Page 46 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
My breathing stills as my stomach turns at the sound of a voice that has haunted my nightmares since Thessaly died in front of me.
Fuck me, you’re pretty.
We can have a little fun, can’t we?
My soul seems to leave my body—whether to simply flee to safety or in anticipation of a cruel reality that I’m about to be faced with.
The need toknowsomehow surpasses my survival instincts, and I peek my head around the corner to see Lucen snarling with red-faced fury as he thrusts a navy-colored satchel of coins embossed with gold lettering readingTheDivinariuminto the hands of a male whose face I’ll never forget. Nor the shade of his dull blond hair, gray eyes, or the burn scars covering the length of his right arm and gloved hand.
“You want your fucking money? Here’s your fucking money.”
A blade appears in Lucen’s hand. Swifter than the other male can react, Lucen impales him on it. The satchel of coins disappears, freeing his other hand, which he uses to shove the male towards the slanted cellar doors of the brothel. This revelation, coupled with witnessing a murder, and the sound of flesh and bone meeting stone is too much for my soul to bear.
It was Lucen.
This whole time.
I plaster myself to the wall, forcing too-shallow breaths down my throat.
Oh gods...
How could I have been so blind?
My mind can scarcely grasp what I’ve just witnessed.
I shift just in time for my vomit to spray the stone wall.
The cursing of pedestrians is distant to my ears as I stumble away. After another block, I collapse to my knees at the corner of an alley, unable to draw in a proper breath. The pedestrians around me scatter, eager to avoid the vomiting derelict.
My hands press into the cold, filthy cobblestones. Eventually, my breath returns, steady. And with it, clarity.
Resolution.
Lucen will die by my hands.
Blessedly,the ring on my finger allows me tofoldback to Lucen’s townhouse after I procure a few vital implements—namely,rope. I quickly shower and clothe myself in one of the dresses he favors on me beforewillingmy hair into perfect black, tousled waves. I line my eyes and paint my lips in his favorite colors.
Prepare his favorite meal.
All while internally singing the chorus to my newest mantra:
This motherfucker is going to die.
The moment I hear Lucen enter through the front door, I paste a demure smile onto my face. Lucen’s gaze devours me the moment he lays eyes on me.
“Sweetling, you’re a vision.”
I hate you.
Ilovedyou.
The betrayal burning a hole through my heart is sure to consume me.
He acts as though no violence has occurred between us. No betrayal. No lies. As though his conscience is clear and he didn’t just murder a male in cold blood. As though he didn’t pay that same male to murder my dearest friend weeks before taking my virginity and telling me he loved me.
He closes the distance between us, pulls me against his chest, and presses his lips to mine. It takes everything within me, plus the promise of his impending death, for menotto vomit on the spot. Instead, I give myself over to our kiss. Pouring every ounce of my rage into it—rage that he mistakes for passion.
Every moment of his flesh upon mine is a searing, excruciating brand in the most soul-crushing way. The promise of retribution is the only thing tethering me to my sanity.
