Page 79 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
Yet here I am, in mysoulbound’sbed, heedless of life’s lessons, and dripping from the mere thought of him. Every day I spend trying to forget him makes his absence all the more excruciating. It fortifies my determination todominatehim. I will have Levibeggingfor me—bound, gagged, and utterly at my mercy.
Sitting up, I choose to ignore the dozens of tiny effigies watching me from his shelves and peel back the sheets to see the laurels of my efforts.
There’s a large wet spot on the sheets between my legs, and his duvet is soaked.
Hm.
A kinder, more considerate mate might at least clean his duvet for him.
Kind and considerate I am not, and the whole purpose of my coming here was to scent-mark his home so that he may know that our courtship has begun, and soon, after he has had some time to come to terms with the matter, I will return for him so we may prove our worthiness of one another in earnest.
So, technically, thisisme being kind and considerate. If I were not, I would have stolen him away already.
In syrith culture, when a matebond is triggered, the courtship begins that very day. It is a sacred event. All responsibilities are delayed or momentarily divided among theshiver—the term for a tribe or group of syriths—all for the sake of a fruitful and blessed courtship, and thus, thesoulboundunion.
Some gnawing sense of guilt and shame that I belong to no shiver, have zero experience of syrith culture, and ultimately have no business performing any syrith rites or mating rituals, pervades me.
I’ve never even met my grandparents.
Even though my mother was from the Selcarimi Mountains.
Was she banished from her shiver for leaving?
Or did she just disappear after meeting my father to chase him?
Or even more likely, to protect them from him and his exploits?
Perhaps all of the above.
If it weren’t for my flueratheurgy skills, I wouldn’t even be able to speak or read their language.
I am what they would call aparaseivero.
While there is no direct translation found in any singular word, the most exact definition would be:they who have no loyalties.
Loyalty is everything in a shiver; where every single person is just as imperative to the survival and well-being of the shiver as the next.
To have no shiver is to have no loyalty to anyone or anything but oneself, and that, according to my exceedingly rudimentary knowledge gathered solely by textbooks, is the greatest shame of all.
Perhaps it is why my mother all but blatantly refused to speak of it.
For my own self-preservation and sanity, I shove the thoughts away. Tuck them into a little mental, hermetically sealed, metal chest with lock and key and toss it into the depths of the turbulent sea that is my mind.
I’ll still be hanging up a ‘Closed for Courtship’sign in my storefront window as soon as I return to Caerwynath.
Not that anyone will notice.
I spend the next several minutes rubbing his clean clothing over my body, some of which I even drag between my legs as wetness perpetually blooms.
Willingmy undergarments into hand—the pair I’ve spent the day wearing—I place them on his pillow.
In search of pen and paper, I rifle through his nightstand to discover a variety of clutter: a small, square device with a glowing screen, tissue, lubrication, and a long tube with a squishy, fake vagina on the end of it.
Oh, my darling. Are you that desperate?
Bringing it to my nose, I’m disappointed to find it only smells faintly of his delicious seed, but more predominantly of soap.
Possessiveness tightens in my chest, and I realize I don’t want anyone bringing him pleasure other than me. Not even his own hand.
