Page 78 of Sweet Touch of Venom

Venom

Location:

The big arena

Operation: Don’t lose.

My fingers glide against the metal under my white glove. Feeling the thin blade against the tips. Who would’ve thought I would have to fight this man ape to win a spot in my own room? No matter the circumstances, I am beyond excited. A part of my solitude broke apart for this task. It’s becoming?…

Fun.

Although it shouldn’t. The only thing I am dreading is touching those delicious lips I fantasize about tasting. That’s why Ineedto win.

“He’s going to win,” Wicked snarls at me with an evil grin.

I send her a dry look, noticing she’s here and other people. I’m in the back room, but I can hear the excited chatters from behind the walls. Shit. What did he call the whole academy here?

“Maybe you can replace his spot,” I say, giving a devious smile.

She doesn’t retaliate with getting in my face. She only smirks and walks to me, her evil facade dropping. For a split second, I think she’s getting ready to pull a sneak attack on me, so I raise my sabre, steadying it just in case.

She catches the drift and raises her hands slightly. “I only want to say thank you.”

I one up her, lowering the sword. “Why?”

“Ronan told me you saved him. So, thank you.” She lowers her hands again, placing them on her hips.

He told her that?

I look around, making sure there’s no hidden camera because is this the same girl who had it out for me since day one? I began placing my hair into a tight ponytail to fit in the sabre mask.

“No need to thank me.” I ignore the look she gives me.

“Okay. I still appreciate it. He’s—” she threads her hand through her hair, making it flow behind her like a wave, “—like a brother to me.” Her voice merely whispers with so much sentiment.

I understand Ronan means a lot to many. And sadly, I only find that more attractive about him. That’s why when I win, I can rid myself of his presence.

Mal’s mood changes in a second. “So good luck! You’re gonna need it.” She walks out with a sly grin, signifying I’m doomed or something.

Well, I’m not.

I inhale a breath, strolling out of the room with my chin held high. I’ve been fighting since I was eighteen, and I won’t lose now. I stroll through the dark archway coming to the large arena—the cool breeze nicking my cheeks tells me I am close. I step out further and the sky is indigo, but still carrying those thick clouds. The sun isn’t bright, but the light from the milky blue skyis enough to glimpse the seats filled with people ranging from mercenaries and rebels to rampages and riots.

Shit.

The last time I fought in front of a crowd was when I had to go against the biggest student in combat school, and let’s say I left with a bulging eye socket.

That was also the last time it ever happened. The next time we fought, I punched him so much that his jaw nearly broke.

I swirl my wrist around, the thin blade making whooshing sounds in the air. The pebbles under my shoes are drowning in the sounds of loud whispers and thumping feet.

Then the two doors to the other end burst wide open and in comes Ronan.

My heart flies to my throat, beating hard in my pipes. He swaggers in with the walk of majesty and confidence of a ruler. He holds his mask under his arm and his sword in his left hand. He has his dark, wavy hair pushed back, slick onto his scalp, with a straight face that can make your legs shake. I continue twirling my sword, staring at him walking into the room, owning it properly because people literally worship him.

He narrows a dark gaze at me, the sounds and noise zoning out as he comes closer and closer to me, matching the harsh thud of my throat; the noise becomes muffled and incoherent as he approaches me.

He fixes his white glove, looking me directly in my face as usual. He looks magnificent in all white. Like a dark angel sent to destroy the world.

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