Page 192 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
I can’t help but admire the fact that despite everything she’s been through—she hasn’t allowed it to carve away her willingness to trust people. To see their potential for good.
I can’t say the same.
“Well, we vowed with our blood and magic to complete the courtship rituals... I don’t see what he would have to gain from it, if it wasn’t something he truly wanted.”
Gradually, I nod, not wanting to upset her or make her paranoid.
Maybe I’m being paranoid.
“I mean... can you? See what he would have to gain from it, outside of what anyone would normally gain from a lifelong partnership?”
I can barely wrap my head around there even trulybeinga god of death, much less fathom his ulterior motives. But there issomethingtickling the back of my mind. Violette’s father is a god of the sea. Perhaps there is some connection there, but I’m not willing to disrupt her increasingly frequent tears of joy because of mere suspicion, so I just shake my head and kiss her forehead. Resume stroking her hair, massaging her neck.
“Not really, no.”
Violette rests her cheek on my chest, peaceful once more, and some of the mounting tension in my chest eases. Her fingers trace the tattoos peppering my chest and arms. There’s a gap inink revealing the blank flesh on the edge of my left pec, right over my heart, while every other inch of my body is painted.
“Why is there nothing in this spot?”
My gaze follows hers, shrugging. “Seemed sacred. Never came up with anything that was equally so…”
Until now.
She gives a subtle nod. “Understandable.”
“Why don’t you have any tattoos?”
She huffs a small laugh. “There was a time I wanted to be covered in them, but as I grew older, it seemed like more of a statement not to get any. Plus, with my former work and all…”
Her throat dips, and she goes quiet. My heart thumps. I want to hear about this; learn about every part of her and her past. I don’t like the idea of her having worked in a brothel. I fucking hate it. Not because it makes me think any less of her, but because the idea of some fucking scummy asshole preying on her vulnerability, touching her, taking pleasure from her—frommyViolette—makes me want to burn her whole fucking realm to ashes.
“What about it?”
“Maintaining a look of...puritywas encouraged.”
An ember of anger flares to life at the idea of Violette being stifled in any capacity.
“Would you want to get one now? Now that you’re no longer there?”
She sighs. “I don’t know... I think I also just have this intrinsic fear of committing to something and then being let down—even with tattoos. Like I’d find something to hate about it later and regret ever getting it.”
A few moments pass. The only sound is our breath and the trickle of water with each stroke I give her hair.
“Did you enjoy your work?”
Her eyes lift to mine. Soft. Searching.
“Aspects of it.”
I try not to be jealous. Have no right to be.
“Like?”
“Many of my clients didn’t come to me for sex. Sometimes they just wanted someone to take control from them. Someone to hold them. Make them feel like everything was going to be okay. Give them a place to be vulnerable…”
She pauses for a moment before adding, “Or sometimes they just wanted someone to talk to, or sit in silence with, without feeling judged.”
“And you liked... the companionship of that?”
