Page 152 of Crowned In Venom

Not yet.

Not until she is dead.

45

ANYA

His lips are soft against mine, a stark contrast to the raw hunger in his kiss. It’s desperate, devouring, as if he’s trying to consume me, body and soul.

His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I can feel the tremors running through him – the aftermath of battle, the lingering sting of pain, but also something deeper, a raw vulnerability that makes my chest ache.

I kiss him back with a ferocity that surprises even me, my fingers digging into his shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin through the rough fabric of his tunic.

He’s hurt, I know he’s bleeding, but in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the feel of him against me, the frantic beat of his heart against mine.

He’s alive. We’re breathing.

“Varkos,” I breathe against his lips, my voice a trembling whisper.

He doesn’t answer with words. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine, and I taste the metallic tang of blood, the bitter edge of pain.

But I don’t flinch. I welcome it, just as I welcome the fierce possessiveness in his touch.

His hands move to my waist, pulling me onto his lap. I straddle him, my body molding against his, the heat radiating from him searing my skin. He’s warm, so warm, and the frantic beat of his heart echoes the frantic rhythm of my own.

His breath hitches, ragged and uneven, but he doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.

“Anya,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough, raw with emotion.

I pull back just enough to look into his eyes, my hands cupping his face. They’re dark, filled with a hunger that makes my stomach clench, but there’s something else there too – a flicker of vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the mask.

It’s a side of him I rarely see, and it makes my heart ache with a fierce tenderness.

“You’re hurt,” I whisper, my fingertips tracing the cuts and bruises that mar his face.

He shakes his head, his hands tightening around my waist, pulling me closer. “I don’t care.”

“I do,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you, Varkos. I can’t.”

His gaze softens, his eyes searching mine. He nods, a slow, almost reluctant movement.

His hands move to the hem of my clothes, pulling it over my head. His movements are slow, deliberate, almost reverent. I shiver as the cool air hits my bare skin, but the heat of his gaze warms me more effectively than any fire.

His eyes burn as they travel over me, taking in every curve, every inch of exposed skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice rough with unshed tears.

I shake my head, my hands moving to his chest, tracing the familiar landscape of his scars, the evidence of battles fought and won. "You're the strong one," I say, my voice trembling. "You've always been the strong one."

I trace the line of his jaw, my fingers lingering on the cuts and bruises that mar his face. I kiss each one tenderly, savoring the taste of his skin, mingled with the salt of his sweat and blood.

He lets out a low chuckle, a pained sound that twists my heart. "Not anymore," he admits, his voice soft, vulnerable.

I kiss him again, silencing his words with the press of my lips. My hands move to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he’s holding himself rigid. “Let me,” I whisper against his lips. “Let me take care of you.”

He hesitates, his eyes searching mine, questioning, uncertain. Then he nods, a single, jerky movement. His hands move to my hips, pulling me flush against him.

I remove his clothes, taking them off as gently as I can without breaking eye contact. I lean down and kiss the wound on his shoulder, the heat of my mouth against his skin a silent promise that I’m staying.

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