Page 94 of Crowned In Venom

I don’t answer.

I don’t have to.

His gaze sharpens.

“Do you think I ordered it?” he asks.

I don’t know.

And that is the worst part.

I should know.

I should be certain.

But doubt creeps into my bones like ice.

I exhale, steadying myself.

“If you did,” I whisper, low, dangerous, “then you failed.”

His expression flickers—amusement, irritation.

He closes the space between us in two steps.

“Did I?”

I don’t move.

I don’t shrink.

I let him feel how close I am to breaking.

I let him feel the heat of my anger, the edge of my grief, the cold hunger for vengeance curdling in my insides.

Because he needs to see it.

He needs to understand.

His gaze drops to my lips—a mistake.

Because for a moment, just a breath—he lets me see what he is trying to resist.

He is not unaffected.

And that?

That is something I can use.

I reach up, my fingers ghosting along the line of his collar, tracing the fabric, testing him.

He stills.

I hear the sharp inhale, the tension in his muscles as I trail my touch lower, brushing against the bare skin beneath his tunic.

His pulse thrums beneath my fingertips.

I lift my gaze to his, letting him see the flicker of something dark in my eyes.

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