Page 39 of Sweet Touch of Venom

Once introductions are done, I follow him back up to the elevator and toward the front where I came through initially. The woman from the other day stands leaning on the banister. One foot on the step, and the other on the floor, twirling a knife in her hand with a crooked smile on her face. She’s more gorgeous than I realized; olive skin, almond shaped hazel eyes that resemble a cat and two dark brown cornrows that stop at her nape.

“Look what the dirt dragged in,” she sneers out.

“Mal,” Ronan warns.

I scold with a curl to my lip. “Are there lessons here for proper manners?” I toss her a stiff smile. “You really missed the mark, haven’t you?”

Her knife stops swinging and we both eye each other.I’m ready when you are.I was wrong; I can be a bit wild.

“Enough!” Ronan barks out. “You’ll have to get along whether you like it or not.” He purses his lips, gazing directly at new nameMal. I grin slyly, not because he’s shutting her down, but because it seems like someone in here can tame the looney chihuahua.

“Mal, show Anita to her room,” he states in an authoritative tone.

She cracks a smile that is more deceitful than what a smile should be especially after getting ripped into. “It’s myverypleasure.” Her smile is anything but genuine; it’s evil and unpleasant. I think I’ll call herwickedthen.

She turns, strolling off, her high heel combat boots clacking on the floor. I move to follow along, only to have a large hand wrap tight around my underarm and pull me sideways. I am yanked into Ronan’s hard chest, his breath fanning against the shell of my ear.

“Play nice,cobra venenosa,” he coos deep and thick, like molasses dripping into my eardrum. I can’t stop the tremble riding up my neck. He tilts his head toward the front of mine, ensuring I can see the underlying threat in his honey eyes.

“Don’t worry. I always like to play.”But it’s not always nice.I smile gingerly, watching his eyes narrow in on me like daggers.

I peel my arm from his hot grip and walk toward Wicked, who stands at the bottom of the steps; there is no doubt she watched our entire interaction. She has a death stare, but I ignore it.

She then turns with amusement, and I’m not sure what’s so funny. I count the steps as we make our way up the grand staircase—it appears wider than before. Maybe because I have this itching feeling that once I make it past this part, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be leaving this place again.

The thought gives a twist to my stomach, reminding myself I’ll only be here to see revenge through—not to play house.

This place is stupid anyway

Okay, I’m lying to myself, this place is impeccable, and I can’t help the admiration that filters in.

The hallway is expansive, wide enough to allow a vehicle to drive through and still walk comfortably. The floor is made of rustic wood and has a black runner down the center, rather than the burgundy and gold trim runners found elsewhere.

“This is the Umbra Hall,” Wicked quirks, rolling her finger back and forth. I catch sight of the dimmed lighting from the lampshades lining the wall, the layered structure of the panels on the ceiling, and vintage books stacked neatly on a few built-in shelves.

We walk past several room doors, and every two to three rooms we drift by, she turns her head over her shoulder to look back at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Such a sneaky little cat.

Her eyes do it no justice. It makes her look even more like the cats for the Egyptian kings.

I keep myself ready for anything unusual. My eyes are looking around for clarity. Then she arrives at?—

Another set of steps?

“Where are we going?” I ask, unsure, once she begins walking up the narrow stairs in the corner of the end hall. It’s not wide and long like the ballroom steps downstairs. It seems like she is carrying me to the steps of no return. Like she will lock me away forever.

She looks over that shoulder again, smiling. “Oh, you’ll see, Cinderella.”

I scowl at her ridiculous nickname for me. I’d rather be called anything else apart from that annoying bitch.

I follow along, and we reach a door after walking just a few feet beyond the steps. It’s a two-door frame that’s coated in all black and gold etching; the knobs are gold with perfectly carved lion faces, showing the long, thick, unruly mane of the beautiful beast. I guess I got the grand room.

Lucky me.

She opens the door, the cool air busting out and skating across my face. The smell of pine and wood sinks under my nostrils. My brow flies up as I take in the environment.

The room is large, almost like its own bachelor pad. The walls are a deep brown, with matte black furniture. A large gray rug decorated with lions sits in the middle of the living room, which I am sure is Persian because I’ve seen one made in person. Two white couches frame the living room, which is the only thing exuding some brightness against the black decor. There’s a kitchen, big enough to be in a house, nestled in the corner with black cabinets and gold knobs, and I’m not sure how a room upstairs managed to becomethis.

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