Page 116 of Craving Venom

A chill crawls up my spine. Goosebumps prickle along my arms, and my fingers tighten around my pen.

My phone buzzes against the desk.

I glance down. UNKNOWN NUMBER.

My stomach dips.

Swiping the screen open, I barely get a glimpse of the message before it vanishes.

What the fuck?

Dr. Harrington calls my name, snapping me out of my trance.

I look up, my mind scrambling to figure out what the hell he just asked. “Uh… sorry. What was the question?”

A few students snicker. Tria sighs heavily beside me, probably resisting the urge to strangle me.

He gives me a long look before continuing his lecture, but I don’t hear a fucking word of it.

I don’t dare look back at the hallway.

But minutes pass, boredom creeps in again, and my focus slips.

My gaze flickers to the entrance once more and I find those same eyes staring at me. This time, I know it’s not in my head. I shove up from my seat, grab my bag, and storm out of the lecture hall.

“Faith.”

I don’t respond to the panic in Tria’s voice.

“Faith?” Tria calls after me again, but I don’t stop.

By the time I reach the hallway it’s empty.

Again.

My fingers itch to hit something. Instead, I pivot and push my way into the nearest washroom, locking the door behind me. I grip the sink with both hands, my knuckles white as I stare at my reflection.

I look wrecked.

My hair is a mess, my skin pale, my eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The weight of Zane, his presence, his existence, is sinking into my bones, into my goddamn pores. I can’t fucking breathe without feeling like he’s right there, waiting for me, watching me, taunting me.

I lean forward and turn on the tap, letting the cold water rush over my fingers before splashing it onto my face. The shock of it stings but it does nothing to wash away the feeling of him.

I grip the edge of the sink tighter, breathing deep. “He’s not here,” I whisper to myself. “You’re just imagining things.”

I finish drying my face and walk out of the washroom. I don’t even get three steps before a hand clamps over my mouth. My back slams against a solid body and an arm locks around me, pinning me in place.

Fuck.

I thrash, kicking back, but the grip only tightens. My scream dies in my throat, muffled against the palm pressing over my lips.

My mind shatters into a thousand frantic thoughts, one crashing into the other.

Am I being kidnapped?

No, fuck, am I being murdered?

But I don’t think anyone’s stupid enough to kill me in a college corridor, and that alone sparks the will to fight back. I try to jerk my elbow back into my assailant’s ribs, but he dodges it easily, forcing me tighter against him.

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