Page 130 of Craving Venom
So I settle on the edge of her bed, watching her. Enjoying the way she breathes easy, blissfully unaware of what’s waiting for her the moment she opens those pretty fucking eyes.
I look around, admiring the arrangement I’ve made.
My father used to fill my mother’s room with flowers when he betrayed her, using beauty to mask his sins. He thought he could drown her pain in petals and perfume.
He was a fool.
He thought flowers could make a woman stay, but fear, fear makes herneverleave. Because the mind never forgets what it learned to survive.
And survival breeds loyalty far deeper than love ever could.
I don’t want her to stay because of a fantasy. I want her to stay because she can’t escape me. Because no matter where she hides, I’ll find her. And if she leaves, I’ll drag her back myself.
My father tried to smother guilt with beauty.
I want to replace her remorse with power.
Instead of distracting her from betrayal, I will force her to confront it.
I press a kiss to her forehead and she shifts beneath me. It’s just the smallest flutter of her lashes, the faintest twitch of her fingers against the sheets.
Then she settles again, her breathing is still even, but… not quite.
A tremble rolls through her just barely, a subtle shake in her body that tells me she’s awake. Or at least, some part of her is. Maybe her subconscious is tricking her, telling her that if she just stays still, if she just keeps pretending, I won’t wake her up.
I brush my lips to the shell of her delicate ear. “Wake up, good girl.”
Her eyes snap open and she just stares at me. She’s probably trying to convince herself I’m not really here.
Then within a heartbeat, she’s scrambling back so hard that her body collides hard with the headboard. She yanks the covers up to her chest in defense.
“What—” Her breath catches. “What are you doing here?”
I drag my gaze over her, savoring every detail, the flush on her skin, the uneven rise and fall of her chest, the haze of sleep still clinging to her eyes, now wide with fear. A fear I put there. A fear that belongs to me.
Her fingers clutch the sheets as if the fabric could shield her from the inevitable. But it won’t. Nothing will.
“I told you,” I remind her. “Close your door tight.”
And she had.
She’d locked it tight, just like I’d warned her.
But there’s no lock I can’t break into.
And she knows that now.
I watch her fight for composure, watch her try to mask the fear, but the beast in me loves it.
“You look like you’re trying so hard not to be scared.”
She lifts her chin, glaring. “I’m not.”
I grin as my fingers skim the fabric of the sheets, just barely grazing her, but enough to make her flinch.
“Liar.”
Her breathing hitches, but she doesn’t move away.
