Page 1 of Craving Venom
CHAPTER ONE
THE BEAUTY
The soft glow from my laptop screen lights up my dorm room, casting weird shadows on the posters of classic crime movies covering my walls. The documentary I’ve got playing has that spooky narration that always seems to pull me right in.
I’m curled up in my chair with one knee tucked under me, and a bowl of popcorn balanced dangerously on my lap. My eyes stay glued to the screen as a chilling crime scene unfolds. The world outside my window feels miles away—just faint buzzing, distant chatter, and occasional laughter filtering in from campus life.
“Faith, you’re at it again, aren’t you?”
Tria’s voice breaks through my trance. I jump slightly, popcorn almost spilling everywhere as I turn to see her leaning against the doorframe. She’s wearing her usual smirk, arms crossed, dark waves bouncing as she tilts her head at me.
With a sheepish grin, I pause the video. “Guilty as charged.”
Tria steps into the room, shaking her head as she walks over with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie. “Honestly,if you keep diving into these crime stories, you’ll be a detective by the time we graduate.”
I snort, pushing my glasses up my nose before shoving another handful of popcorn into my mouth. “I can’t help it. There’s something fascinating about the human psyche, y’know? The reasons behind why people do the fucked-up shit they do.”
She rolls her eyes, flopping dramatically onto my bed. “Yeah, yeah, you and your obsession with the dark side of the mind. Just make sure you join us mere mortals in the real world every now and then, alright? We’ve got a psych class to ace.”
I spin my chair to face her, throwing up a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll leave my detective hat at home and be the perfect student tomorrow.”
Tria grins, pulling one of my pillows onto her lap and hugging it. “Good. Because rumor has it, there’s a new student joining our class tomorrow. And you know what that means—fresh perspectives to dissect!”
That gets my attention. I lean forward slightly, interest sparking in my eyes. “Oh, true! It’ll be fun to see how someone new approaches the subject.”
She stretches her legs out, her sock-clad feet dangling off the edge of my bed. Her gaze drifts toward my desk, where my laptop screen is frozen on the paused documentary. “Speaking of perspectives… you ever wonder if these documentaries screw with our view of reality? Like, they focus so much on the big, flashy moments, the stabbings, the courtroom drama, but what about the small stuff? The mundane moments leading up to it all?”
Her words hit harder than I expect. I glance at the screen, then back at her, fiddling with the edge of my popcorn bowl. “You’re right. It’s so easy to forget that behind every crime, there’s a story of ordinary moments, choices that culminate in something extraordinary or tragic.”
Tria points a finger at me. “See? That’s why we need you in class, Miss ‘I analyze human motives for fun.’ You bring the human element into all the academic mumbo-jumbo.”
I laugh softly, relaxing back into my chair as the conversation shifts. We talk about random stuff—her chaotic shifts at the campus bar, the weird customers she’s had to deal with, and how some professor kept calling her ‘Tina’ instead of Tria all semester.
At one point, she catches me glancing at the paused documentary again. “You seriously can’t resist that stuff, huh?”
I shrug, popping another piece of popcorn into my mouth. “Guess not.”
Tria chuckles, pushing herself off the bed and stretching her arms over her head with a loud yawn. “Well, Detective Faith, I’m heading back to my room. Don’t stay up too late solving already solved murders, alright? And remember we have class. Tomorrow. No excuses.”
I give her another lazy salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
She laughs, the sound lingering in the air even after she disappears down the hallway. The door clicks shut behind her, and just like that, the room feels still again. Alone again, I unpause the documentary.
It cuts to a shot of heavy wooden courtroom doors slowly swinging open. The camera focuses on them for a moment, building suspense, before Zane Valehart walks in.
The camera pans in on him as he steps through the doorway with his hands cuffed in front of him, chains clinking lightly with every step. His head tilts just a little like he knows exactly where every camera is. Those dark curls are slightly messy, but in an intentional way. His eyes are sharp and are framed by lashes that are way too perfect for someone who probably doesn’t deserve them. But it’s the irises that get you. They’re almost an unnaturalshade of pale gray, with flecks of silver catching the light. It’s like staring into two shards of ice—cold, yet somehow alive
They don’t just look at you; they pin you in place. It’s as if those eyes know all your secrets before you even speak. They are creepy as hell. But also… kind of sexy in a what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-me kind of way.
And when he squints slightly, tilting his head in that casual, smug way of his, a long green vein—so dark it’s almost black—pops faintly under his skin. It snakes from the edge of his cheekbone up to the end of his eyebrow on the left side. The faint pulse of it adds an edge to his already sharp features, making him look downright dangerous.
It’s the kind of detail you can’t unsee once you notice it. Like, yeah, he’s already the most good-looking criminal alive, but that vein? It’s a goddamn exclamation point on his danger, reminding you that beauty and destruction can exist in the same space.
But it’s what he does next that really sticks.
As he walks down the aisle, past rows of reporters and onlookers, he lifts his cuffed hand and scratches his eyebrow with his middle finger.
It’s subtle. Almost smooth enough to pass as an innocent gesture. But come on, we all know a fuck-you when we see one.
