Page 125 of Craving Venom

Harrington studies him for a second, then glances back at me.

I fight the urge to scream.

I force a tight smile, nodding stiffly. “Yeah. My boyfriend.”

Harrington doesn’t look thrilled, but he doesn’t push it.

“Well,” he sighs, “next time, try to keep your personal time outside of school property, Miss Collins.”

I nod, trying not to combust on the spot. “Of course. Won’t happen again.”

Harrington gives one last look at Zane, before turning on his heel and walking away.

The moment he disappears, I whirl on Zane.

“What the fuck was that?” I hiss.

“Your alibi,” he snickers. “You’re welcome.”

“You broke out of prison, Zane! And you just told my professor that you’re my boyfriend! The same professor who’s probably already trying to figure out why the fuck you look so familiar?”

“He won’t recognize me.”

“You’re not hearing me,” I snap, pointing a shaky finger at him. “You made me your alibi. Do you get that? If they find out who you are, I’m an accessory.”

“You’re not going down for shit,” he clicks his tongue. “You’re fine, Faith.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t—” I mutter, half to myself, half to him. “You don’t fucking know that.” My nails press into my temples, maybe if I dig hard enough, I can force my brain to work, to figure out how the fuck I’m going to fix this. “I don’t even know why you’re here, why you’re doing this, why—”

“Faith,” he says smoothly. “Look at me.”

I don’t. I can’t.

If I look at him, I’ll lose whatever shaky grip on reality I still have.

Instead, I keep pacing. “I need to think—I need to figure out how the fuck I’m getting out of this—”

“Faith.”

Zane closes the space between us in two slow strides, grabs my face between his fingers, tilts my chin up and forces me to look at him.

“You. Are. Fine.”

I glare up at him, but his eyes are filled with a promise.

“No one’s going to fucking touch you,” he promises. “Not a cop. Not Harrington. Not anyone. And if someone so much as looks at you wrong? I’ll kill them. You get me?”

I blink, my stomach tightening as his words sink in.

“I’ll handle it.” His gaze roams over my face. “You’re fine, Faith.”

“You don’t know—”

He cuts me off, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “I do.”

His words shouldn’t feel like a promise. They shouldn’t carry that dark comfort I feel, but they do. And that makes me furious because Ishouldn’tfeel safe with him. Ishouldn’tfeel like he’s the only person standing between me and worse monsters. Heisthe monster. And yet, deep down, my instincts whisper that he’s the one who will keep me alive.

That thought alone sends a fresh wave of rage through me. Because if I can’t even trust myself, then what the fuck do I have left?

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