Page 49 of Craving His Venom

I push onward for days, living off sparse rations. Loneliness crawls through my veins, each morning I wake curled under a makeshift shelter of leaves and branches. I can’t recall ever feeling this directionless. Even as a servant, I had a place. Now, my only identity is the woman he cast out. My tears run dry, replaced by a gnawing hollowness.

Eventually, the path leads me to a rundown waystation near the border of Nagaland. It’s a cluster of ramshackle huts and a dusty inn, where stray travelers stop before venturing deeper into foreign lands. My meager coin buys a night’s rest on a pallet that smells of old straw and mildew. Exhausted, I lie there, staring at the ceiling’s cracked beams, mind swirling with memories: his tail wrapped around my waist, the first time he touched me, the quiet vow in his eyes.

A wave of nausea hits me then, rolling up from my stomach. I scramble outside to retch, heart hammering. This has happened more than once since I left, especially in the mornings. Perhaps the stress is making me ill, or the poor diet of dried rations. Each time it passes, I feel weaker, drained. Shaking, I return to my pallet, a faint dread gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. Something isn’t right with my body.

The next day, the sickness intensifies. My limbs feel heavy, and a clammy sweat coats my forehead. Sipping water from a crude cup, I hunch in the corner of the inn’s single common room, ignoring the curious stares of a few passing travelers. My mind drifts to improbable worries—what if I caught some jungle fever? Or is it the heartbreak itself turning my stomach?

As evening falls, I force myself to eat a little soup. No sooner does it hit my stomach than I gag, rushing outside to empty it all. That’s when a glimmer of realization surfaces in my dazed mind. My monthly cycle. It’s late—far overdue, in fact. I press a trembling hand to my abdomen, dread coiled with a flicker of astonishing hope.

I find a quiet spot behind the inn, away from prying eyes, and crouch there, pressing shaking hands to my belly. The possibility that I carry his child tears through me like lightning. My entire body trembles with fear and a faint, miraculous warmth. Could it truly be? My monthly cycles weren’t always punctual, but this, combined with persistent nausea, can’t be coincidence.

If I am pregnant with Vahziryn’s child, the implications are staggering. A half-naga, half-human child. The council would brand it an even greater abomination. Velna and her allies would pounce on such evidence. My heart hammers, remembering how the council treats any mixing of naga blood with human. They consider it a grotesque betrayal. Yet I can’t quell a surge of fierce protectiveness. This child, if real, is ours. A testament to a bond no law can erase.

Stricken with uncertainty, I slump against the inn’s rickety wall, tears burning my cheeks again. What do I do now? Vahziryn forced me away to spare me from politics, but if I carry his child, I can’t disappear forever. I sense the child’s existence would uproot every plan he made to keep me safe by distance.

The notion of continuing alone, carrying this baby in the wilderness, terrifies me. Yet returning to him risks everything.The council’s wrath would ignite anew, Velna’s blackmail sharpened. But can I bear raising a half-naga child without the father’s protection, haunted by the knowledge I abandoned him as well?

My thoughts swirl in chaos, exhaustion stealing my breath. After a sleepless night of vomiting and fretful pacing, I accept the truth. I can’t let fear of the council strip me of the life growing within me, nor can I bear the thought of Vahziryn never knowing. Even if he pushed me away in a misguided attempt to protect me, this is his child too.

Dawn arrives with pale sunshine cutting through the remaining gloom. I muster what remains of my resolve, pack my scant belongings, and slip out of the inn. My limbs still feel unsteady, but a grim determination steels my spine. My path leads back to him. I must tell him, consequences be damned. If the child is truly half his, we’ll face the storm that follows. The alternative is drifting alone in a hostile land, perpetually in hiding.

My journey back is grueling, slowed by bouts of sickness and a heaviness in my limbs. But each mile I cover, the hollow ache inside me shifts to a fierce resolve. It’s not just about love or heartbreak anymore. A child binds us beyond any vow or tradition. If the council sees it as a crime, so be it. I won’t let them snuff out this new life.

Days pass in a blur of fatigue and uneasy sleep. Nights bring nightmares of the council dragging me into shackles, or Velna smirking as she tears my child away. Still, I persist, forging onward with trembling steps. My single guiding light is the knowledge that Vahziryn must learn the truth. No matter his misguided desire to exile me, he deserves to know we’ve created something that transcends the constraints of species or law.

At last, the distant outline of his estate’s walls emerges through the thick canopy. My heart clenches with mingled reliefand dread. How will he react? Will he be furious I defied his command? Will he think I’m lying to manipulate him? My nails bite into my palms as I approach the gates, recalling the moment I left with tears streaming down my cheeks.

A guard stands at the gates, eyes widening in shock when he recognizes me. He hesitates, uncertain whether to let me inside. Before he can decide, the gate swings open, revealing Crick, crossing his arms as he steps forward. His mismatched scales gleam in the sunlight.

“Mira,” he mutters, face dark with concern. “You... what are you doing here?”

I swallow, every muscle quivering. “I need to see Vahziryn. It’s urgent.”

Crick’s gaze flicks over my haggard appearance, the shadows under my eyes, the unsteady grip on my satchel. “He told me you left. Are you sure this is wise?”

My chest feels tight. “Doesn’t matter if it’s wise. It’s necessary.” My hand drifts to my belly in an involuntary gesture. I can’t say the words yet, but he picks up on the motion, a faint spark of realization crossing his features.

“All right,” he concedes, stepping aside. “But be careful. He’s been... volatile since you left. Steer clear of Velna if she’s around.”

I nod, stepping through the gates. Exhaustion and relief war in my veins as I cross the familiar courtyard, noticing staff skitter away, shock written on their faces. I ignore them, forging on until I reach the main entrance. Sahrine meets me just inside, her blind eyes fixating on me with uncanny precision.

“Mira,” she breathes, voice trembling with empathy. “You returned?”

I can hardly form words. “Yes. I... I have to see him. Where is he?”

She angles her head toward the corridor leading to his private study. “He’s there, locked in discussion with Velna again, I believe.”

My heart thuds painfully. “Then that’s where I need to go.”

I slip down the corridor, each step firing adrenaline through my tired limbs. The heavy door to his study stands ajar, lamplight spilling across the threshold. Low voices drift out Vahziryn’s deep timbre laced with tension, Velna’s polished, scornful tone.

I push the door open. Inside, Vahziryn stands behind a desk scattered with scrolls, tail coiled in frustration. Velna lounges in a chair, elegantly draped robes accentuating her green scales. She halts mid-sentence at the sight of me, eyes widening in surprise.

Vahziryn’s face blanches, shock morphing into panic. “Mira?” he utters, voice dropping to a hush.

Velna rises gracefully, a toxic smile curving her lips. “So the human returns. How... interesting.”

I barely glance at her, locking eyes with him. My chest tightens with a thousand emotions. He crosses to me in a flash, tail brushing my leg as though confirming my presence is real. “What are you doing here?” he breathes, voice thick with conflicting relief and anger. “I told you to stay away.”

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