Page 60 of Craving His Venom

Vahziryn, distraught, tries to speak, but the council members hush him, beckoning attendants to set the stage. The dais clears, leaving a circle in the center of the hall. The watchers press in, forming a ring of expectant faces. My heart pounds so loudly it deafens me.

Vahziryn steps before me, towering, black scales reflecting the flickering torches. His eyes hold a storm of love and panic. He grasps my hands, tail brushing my ankles in an almost soothing stroke. “Mira,” he whispers, voice raw. “If it goes wrong, I can’t?—”

I press my fingers to his lips, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Show me the steps. I’ll do my part.” My entire body shakes, but a fierce resolve hums within. “You told me once, the venom must be given willingly, that it anchors my essence to yours if I survive.”

He bows his head, tail trembling. “Yes. Usually, it’s done in private, guided by priests. We have no such guidance here. But the principle stands: you must ingest my venom, endure the fever, and if you live, the bond is sealed. They can’t deny it.”

Silver-Scaled Councilor slams his staff. “Proceed,” he commands coldly. “Begin the rite, or withdraw.”

Vahziryn’s gaze flicks to the dais, then returns to me. Despair and devotion war in his golden eyes. “I can’t lose you,” he breathes, voice cracking. “But I won’t stop you. I’m sorry.”

I gently curl my hand around the side of his face, feeling the subtle ridges of scale. “No regrets,” I murmur, leaning in to brush my lips against his. A hush falls over the crowd, watchers transfixed by the raw intimacy. Then I step back, head high, letting him prepare.

He closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. When they open, his pupils have contracted to narrow slits, venom swirling behind his fangs. He hisses, a guttural sound, and bites into the meaty part of his own forearm, just beneath the layer of black scales. My stomach churns at the sight. Thick, shimmering venom wells from the wound, trailing down his skin.

He holds out his arm, the poison dripping ominously. My breath falters. One drop might kill a mortal in seconds. I gather every scrap of courage, ignoring the roar of fear in my mind. Then, in one swift motion, I press my lips to the wound, letting the venom coat my mouth. The taste is bitter, hot, and my entire body recoils. Still, I force myself to swallow.

Gasps ripple through the hall. The venom scorches my throat, sending a line of fire all the way down to my stomach. Instantly, I break into a sweat, vision darkening at the edges. My knees threaten to give out, but I grip Vahziryn’s arm as though it’s the only anchor I have.

A wave of dizzy heat blasts me. My lungs seize, fighting for air. My body convulses once, a spasm of raw pain. I let out a choked cry, staggering. Vahziryn catches me, tail wrapping around my waist. The crowd murmurs, half-horrified, half-fascinated. I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears, loud enough to drown the torches’ crackle.

The fever hits next, a roiling inferno surging through my veins. My skin prickles, sweat pouring down my face. Every inchof my body feels as though it’s being consumed from within. The child, I think frantically, though the pain is too all-encompassing to pinpoint anything else. My vision blurs, shapes swirling in a maelstrom of color.

Vahziryn’s voice cuts through my agony, low and urgent. “Mira, hold on,” he pleads, arms steadying me. “Focus on my voice.”

The world tilts, and I collapse to my knees, chest racked with convulsions. My teeth chatter, and a wave of nausea threatens to upend me. I see glimpses of the council dais, blurred faces, Lady Velna’s smug silhouette. Then my eyes clamp shut as another surge of scorching pain slices through me.

I hear Vahziryn’s roar, commanding the watchers back. “Stay away!” he snarls. “No one touches her unless she fails. This is our rite.” His tail coils around me, forging a cocoon of scaled protection. I cling to him, nails digging into his arms, the torment nearly too great to endure.

My body flares in feverish thrashing, each breath a struggle. It feels as though my blood boils with liquid fire, as if the venom courses and rewires me from the inside out. My heart pumps furiously, my lungs burn. I gasp for air, eyes rolling back.

Vahziryn cradles me close, whispering my name in a litany of raw emotion. “Mira... Mira... stay. Please. Don’t leave me. Fight.” His breath ghosts over my sweat-drenched forehead. I sense him swaying with me, tail locked in an iron coil to keep me upright. The rest of the world fades to a distant roar.

Time loses meaning in that vortex of suffering. I sink into a half-conscious haze, trembling violently. My thoughts scatter—images of home, of the estate we once shared, of him smiling in rare moments of peace. The child’s faint stirring. A glimmer of reason urges me to survive, to not let them claim my life or brand our baby an atrocity.

My entire body spasms. I taste blood on my tongue, vision flickering. Another wave of agony tears a ragged scream from my throat. Is this the end? Doubt claws at me, but Vahziryn’s voice keeps pulling me back. He repeats my name with desperate reverence, as though refusing to let my spirit slip away.

Somewhere beyond the curtain of pain, I hear councilors exclaiming, watchers gasping at the ferocity of the rite. Talli might be chanting, or Crick might be cursing the council’s callousness. I can’t focus on anything except the heat raging inside me and the anchor of Vahziryn’s arms.

Suddenly, a cold wave surges, clashing against the fiery venom. My body stiffens, lungs refusing to work. The conflict within me feels cataclysmic—like a storm that might annihilate me. Then, as though from the depths of the storm, a faint sense of calm emerges. My heartbeat thumps in a new rhythm, syncing with an unfamiliar force coursing through me.

Vahziryn’s voice becomes clearer. “You’re strong,” he murmurs, his tail drawing me tighter against his chest. “Stay with me. Please.”

I cling to that command. My convulsions slow, the fever receding from a blazing inferno to a milder but persistent burn. I cough, tasting bile, tears streaming down my cheeks. My entire body trembles as if I’ve run a thousand miles, muscles weak as water.

At last, I blink my eyes open, seeing only a swirling haze. The lamplight overhead seems too bright, but I glimpse Vahziryn’s face above me, features drawn with desperate hope. The hall remains a chaotic blur of shapes.

“She... she’s alive?” a councilor mutters somewhere.

Velna’s voice crackles. “Impossible. Humans can’t survive that level of venom.”

Vahziryn releases a shaky breath, his brow brushing mine in a quiet surrender. “Mira,” he breathes, tail still encircling me. “Yes, you’re alive.”

My chest heaves, mind still foggy. “I... I think so,” I rasp, voice barely audible. My limbs feel leaden, but my heart drums with undeniable vigor, as though infused with an echo of his serpentine pulse.

He helps me shift, guiding my head to rest against his shoulder. The crowd pulses with noise, but he shields me from it, coiling protectively. “You endured the transformation,” he whispers, eyes shining with awe and relief. “They cannot deny us now.”

A hush drapes the chamber, overshadowed only by the hush of watchers who can’t believe I survived. Council members confer in hushed urgency. My vision sharpens slowly, capturing the wide stares of many naga onlookers. Some appear shaken, others furious.

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