Page 34 of Craving His Venom

He scoops me into his arms, ignoring the scattered scrolls and the disheveled table. My limbs feel boneless, as though I can’t stand. He carries me with surprising tenderness, tail curling protectively around my calf. Leaving the library behind,he navigates dim corridors until we reach a small, private chamber I’ve never seen—a space lined with a single bed draped in simple linens, faintly scented by crushed herbs.

He sets me down gently, pressing a cautious kiss to my forehead. My robe is half off, but I can’t summon the energy to care. Exhaustion seeps in, combined with the euphoria still buzzing under my skin. He settles beside me, tail coiling in a way that encloses me against him, forming a living barricade.

Silence envelops us, broken only by our slowing breaths. My eyes flutter shut, head sinking onto his chest, ear pressed to the steady thud of his heart. The swirl of my nightmare lingers in distant memory, a specter banished by the reality of this moment. I feel oddly safe, a notion that stirs an uneasy warmth in my chest. I never believed I’d trust a naga warlord, yet here I am, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his breath.

He runs a hand over my hair, voice low. “Mira.” The word holds a note of wonder, as if he’s never spoken it quite like this before.

I breathe out, letting my exhaustion speak for me. “You chased the nightmares away,” I say softly, eyes drifting shut.

He doesn’t answer, but his hold tightens, tail coiling a fraction closer. After a moment, his lips graze the top of my head, an unspoken vow lingering in the hush. My heart twists, but the pull of sleep claims me before I can dwell on the significance of what just transpired.

I slip under, carried by the hush and the warmth of his coils, free of the nightmares that once plagued my nights. His presence is a fortress around me, and for the first time in a long while, I let go of fear, surrendering to the stillness of rest. And as I drift away, I realize that trusting him in this vulnerable act might be the bravest or most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. Yet for tonight, the risk feels worth it, cradled by his scaled arms in a truce born of passion and fleeting peace.

10

VAHZIRYN

Morning light pierces the thin curtains of my private chamber, rousing me from restless half-sleep. I lie on a broad bed with linen sheets that feel more constricting than soft. My tail curls in uneasy loops across the mattress, and my mind buzzes with the memory of what happened mere hours ago.

Mira sleeps beside me, her body wrapped in my coils. I can’t recall pulling her so close, but my tail cradles her like she’s made of spun glass. Warmth radiates from her form, stirring a fierce, conflicting surge of protectiveness and alarm. I watch her face as she breathes, each exhale a soft puff against my arm. The lamplight from last night is gone, replaced by the soft glow of dawn. Dust motes drift in the air, turning golden near the window.

My pulse quickens. I cannot deny the gravity of what we did. The vivid details still blaze in my mind: her parted lips, the catch of her breath, the way she clung to me as though I were her only sanctuary. A swirl of desire curls low in my gut at the recollection, but a chilling wave of realization follows. I have broken the unspoken laws that govern naga society. Humans can be bedslaves, maybe even tolerated as concubines for lesserlords, but the line I crossed is far deeper, an intimate claim that I never intended.

A coil of panic squeezes my chest. In naga law, there are rites and rituals for taking a mate, especially if that mate is not purely naga. I have performed none, have sought no permission from the council. If the rumors of my brazen actions reach them, it could lead to condemnation—exile is the least of the punishments they can impose. And yet, as I try to recall the exact moment I decided to toss such caution away, I find no single point in time. Only the recollection of her trembling lips and the raw need in my chest.

I tense, tail shifting, and Mira stirs. A quiet murmur escapes her as she burrows closer against my side. The gentle press of her body sends a flare of guilt laced with yearning. With cautious care, I unwind my tail and slip away, doing my best not to rouse her further. She sighs, adjusting in the bed but remaining asleep.

Barefoot, I pad to the door, robe cinched around my waist. My black scales reflect faint morning light, the edges tinted greenish gold. I can almost feel a brand across my skin from last night—like I’m marked by that moment. My heart thuds in my ears, and a clammy sweat dots my brow. I press my palm to my chest, trying to steady my breath. This hush is different from the tension that once dominated my life. It is heavier, tinged with the knowledge that I’ve crossed a threshold no naga lord is supposed to cross without public sanction.

I slip into the corridor, shutting the door behind me. It’s early enough that most staff remain in their rooms, leaving the halls empty. My tail moves in restless arcs behind me as I wind through the stone corridors, mind spinning. A single word echoes like a dire chant in my thoughts: consequences. I refused to follow the formal paths, and now I must reckon with the fallout if word spreads. And it will, eventually.

My first stop is the library, but I don’t seek the scrolls. Instead, hidden within a locked chest in the back is a small ledger containing the names of specialized apothecaries. One in particular stands out—a venom-brewer famed for concocting suppressants that can dampen a naga’s physical drives and keep emotional impulses in check. A desire-dulling brew, rumored to quell everything from unseemly lust to dangerously possessive urges. I recall scornfully dismissing such potions in the past. Now, panic pushes me to consider them a lifeline.

I retrieve the ledger, scanning the cramped script. My tail lashes the floor, agitated. If I can dull this maddening hunger for Mira, perhaps I can regain clarity. Force myself to keep her at arm’s length until I find a safer arrangement. Or until I decide it’s best to send her away—somewhere hidden, where neither the council nor I can reach her.

The notion of letting her go stings like a fresh slash. I despise how a mere human has become so entwined with my every thought. My father’s lessons ring hollow. He believed in calculated displays of dominance, never letting emotions rule. Yet I found myself undone by the press of her lips, the warmth of her body, the soft whimper she made when I touched her.

I slam the ledger shut, cursing under my breath. My life is no longer tidy. She is part of me now, whether I accept it or not.

Breathing hard, I tuck the ledger under my arm and head for the corridor that leads to my personal study. That room is smaller, more private, where I can send for a messenger discreetly. But on the way, I nearly collide with Sahrine, who steps out from a side hallway. Her pale eyes fix on me, despite her blindness, as though she sees the turmoil emanating from my body.

“My lord,” she says softly. “You are awake early.”

I grit my teeth. “I need to send for an apothecary. Summon a messenger.”

Her brow furrows. “An apothecary? Are you ill?”

I glance away, unsettled by her uncanny ability to sense tension in my posture. “Not exactly.” Then, impatience wars with caution. “This is no concern of yours, Sahrine.”

She shifts her cane, the tap echoing on the stone floor. “You’ve never asked for a venom-brewer’s contact before, my lord. Something has changed.” She tilts her head. “Is it because of her?”

A flicker of warning surges. “Do not pry.”

“I only ask because I sense your conflict,” she says gently. “You’ve become different since Mira arrived.”

Anger and guilt churn, but I keep my voice steady. “I must quell certain impulses for both our sakes. Sending for a suppressor is the wisest course.”

She exhales slowly, lips pressed thin. “Suppressing your desire will not erase the bond you’ve begun. Sometimes attempts to smother it only make the wound fester.”