Page 133 of Craving Venom

Zane steps forward, reaching for something on my nightstand. I don’t even breathe as he gently lifts the snake off it, setting it on the floor as smoothly as someone handling a silk scarf.

Then he picks up my wine glass.

“What are you—”

I don’t get to finish as he stalks toward me with the wine glass in one hand and the knife in the other, moving with a predatory grace that makes my stomach twist into knots.

He settles onto my bed, directly across from me, and suddenly, the mattress feels too fucking small. My eyes lock onto the blade and my body strains in preparation for pain. The closer it gets, the harder I tremble.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “I only want you to lick it.”

“No,” I whisper.

Zane smiles as though he was expecting this answer, like he enjoys the fact that I’m resisting just enough to make this interesting.

I have no intention of giving in, but then I feel a shift in the weight near my foot. A slither. My body goes rigid. Something moves closer, brushing against the bare skin of my ankle.

No. No, no, no, no.

“Zane.” My breath stutters out of me. “Please take it off the bed. Please.”

“Why are you so scared of her?” he asks softly, tilting his head toward the creature coiled near my foot. “She’s not going to hurt you.”

My throat works, trying to form words, trying to say what’s clawing at my insides.

No, but you are.

“Please,” I say again. “Please take her off the bed.”

“Fine. Lick the knife,” he says softly. “And I will.”

I look at the snake.

Then at the knife.

The knife gleams with cold, cruel potential. The snake is calm, indifferent, she isn’t even looking at me.

But fear doesn’t care about logic.

Before I can talk myself out of it, my tongue darts out and barely grazes the metallic surface of the blade, and I gag.

Zane hums in approval, pulling the knife back. With a calmness that terrifies me more than rage ever could, Zane gently lifts the snake from the bed like he’s cradling something delicate. He walks to that strange black case, the one by the door and tenderly lays the snake inside it.

A soft click of a lock opening follows.

I can’t see clearly because his massive back blocks my view, but the sound makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

How the fuck had I slept through this?

Through him bringing all of this into my room?

He turns.

Walks back to me.

And sits right on the edge of my bed, like we’re having a casual conversation instead of me mentally debating whether I could break my window and jump three stories without dying.

And when my eyes scan him, I swear to God, my eyes damn near pop out of my skull because now, there’s a snake wrapped around his neck.

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