Page 42 of Craving His Venom

The silence that follows churns with lingering tension. My lungs burn for air, as though I’ve been holding my breath. Vahziryn stares after the scout’s retreating form, scales gleaming under the greenhouse’s filtered sunlight.

At last, he exhales. “Are you all right?”

I nod, though my hands shake. “I answered carefully. But they might remain unconvinced.”

His tail coils in frustration. “They can’t prove anything from a single conversation.” A haunted look flickers in his gaze. “But if they suspect more, they’ll keep digging.”

I struggle to contain the tremor in my voice. “What do we do?”

He sighs, rubbing a clawed hand over his face. “I’ll stall them. Assert that you’re simply a competent servant, nothing more. They’ll want more proof, but if we’re cautious, we might outlast their scrutiny.”

My chest aches with a surge of conflicting emotions—relief that we have a plan, mingled with a hollow sorrow that we must hide the truth of what we share. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? So they don’t see us together?”

He looks away, tension lining his jaw. “Yes,” he admits softly. “If they catch wind of the depth of our bond, they’ll target you. I can’t let that happen.”

I hug myself, hating the reality that we must act like strangers or risk everything. “Then I guess we keep our distance,” I murmur, voice cracking slightly. “For now.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. “I despise it,” he confesses, tail gently brushing my ankle in a fleeting gesture of comfort. “But until these scouts leave, we have no choice.”

I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Despite the strong front I maintain, dread pools in my stomach. If the council’s intelligence is thorough, they might find cracks in our charade. The lingering tension in my body from the memory of his touch, the charged silence threading through the estate—any slip could be disastrous.

We stand there, torn by the need to appear distant and the pull of unspoken feeling. Finally, he turns away, tail sliding after him. “I need to meet them again soon,” he says, voice grim. “Act as though nothing has changed. If they approach you again, direct them to me.”

My hand rises instinctively, fingertips brushing my sternum as I steady my breath. “All right.”

He leaves me alone in the greenhouse, tension radiating from his posture. The door closes softly, and I wilt against a table filled with potted herbs. My chest feels squeezed, fear pressing like a physical weight. This is the cost of crossing lines in a society that refuses to bend. We might stand united, but we must do so from behind a mask of normalcy.

Sometime later, I gather myself enough to resume watering the plants. Each droplet that sinks into the soil feels like a tiny prayer for time, for the chance to weather this storm. The hours pass in a fog of dread. I glimpse the council scouts prowlingdifferent wings of the manor, quizzing other humans and a few naga staff, likely searching for any contradiction.

Vahziryn remains out of sight, presumably locked in negotiations or giving them the runaround. My nerves keep me from eating, so I skip lunch, forcing myself to keep busy. The threat of being seized and labeled “tainted property” looms in every corner. If they drag me from these walls, would Vahziryn fight for me openly or let them have me to protect his lands? The question stabs at my heart.

Toward dusk, I creep to the corridor outside the main hall. The double doors stand closed, and muffled voices seep through the thick wood. One voice belongs to Vahziryn, low and measured, layered with a simmering anger. The other voices are sharper, the council scouts, I assume, pushing him for answers. I can’t make out their words fully, but I catch references to “purity,” “human influence,” “lack of proper documentation.”

My nails dig into my palms. If they brand me as a corruption of his domain, the council can punish us both. A flicker of rage stirs in me at how unjust it is. We haven’t harmed anyone, yet they cling to some archaic notion that a human who shares more than chores with a naga is an offense.

As I stand there, uncertain, the door cracks open. I dart behind a broad pillar, peering around to see two scouts exit. They speak in low voices: “—no direct proof, but the rumors?—”

“—the warlord is cagey. We might have to return with official sanction?—”

They move on, footsteps fading. My insides twist. Official sanction suggests a harsher response if they deem Vahziryn guilty of harboring a forbidden relationship. I fight the urge to barge into the hall and defend him. That would only confirm their suspicions. Instead, I slip away, heart pounding.

Night falls quickly, bringing a hush that crackles with unease. I drift to my chamber, each step weighted by the knowledge thattomorrow or the next day, they might tear us apart under some twisted notion of law. The door closes behind me with a hollow thud. My small bed offers cold comfort.

Crouching by the room’s single window, I watch the moon rise over the estate’s walls. The memories of Vahziryn’s warmth flood back, tightening my throat. I recall his vow that we’d face this together, but it’s hard to cling to that promise while the council lurks. The thought of losing him, or seeing him stripped of his lands because of me, gnaws at my mind like a relentless rat.

I press my forehead to the windowsill, breathing in the night air. A flurry of emotions swirl: longing, fear, anger at a world that wants to crush any bond we share. My nails rake the sill as I wrestle with my frustration. If I vanish, maybe they’ll leave him in peace. But I know he’d blame himself. And part of me refuses to run, unwilling to let them define my fate again.

Eventually, exhaustion claims me, and I slump onto the bed. Sleep is uneasy, haunted by nightmares of being dragged before a council of sneering naga, bound in chains while Vahziryn watches in powerless fury. I jolt awake repeatedly, heart racing, until the first rays of dawn creep through my window.

Morning arrives, and the tension in the manor intensifies. Servants whisper that the scouts plan to finalize their inspection today. I half-expect them to summon me for further questioning, but the morning passes without confrontation. I see them fleetingly in a hallway, conferring with each other. They cast me cold glances yet don’t approach. The entire estate hangs in a breathless pause, waiting for a verdict.

At midday, Sahrine corners me near the kitchens. “I heard the scouts might depart tomorrow,” she says, voice low. “They claim they found no overt violation, but they remain unconvinced. They’ll file a report to the council.”

A cold pit forms in my stomach. “So it isn’t over.”

She shakes her head. “They want more evidence, I suspect. They might return with greater authority or attempt to intercept you beyond these walls.”

I grip a dish towel, knuckles whitening. “I don’t know how much longer I can live like this, waiting for them to pounce.”

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