Page 6 of A Drop of Venom

Just two of my body lengths inside the narrow gorge, I rounded a pile of fallen rock and saw a small human female left crumpled, dirty, and limp where she’d fallen, discarded like a broken doll.

Eyes hot and aglow with the force of my wrath, I crossed the distance between us with violent lashes of my long body, bringing me to her side so quickly that everything around me blurred. Instinctively, I coiled around her, forming a living wall between my treasure and anything that meant her harm.

She was lovely, with long brown hair threaded with golden strands and features so fine whole galleries should be devoted to depictions of her beauty. But my treasure was also painfully thin and wan, and she’d been terribly beaten by both fists and her fall through the branches above. Very little of her soft, pale skin wasn’t scraped raw or discolored by bruises; even her tiny button of a nose was bloodied. Telltale marks on her swollen and discolored jaw showed where thick knuckles had struck her.

I hissed. What human beast would inflict such terrible injuries on such a precious female?

At least her heartbeat remained strong, if slower than a human’s should be, and her breathing did not sound obstructed.

On closer inspection, her dress wasn’t just torn; it had clearly been ripped down the front, along with her underclothes, as if by a violent hand intent on disrobing her.

Rage threatened to sweep away all my reason, but I didn’t smell violation upon her. In fact—my tongue flicked out over her outstretched right arm to confirm it—much of the blood soaking her right sleeve and the front of her dress wasn’t her own. It was a human man’s blood, and it smelled strongly of the foulness and evil that blackened his heart.

Despite her small stature and injuries, this ferocious female had fought him and drawn his blood. My chest swelled with pride in her fierceness.

I committed the smell of this vile man to memory so if I came upon him even many years from now, I’d know his foulness. My fangs ached for him to feel the full weight of my vengeance.

There was something else that smelled of this man, and of powerful magic too: a set of heavy manacles. One side was locked tightly around her slender wrist. The other hung loose, its mission of rendering her a prisoner at the mercy of her captor unfulfilled.

Soon I hoped to hear the full story of what had transpired from my sweetness’s own lips, but the events that led to her fall seemed plain to my eyes.

One final detail spoke volumes: she had wept here on the floor of the ravine. The salty trails left by her tears were not yet dry. It was her tears and pain that smelled so bitter and sour and made my fangs drip with venom and ache to bite.

She will never weep, or fear, or go hungry again.

I made the vow before my conscious mind could form the words, my fist clenched and pressed to my chest over my hearts. My oath rang deep in my soul like bells.

Very carefully, I cradled her battered left arm and the manacles and rested them on my tail. She let out a soft moan and grimaced, but she didn’t wake.

I studied the manacle, tongue flicking. Its foul enchantments tasted and smelled like rotting leaves and decaying flesh. An evil one’s spellwork. Someone else who deserved to feel my fangs in their throat.

I had no key, nor anything that would cut through the metal, but with my great strength I didn’t need them. With a careful wrench and twist, I broke the hinge and freed my sweetness from the manacles’ grasp. As they fell to the dirt, her brow smoothed and she exhaled.

With the most gentle touch I could manage, I brushed damp, blood-splattered hair back from her lovely face. She turned her head, pressing her cool cheek into the center of my palm as if seeking comfort and security even in unconsciousness. I’d give my treasure warmth and safety, and far, far more.

I envisioned her in my cave, clean and healed, her eyes wide and bright with happiness. Basking half asleep on my chest in my garden. Eating meals I cooked for her and picking fruit from my trees and drinking water and wine from my stores. Sleeping safe in my coils.

I saw her atop me or beneath me, well-fed and healthy, filled with my sartras and my seed, flushed with pleasure and crying out my name.

Behind my slit, my engorged sartras throbbed, and my breeding rings swelled with hunger for her. My shelshi.

My hearts went out of rhythm in my chest.

From the moment her scent had found me on the breeze, I’d been drawn here. I’d called her my sweetness without thinking.

She was a strong female. A brave fighter. A treasure beyond all price.

The goddesses hadn’t forgotten me; they’d only waited until my hearts and body were strong enough to love and protect the greatest honor they could bestow upon a lost son of Izaelon.

“Shelshi,” I murmured, stroking her hair. “My sweetness. My light.”

Her eyelashes fluttered. Eyes as blue as the summer sky at midday met mine, and I was lost forever in their depths.

“Shelshi,” I said again softly. “You’re safe.”

She blinked once, very slowly. Her strange, round pupils dilated until only a ring of blue remained, but I saw no fear in her gaze.

“You’re safe,” I repeated more firmly, because above all else I wanted her to know that. “Rest now. I will care for you.”