Page 269 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
My father props one foot up on Lucen’s back.
One might expect me to feel a twisted sense of satisfaction that this is where Lucen’s life has led him.
I do not.
Instead, I am struck further with horror as I watch Lucen’s fingers press uselessly into the marble floor; as I take in the sight of the map of scars lining his back.
Not from a blade, but slender and almost hair-thin.
As though from a reed cane.
And when my gaze returns to my father’s, his expression bears the smugness and certainty of a man justified.
I am... unmoored.
Dizziness returns.
Lazarus, Azrael, and Levi settle on the floor beside and in front of me, kneeling on dark blue cushions. Lazarus dares a brief glance at me through the slits of his dark mask.
Servants arrive a moment later, boasting trays of drinks and savory, bite-sized morsels.
I grab the first thing put in front of me—some kind of fizzy herbal tonic that I immediately recognize is laced with selarium and bellthorne—both of which are known to sedate the parts of the brain responsible for fight-or-flight.
At this particular moment, I am unable to muster the energy to care whether or not this is a subtle attempt to weaken me or soothe me, because if I don’t take something my psyche just might fracture.
I down the tonic in one blessed, crisp gulp as my father speaks, gaze fixed on the revelry before us, the hedonism.
“You’ll have to forgive my guests for their... enthusiasm.”
I don’t even bother to stifle my unladylike snort of sardonic laughter.
At least there’s something my father fails to shock me with: the sight of his guests and their concubines copulating for all to see.
I sigh with misplaced satisfaction.
“Fear not. My innocence was robbed of me too long ago.”
His gaze hits me like a fucking harpoon.
When I don’t meet it, he’s the first to break the heightening tension.
“My joy that you have finally come is... immeasurable.”
Thirty-eight years worth of heartbreak surges like a tidal wave.
My chin trembles as my lungs struggle to grasp a full breath.
I cannot speak lest my emotion burst free.
Azrael bows forward to place his head in my lap, shortly followed by Levi.
And even Lazarus plants his palms on the floor in front of me and presents his back to me so that I may have a point of connection to him, in solidarity, even if under the guise of a footstool.
Stroking both Azrael and Levi’s heads, I slip my heels off and, bending at the knees, press the soles of my feet against Lazarus’ back as tears threaten me, burning with fiery demand.
Still, I am unable to manage words.
My father continues.
