Page 29 of Craving His Venom

Seizing a sudden impulse, I lean in. My forearm rests near her thigh, scales glinting in the dappled light. She lifts her chin slightly, eyes wide, and I catch the faint tremor that runs through her. I can’t tell if it’s fear or anticipation—maybe both. My tail inches forward, brushing against her waist, a gentle loop that doesn’t quite grip her but undeniably claims the space between us.

Her lips part, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think I might close the distance, capture her mouth in a kiss that would shatter the hush. The tension building these past weeks thrums between us like a plucked string. My breath slows, my fangs tingling with a potent rush of sensation.

A flash of alarm crosses her gaze—quick, uncertain. It’s enough to remind me of the delicate balance we occupy. If I push too far, I might confirm her worst fears or break the fragile trust we’ve built.

With a ragged exhale, I stop myself. The moment lingers, unfulfilled. I withdraw my tail a few inches, letting a shaky silence fall. Her cheeks burn, and she exhales, chest rising as she steadies herself.

“I—” she starts, voice unsteady. “You almost?—”

“I know,” I say quietly, forcing my composure. “I apologize if I startled you.”

She blinks, uncertain how to respond. “You...didn’t exactly startle me,” she murmurs, glancing down at the bench.

The words hang between us, tinted with possibility. My chest aches. I shift away, giving her space. “Let’s call that a moment of lapse,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “We don’t need to dwell on it.”

Her jaw tenses. Perhaps she wants to press the issue, but she only nods, eyes cast downward. The tension lingers, pulsing in the air. I push to my feet, striving for a smoother transition. “We’ve lingered long. I should ensure the rest of the grounds are secure.”

She stands as well, brushing nonexistent dust from her tunic. “Yes, of course.” The bloom I gave her peeks from her pocket, its petals slightly wilted now, but still shimmering faintly.

As we head back across the garden, the hush that envelops us is far from peaceful—more like an undercurrent of unspoken desire laced with caution. We gather our things and retrace our steps along the overgrown path, slipping past towering ferns and creeping vines. The sun has risen higher, bathing the trail in bright gold.

Halfway back, I catch her eyeing me sidelong, as though she’s considering a question. Sensing her curiosity, I slow my pace. “Speak,” I offer.

She draws a breath. “That— I mean, when you coiled around me a moment ago...” She hesitates, cheeks coloring. “In naga culture, does that...?”

I sense her discomfort and respond softly, “A tail coiling can hold many meanings—protection, threat, intimacy, depending on context. I only meant to—” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I was caught in the moment. I meant no harm.”

She nods, looking away, but I sense her relief. “All right.”

At the estate’s entrance, a couple of guards spot us emerging from the hidden walkway. One raises a brow, but quickly shifts his gaze elsewhere as I pass. I feel Mira’s tension ratchet up—she likely fears the staff’s gossip. I let out a slow breath, ignoring the guard’s curiosity. Let them whisper. If I wanted to keep the garden a secret, so be it, but I chose to bring her. I won’t pretend otherwise.

We reenter the manor, stepping into cooler corridors where the stone floors gleam under lamplight. Sahrine emerges from a side passage, blind eyes directed toward us. She bows. “Lord Vahziryn, there is a matter requiring your attention in the main hall.”

My tail flicks. “I’ll attend to it shortly.”

As Sahrine departs, Mira turns to me, expression guarded yet thoughtful. “Thank you,” she says quietly, holding my gaze. “For the garden. I didn’t realize how much I needed a moment like that.”

The sincerity in her voice makes my chest tighten. I keep my reply simple. “You are welcome.” With a final nod, I leave her there, heading toward the main hall to address whatever matter demands my time. But each step feels charged with the echo of our near-kiss, the warmth of her presence clinging to my thoughts.

Once in the main hall, I discover a few staff gathered—Crick among them, leaning against a pillar. He eyes me with a knowing smirk, as though he senses I’ve been up to something personal. Suppressing irritation, I approach Sahrine, who holds a small parchment in her hand.

“My lord,” she explains, “we’ve received a message from a local merchant regarding supplies. He requests permission to approach the estate tomorrow.”

I scan the parchment quickly, forcing my mind onto practical matters. “Agree to his request, but ensure the gates remain monitored.”

Sahrine inclines her head. Crick, arms folded, gives me a fleeting grin. “I’ll handle security,” he says. “No unwanted visitors. By the way,” his tone drops conspiratorially, “you seem in a better mood.”

A low hiss escapes my lips. “Mind your own duties.”

He chuckles, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Of course. Just an observation, my lord.”

I wave him off and stride away, tail flicking in annoyance. He’s not wrong, though. My mood feels almost buoyant, despite the tension that lingers. A near-kiss is hardly an event to broadcast, yet it churns my thoughts in ways that leave me oddly eager for more interactions with her. Perhaps I’m being reckless, but the usual caution that defined me has started to fray around the edges.

Later, I retreat to my study. Nightfall arrives swiftly, painting the sky in deep purples. I light a lantern on my desk, the warm glow revealing a stack of reports awaiting review—updates on orc movements near the southwestern border, the council’s probable reaction to the Rahlazen incident. With a deliberate breath, I begin reading.

But my concentration falters. The words blur. My mind drifts to the hidden garden, to the sound of her soft laugh, the startled delight on her face as she touched the blossoms. I recall how close we came to bridging the distance with a kiss. Her breath hovers near my lips, warm and maddeningly close.

I shut my eyes, letting the parchment slip from my fingers. Desire coils in my gut, unfamiliar in its intensity. Once, I believed I’d banished such vulnerabilities after my exile. Now, Mira’s presence tears down my defenses, bit by bit. The risk is undeniable—if the council discovers I harbor interest in ahuman servant, it could further inflame their view of me as a renegade. But the thought of staying away from her, of letting fear dictate my every move, grates at me.

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