Page 37 of Craving His Venom

She flinches, sorrow twisting her features. “All right,” she whispers, voice unsteady. “If that’s your decision, then tell me where to go.”

I can’t bear the look in her eyes, yet I force myself to hold it. “I haven’t decided,” I admit, my voice dropping to a near growl. “But I have to consider it.”

She nods once, tears glistening but not falling. “Then let me know,” she says, turning away. “I won’t cling where I’m not wanted.”

A furious denial surges in my chest, but the potion dampens my reflex to reach for her. Instead, I stand motionless, tail coiled around my leg, mouth pressed thin. She strides back inside, posture rigid, leaving me in the gathering dusk with nothing but the ache of regret. The tension rips through my chest, but the concoction in my system stifles it into a cold, throbbing hole.

Time crawls after her departure, my mind swirling in a haze of guilt and something akin to heartbreak. Night deepens, and the courtyard grows dim. Eventually, I reenter the manor, steps echoing on stone. I find myself gravitating toward my personal chambers, tail dragging across the floor with lethargy. The staff vanish from sight, sensing my dark mood.

When I reach my chamber, I see a figure seated on a cushioned chair near the brazier: Sahrine. She must have let herself in, presumably to check on me. Her sightless eyes shift in my direction the moment I enter.

She speaks softly. “I gather you spoke to her.”

I grunt, crossing to the brazier, letting its warmth seep into my scales. “It’s done. She knows the risk.”

Sahrine’s voice gains an edge of sadness. “And how did she take it?”

I exhale shakily. “She’s hurt. I told her I might send her away.”

Sahrine’s cane taps once on the floor. “Might,” she echoes. “That means you’re still unsure?”

I glare at her, tail flicking with subdued frustration. “This is no trifling matter. I can’t simply keep a human in my bed. The council?—”

“Yes, the council,” Sahrine says, cutting me off. “You’ve always feared their wrath, and rightly so. But look at you. You’reusing potions that dull your senses. You argue with your own reflection. You push away the only person who makes you more than just a weapon.”

I clench my fists, lips pulled tight. The numbness from the potion makes me incapable of fully lashing out, but the undercurrent of anger simmers. “She doesn’t deserve the retribution that could fall upon her if the council learns of this. Let me handle it in my own way.”

Her shoulders slump. “Handle it by exiling her? Or doping yourself until you’re a husk?” The cane taps again, frustration creeping into her voice. “That’s a bleak solution.”

I turn from the brazier, tail sliding across the rug in a slow arc. “Better bleak than seeing her punished for my actions.” My tone emerges clipped, mechanical, thanks to the potion’s effect.

Sahrine sighs, rising from the chair. “My lord, even exiling her might not keep the council from prying. They’ll sense your shift in alliances. They might chase her down to unearth a scandal, or use her as leverage. Is that truly safer?”

My throat tightens. I can’t muster a retort. The walls of my carefully constructed justifications feel paper-thin. The hush that falls is profound, pregnant with the knowledge that none of my plans ensure her safety or mine.

Sahrine sets her free hand on my forearm, a rare gesture of genuine empathy. “Consider speaking with her honestly. If you plan to keep her safe, at least do it with clarity, not secrecy. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

I stand rigid, warring impulses clashing behind my eyes. The numbness robs me of the impetus to shout or break something, leaving me paralyzed. “Go,” I whisper at last. “I need to be alone.”

With a quiet nod, she departs, cane tapping out the door. The latch clicks behind her, leaving me in my dimly lit chamber. My tail drags across the rug as I cross to the bed, the very spacewhere I once believed I could command my destiny. Now it feels like a trap. My head throbs, and I sink onto the edge of the mattress, burying my face in my hands.

Images swirl: Mira’s tear-bright eyes, the night we spent in a frantic, beautiful tangle. The numbness tries to seal those memories behind a fog, but they burn through anyway. Crick’s warning. Sahrine’s caution. Mira’s heartbreak. My coiled terror that I’ll see her snatched away by the council’s decree or forced to watch me stand trial for violating tradition.

I draw a ragged breath, feeling as though I’m drowning in a tide of conflicting demands. The estate’s silence feels taunting now, a hollow echo of the quiet I once craved. But this quiet harbors too many unspoken possibilities: if I let her stay, I risk destruction. If I send her away, I risk a deeper kind of ruin within myself.

Dusk deepens to full night, shadows stretching across the stone floors. My body remains heavy with the suppressor’s effect, yet my mind churns, unrelenting. I replay the moment she asked if it was a mistake. The pain in her voice reopens a wound I’ve tried to keep shut.

Some time later, I rise and approach the window. A faint breeze stirs, carrying the scent of damp foliage and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. My reflection in the glass reveals the gold in my eyes dulled, like a flame behind frosted glass. Tension lines my face, jaw tight.

I lean my forehead against the cool window, letting the outside chill my thoughts. If the council’s tyranny is inevitable, do I have it in me to stand and fight for her, for what we shared? Or will I sabotage this fragile bond to preserve the status quo? The question tears me apart inside.

My tail lashes once, hitting a low table and rattling a vase. I hiss in frustration, forcing myself to breathe. The numbness is wearing off, replaced by an undercurrent of panic. Another doseof the suppressor sits in the library, but I can’t face that again tonight. I fear I’ll lose the last shred of clarity I possess.

A gentle knock slices through my spiraling thoughts. I stiffen, expecting Sahrine or perhaps Crick. Instead, a timid voice speaks from the other side: “My lord?”

It’s Mira’s voice. My heart seizes, warring with the urge to remain silent. But my traitorous mouth forms words. “Enter.”

She steps inside, hugging her arms around her torso. She’s dressed in a plain linen shift, hair pinned back haphazardly, as though she left her room in haste. Moonlight filters through the window, illuminating her tense posture.

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