth. Rahlazen, smug in his presumed safety, tilts his head as though daring me to act.

Then it happens. He dares to lift his hand again, reaching toward Mira’s sleeve as if to drag her closer. I flash forward, crossing the space in an instant. My tail lashes, and my clawed fingers grip his wrist before he can touch her. The candlelight flares off my scales as I bare my fangs, venom shining on their tips.

Rahlazen lets out a startled yelp. “Vahziryn?—”

Whatever he intends to say dies in his throat. The next moment, I strike. My fangs sink into the side of his neck, a lightning-quick move that unleashes a dose of venom. It isn’t enough to kill instantly—my control is too precise for that—but it’s more than enough to send him reeling in pain. He staggers back, choking on a cry. My tail coils around him, preventing his escape as I glare into his widened eyes.

“You dare lay a hand on what is mine?” My voice shakes with a fury I haven’t felt in years. “Insult me if you wish, but do not touch her.”

He writhes, face going pale. The wound on his neck burns an angry purplish-red, and the stench of raw fear pervades the air. “You...you’d kill me over a worthless?—”

“Silence,” I snarl. My coils tighten just enough to keep him pinned without crushing. The entire hall has gone deathly quiet. I sense the shocked gazes of the staff, the hush that wraps around Mira as she stands behind me. No one dares move.

Rahlazen’s breathing turns ragged. The venom is taking hold, numbing his limbs, though it won’t slay him outright. He chokes out a rasp. “You realize this is an offense punishable by the council?—”

I flash my fangs again. “Threaten me with them all you wish, but know this: if you ever speak of her that way again, I will not stop at a mild dose.”

His eyes roll, and I release him with a sharp shove, letting him collapse to the floor. He gasps and clutches at his neck, face twisted in agony. Venom sweat beads on his temples. My tail lashes once more, filled with lingering rage, then retracts around me. A chill seeps through my blood as I realize the weight of what I’ve done. To strike a noble is not uncommon in the savage politics of naga society, but to do so over a mere human...that is an entirely different matter.

The staff stands frozen at the edges of the hall. No one utters a sound. Finally, I snap, “Lock down the manor. No one leaves without my permission.”

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