Page 11 of Crowned In Venom

But not yet.

No, not yet.

I step back, giving her space. A reminder that I am the one who chooses when the game ends.

She lifts her chin, her expression unreadable.

But her eyes?—

Her eyes tell me everything.

This is far from over.

5

ANYA

Two days after our last encounter, he calls me again.

I enter his chamber alone this time.

The heavy doors close behind me with a finality that presses against my ribs. There are no guards, no audience, no cold metal shackles to remind me of my place. But I know better than to mistake this for freedom.

This room is another kind of cage.

The fire in the hearth burns low, its embers casting shadows that flicker against the dark stone walls. The air is thick with something unspoken, something waiting.

And him.

Varkos.

He leans against the grand canopy bed, his posture deceptively relaxed, watching me as if he has already unraveled me. As if he already owns me.

I let him think so.

He has tested me, pushed against the edges of my defiance, waiting for me to break or kneel.

I have done neither.

So now, I do something far more dangerous.

I yield.

At least, I let him believe I do.

I take a slow step forward, my bare feet silent against the cool marble. My silk dress—deep red, the color of blood spilled beneath a hunter’s blade—clings to my body, the fabric whispering as I move.

His amethyst eyes follow me. Tracking. Waiting.

I tilt my head, allowing my hair to slip over my shoulder, the movement practiced and effortless. A touch of vulnerability that is not truly there.

“My lord,” I murmur.

His lips curve, slow and knowing. “You sound different tonight.”

I meet his gaze, steady, unreadable. “Should I not?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pushes off the bed, closing the space between us in measured, predatory strides.

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