Page 40 of Craving Their Venom
“The light… I felt your light begin to fade,” Kaelen says, his voice a broken whisper. He touches my cheek, his fingers trembling. “It was like the stars going out.”
I stare at them, at these three terrible, beautiful monsters, and I see not triumph, not possession, but a profound, soul-shattering fear. A fear forme.
“Why?” I whisper, the word a raw, aching thing. “Why would you do that?”
“Because the thought of a world without you in it is a void I cannot bear to face,” Varos says, his voice thick with an emotion so raw it is almost unrecognizable.
“Because you are woven into the very fabric of my being, Amara,” Zahir growls, his voice a guttural confession. “To see you die is to feel my own soul being torn in two.”
“Because I love you,” Kaelen whispers, the words a simple, devastating truth. “Not the prophecy. Not the key. You.”
The words are a barrage, a desperate, overlapping chorus of a truth so profound it shakes the very foundations of my world.
“No,” I choke out, pushing at their hands, at their chests, at the overwhelming, suffocating weight of their impossible emotions. “No. It’s the prophecy. It’s making you feel this. It isn’t real.”
“It is real!” Varos insists, his grip on my arms tightening, his eyes pleading. “The prophecy brought you to us, yes. It forced us to see you. But what we feel now… this terror, this… this love… it has absolutely nothing to do with scrolls and everything to do with you. I don’t have any idea what is love, but this must be it. That moment the stone came crashing on you, it felt like a hand reached into my chest and pulled out my heart.”
“This is new to us, Amara,” Zahir says, his voice a low, desperate rumble. “This feeling. It is a madness. A terror. We do not understand it. But we know it is true. We know that the thought of your heart stopping beats is a death sentence for our own.”
“We know we have hurt you,” Kaelen says, his voice aching with a sorrow so deep it’s almost a physical thing. “We have been brutal, and possessive, and blind. But we are not blind anymore. We see you, Amara. And we are begging you. Do not surrender to the darkness. Stay with us. Give us the chance to show you, to prove to you, that what we feel is real. Let us try to love you. Not as a pet, or a prize, or a prophecy. But as our heart. Our soul. Our eternity.”
They are kneeling before me in the wreckage of my prison, three of the most powerful beings in the kingdom, their pride shattered, their hearts laid bare. They are begging. Not for my obedience. Not for my surrender. But for my belief.
I look into their eyes—the Prince’s desperate gold, the General’s tormented fire, the Mystic’s pleading twilight—and Isee not lies, but a terrifying, beautiful, and utterly impossible truth.
The tears that come now are not of fear, or of shame, or of grief. They are the tears of a heart that has been shattered into a thousand pieces, and is now, impossibly, beginning to heal.
But can I ever trust again?
27
KAELEN
The air in the collapsed chamber is thick with the dust of ages and the raw, metallic scent of spilled blood. Zahir’s blood. It drips from the gash in his arm, a slow, crimson rhythm that marks the seconds of this new, fragile reality. He seems oblivious to the wound, his entire being focused on the small, trembling woman cradled in his arms. Varos is a statue of shattered pride at his side, his golden eyes, are utterly stripped of their cold, aristocratic armor. They are filled with a raw, naked terror.
They have laid their souls bare, a desperate, chaotic confession of love and fear. And Amara… she looks at them not with relief, but with the profound, heartbreaking agony of a soul that has been lied to one too many times.
“It isn’t real,” she whispers again, the words a mantra against their impossible pleas. She pushes weakly against Zahir’s chest. “You don’t love me. You love what I represent. A key. A shield. A weapon.”
“No,” Varos insists, his voice a raw thing. He reaches for her, his hand hovering, afraid to touch her, as if she is a phantom thatmight dissolve at his touch. “The prophecy was a lens. It forced us to look. But what we see now… it is only you.”
“How can I believe that?” she asks, her voice cracking, the tears she shed earlier now replaced by a cold, quiet despair. “Everything in this world has been a lie. My capture, my purpose, your… desire. It is all a part of a game I do not understand. A game where I am the board, not a player.” She looks from one to the other, her gaze lingering on me, and the accusation in her eyes is a physical blow. “You will use me to save your kingdom. I don’t even know how to do it! I don’t get it. How can I a mere human save Nagaland? And when it is done, what then? Will the prophecy release you from this… this feeling? Will I be discarded, a tool whose purpose has been served?”
Her words are a surgeon’s blade, cutting through the raw emotion of the moment to the cold, logical heart of her fear. She is not just afraid of them. She is afraid of the very cosmic forces that have ensnared her, afraid that their newfound love is just another, more beautiful, more terrible chain.
“Never,” Zahir growls, his voice a deep, guttural vow. He cradles her face in his massive, blood-stained hand, his touch impossibly gentle. “You are not a tool. You are the heart. The heart of me.”
She closes her eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a path through the dust on her cheek. “I cannot,” she whispers. “I cannot trust you. I cannot trust this feeling.” She takes a shuddering breath and looks at the three of us, her gaze sweeping over our desperate faces. “I will… see. I will watch. And I will see if your actions match your words. That is all I can promise.”
It is not a yes. It is not an acceptance. It is a challenge. A sliver of a chance. And in this moment, it is more than any of us deserve.
I look at her, at this small, fierce, broken human, and a vow solidifies in my soul, a silent, unbreakable oath. The prophecy be damned. The fate of Nagaland be damned. All that matters now is the flicker of belief in her eyes. I will not let it be extinguished. I will guard it with my life, with my soul, with every fiber of my being. I cannot lose her. The thought is not a fear. It is an impossibility. A world without her light is a world I refuse to inhabit.
The immediate danger, however, is not in our hearts, but in the shadows of this swamp. Zahir’s warriors, my Vipers and his trackers, are now filtering into the ruined chamber, their faces grim, their blades still slick with the blue blood of the Tikzorcu.
Zahir rises, his focus shifting with the fluid ease of a born commander. The lovesick beast is gone, replaced once more by the General. He gently places Amara into my care, his golden eyes locking with mine in a silent, urgent command.Protect her.
“Rhax!” he barks, his voice a roar that echoes in the shattered chamber. “Status report!”
