Page 28 of Craving His Venom

The question pricks at me. “They serve a purpose,” I murmur. “Enjoyment is secondary.”

A faint smile touches her lips. “Seems a shame. They’re too lovely to be hidden.”

I watch her expression, the way sunlight plays across her features. Her skin holds a warm glow, her hair neatly pinned yet slightly tousled by the breeze. She looks at ease, so unlike the anxious creature who once tried to flee my domain. Something about that shift draws me closer, tail sliding behind me in a slow, sinuous motion.

Without a word, I step beside her, studying the cluster of blossoms she admires. Their petals glimmer with a translucent sheen, reminiscent of crushed gemstones. “Most are native to the deeper jungles,” I explain. “I transplanted them here when I took over this territory.”

She turns her gaze on me, eyebrows lifting. “Why go to such trouble if you don’t plan to admire them?”

I pause, searching for an answer. The air feels thicker, weighted by her presence. “I suppose I once believed they’d prove useful,” I say quietly. “I’ve forgotten to appreciate them for their own sake.”

Her eyes linger on my face for a moment. “Maybe you should start.”

Silence settles, electric. A breeze ruffles the leaves, sending dappled light dancing over our shoulders. Impulsively, I reach out, plucking a small bloom from the vine—one of the lower blossoms that can spare a cutting. The petals shimmer in my palm like drops of liquid amethyst.

I hold the flower out to her. “Here,” I say. “You can keep it.”

She lifts her hand, hesitation flickering in her eyes, then takes the bloom gently. Her voice drops to a near whisper. “Thank you.”

My tail coils closer, half encircling us without touching. I notice her pulse flutter at her throat. This time, I sense no immediate fear, only a heightened awareness. We stand like that, the hush stretching. It’s as if her skin radiates heat, her breath quickening between us.

After a loaded pause, she glances around, cheeks tinted with color. “You said you wanted to inspect the plants, my lord,” she says, a wry tone in her voice that suggests she’s teasing me—albeit very carefully.

I force a low chuckle, stepping back. “Yes.” Grateful for the prompt, I pace around the pond, trailing my claws along the carved serpent fountain. Its stone tail loops elegantly, spouting a trickle of water into the pool. A cluster of bright-red blossoms grows at the base, roots half-submerged. I lean down, examining their leaves for signs of rot or pests.

Mira follows, setting the blossom in her tunic pocket before crouching to peer at the plants. “They seem healthy,” she observes, looking up at me. “Far more vibrant than the greenhouse ones.”

I kneel beside her. My tail shifts, brushing the ground in a fluid curve. “That’s because these are closer to their natural environment. The humidity and partial shade suit them better than manmade structures.”

She nods, brow furrowed in concentration. I notice a faint scar on her left forearm—perhaps from an old injury. The sight of it tugs at me, reminding me how little I truly know of her past. Yet, somehow, we’ve reached a fragile truce, even a tentative companionship in this hidden place.

Time drifts as we move about the garden, checking vines, plucking away dead leaves, rinsing our hands in the pond’s clear water. I occasionally point out a plant’s special properties—one can be brewed for calming effects, another wards off certaininsects. She listens with genuine interest, occasionally asking a question that shows she’s not just passively following my lead.

The atmosphere shifts again when she finds a small wooden bench half-hidden behind a tall cluster of fronds. “Did you place this here?” she asks, running a hand over the worn surface.

My tail flicks. “It’s been there since before I took over the estate. The previous owners must have enjoyed this garden more than I do.”

She brushes a stray leaf from the seat, turning to me with a hesitant smile. “Then perhaps you can enjoy it now.” She sits, motioning for me to join. The invitation surprises me, but I find myself accepting, lowering onto the bench’s other side. The space is cramped, forcing us closer than we might normally sit. Her warmth seeps into the air, and my scales tingle with awareness.

A quiet laughs stirs in her throat as she glances at the pond, then at me. “This is the first time I’ve felt...almost normal in weeks.”

I tilt my head, studying her profile. “Normal?”

She sighs, folding her hands. “Life here has been a series of guarded movements, tense silences. I never thought I’d find a moment to just...sit with you, without a thousand fears crowding my mind.”

Her words tug at something deep inside me. “I see,” I murmur, keeping my voice low. “Then I suppose I should be glad this garden can offer a respite.”

She holds my gaze, the emotion in her eyes a shifting blend of gratitude and uncertainty. “Yes. Thank you for bringing me here, my lord.”

I let a small pause drag out before responding. “You can call me Vahziryn. At least while we’re here.” The notion of offering my name, free of title, is an impulsive choice, but it feels right in this moment.

She blinks, lips parting slightly. “That...would be strange.”

A faint smirk ghosts over my mouth. “Strange, perhaps, but we are alone, and the rules of formality need not weigh so heavily.”

She lowers her eyes, clearly processing my request. Eventually, she nods. “All right, Va—” She stumbles over the syllables, expression twisting with nerves. “Vahziryn.”

My name in her voice sends a wave of warmth through me. I shift on the bench, tail curling unconsciously around the bench’s leg, drawing me closer. Her breath hitches. For a charged moment, neither of us moves. The space between us crackles like a live wire.

---