Page 81 of Craving Venom

But that look makes me forget how scared I am. Makes me forget how much I fucking hate him.

And that’s what scares me the most.

His eyes drop, zeroing in on my lips, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me. The thought makes bile rise in my throat. But then, just as suddenly, he lets go and steps back.

Without a word, he turns around and strolls over to the armchair in the middle of the room. The sudden space between us gives me room to think.

I turn around and dart my gaze around the room, scanning for something. A weapon, an opening, a way out. My eyes land on the knife on the floor. My fingers itch for it, but if I bend down now, he’ll know. He’ll see right through me.

My thoughts scatter when he heads in my direction, holding a wine bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, like this is some fucked-up date and we’re about to toast to… what? My humiliation? My destruction?

He walks toward me, like he’s not holding me hostage.

I could use that bottle. Smash it against his head. Drive a shard of glass into his eye. Blind him, at least for a few seconds, enough time to run.

He stops a few feet away, watching me.

“I got you some wine.”

I force my face to relax, keeping my expression neutral. If he suspects I’m plotting something, this chance will be gone.

So I play along.

I let my voice slip into something softer. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Zane chuckles. “Do I need to?”

The arrogance in his tone makes my skin crawl. But I smile anyway. Just a small one. Just enough to make him believe I’m breaking.

He uncorks the bottle, tilting it over the glass.

“I like drinking straight from the bottle,” I say, reaching out before he can pour.

His hand stills.

His eyes flick up to mine, trying to read me. I keep my expression smooth, my lips curling just slightly, like I’m inviting him into my head instead of blocking him out.

For a second, he hesitates.

Then he smirks.

“Be my guest,” he says, handing me the bottle.

My fingers brush the glass, but before I can close them around the neck of the bottle, he pulls it away like he never intended to give it to me in the first place.

I don’t react.

Not on the surface.

Zane watches me for a beat longer than necessary, then he moves, sliding his hand behind my nape. His fingers thread into my hair. I don’t move away. That would be stupid.

His thumb grazes the sensitive skin at the base of my skull, sending a shiver down my spine. I hate that he feels it. Then the bottle is at my lips. He tilts the glass just enough for the liquid to skim the edge.

I don’t open my mouth.

What if it’s poisoned?

It’s not impossible. It’s not even unlikely. It would be a simple thing for him, a few drops of something tasteless swirling intothe deep red liquid. Maybe he doesn’t even need poison. Maybe the wine itself is the trap, so I keep my lips pressed together.

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