Venom: A Dark Retelling

by Dee Garcia

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he starts, pulling me toward the secluded little area.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “Sit, and I’ll tell you.”

  I do as he asks, dropping into the snug seat across from him as he does the same.

  He slides in so comfortably, so confidently, reclining back, arms falling to the rests, his legs spread.

  So unlike Peter.

  I know I gasp at the fleeting thought. Whether audible or not, I don’t know, but Callan seems indifferent, pointing to the board.

  “Whoever calls ‘checkmate’ first gets their way.”

  And just like that, I push Peter out of my mind, just like he did to me. This man right here has my attention, all of it. What exactly does he mean by “get my way?”

  “What’s the catch?” I toss back at him, crossing one leg over the other.

  He does that grin, that forced scoff grin, flicking his sights away and back in a snap. “If I call it, you’ll feed.”

  I don’t even have the chance to utter the first half of “what?” Hook already has a hand up, silencing me. “Let me finish. Nothing but a few drops. I just want you to taste it.”

  I nearly die, right there.

  The infamous Captain Hook wants me to savor his blood.

  Oh my God.

  My heart can’t so much as race. It shoots upward and lodges right in my throat, constricting my airway.

  And those clear-cut blues boring into me, they seal the deal.

  I swallow “How would I do that?”

  Okay, I lied. This is where he kills me.

  Pointing to his neck, he lifts that flawlessly defined jaw. “Right from the tap.”

  Again, I can’t react and he doesn’t miss a beat, somehow knowing what my next move is before I do.

  “Shhh. Just listen…” he coaxes. “If you call it, I’ll end my feat to convince you against your choice.”

  My choice.

  Right.

  That’s all I heard. The cloud I was riding on suddenly drops me on my ass, shattering whatever imaginary forcefield had kept me so engrossed in the moment. A moment where it was just him and I, where I wasn’t thinking of what’s become of my life or contemplating what it’ll feel like to die a second time.

  So stupid. So utterly stupid and irresponsible. It’s then I decide I won’t let myself be alone with him like this again. Not after tonight. This right here, it needs to stop.

  It’s not fair to him.

  “You’re serious?” I swallow again, mentally begging that lump of emotion to disappear.

  Callan crosses his fingers and nods. “You have my word.”

  Do I though? He’s famous for trickery. “So let me get this straight—you win and I...have a taste? Will that be enough to complete the transition?”

  “Not at all. There was more in your breakfast.” That wicked smirk of his? Picture it now.

  See? Trickery.

  “Are you just saying that?”

  “Perhaps,” he shrugs, “Guess you’ll just have to give me the benefit of the doubt, huh?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You’ll always have a choice, Tinksley. I may not agree with them, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled to make them.”

  What I want to ask is why he won’t agree, why he wants to keep me alive so desperately. But I don’t. My gut says to trust him, and so, I sigh, “Fine. I’ll play, but if you don’t keep your word—”

  “I will,” he asserts, leaning forward and holding a hand out.

  So I lean forward and do the same, slipping my palm in his, and with a simple shake, the game begins.

  A series of minutes later, both Hook and I have moved one of our knights, and a pawn. I’ve just finished sliding another up one space on the right when he, too, takes a pawn and moves it up two spaces.

  My face splits into a grin. I thought he was supposed to be skilled?

  Fingers curling around the top of my knight, I hop the necessary spaces to retrieve one of Hook’s pawns.

  “Ha!” I giggle, setting the acquired piece onto the table beside me.

  Callan grins subtly and nods. “Just remember, it’s not over yet.”

  He moves his bishop. I move my second knight. My smile still sits firmly in place, until I notice the positioning of our pieces and realize what he’s about to do.

  Hook takes that same bishop he just moved, and hops it diagonally all the way across the board, taking out my rook. “Told you it wasn’t over yet.”

  “That’s fine,” I reach for my knight, “it will be soon, though. Hope you’re not a sore loser.”

  Said knight sweeps in and takes out another one of Hook’s pawns.

  Yes.

  I set it down beside the other and regard Callan who’s focused on the board, his shoulders bobbing up and down through a silent chuckle.

  “Keep laughing, Captain. As I said, I hope you’re not a sore loser.”

  “I’m not.” He moves his second knight. “But I have a feeling you are. You’re more competitive than I imagined.”

  My knight takes yet another one of his pawns, driving my simmering ego up another notch. “I get it from my father. He’s very competitive.”

  “That, I do know.” The amused sound of his voice momentarily distracts me from what’s taking place between.

  I catch it right as he’s completing his turn. His queen...he moves her and reclaims my knight.

  “Asshole,” I mutter, debating my next move.

  I finally settle on moving a rook, a shift I feel good about, until Hook reaches for his knight and eliminates another one of my pawns.

  What the fuck?

  On a growl, I grab one of my pawns and move it up a single space.

  Callan’s still laughing silently, moving his bishop four spaces. I know exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to take my last rook. My blood doesn’t boil, no, it goes surging in its white-hot state.

  Reaching for said rook, I drop it one space, the other pieces on the board rattling a bit with the movement.

  And he’s still fucking chuckling, wasting absolutely no time after my move to take his second bishop and move the five necessary spaces left to claim the rook I just moved.

  How did I not see that?

  I growl in frustration, loudly, profoundly, which finally prompts Hook to laugh freely as he aligns all the pieces he’s taken from me.

  That damn chuckle is like nails on a chalkboard, grating on my nerves almost immediately as I batter a pawn forward. “What’s so funny?”

  He eliminates yet another one of my pawns. “Nothing, you’re just acting like a brat right now.”

  No, he didn’t.

  No. He fucking didn’t.

  We’re back to this again?

  “How the hell am I acting like a brat?”

  “Do you not realize you’re slamming the pawns onto the board all because I’m in the lead? A little harder and you’ll shatter them.”

  “I’m not slamming them.” Another one down.

  “You just did it again, brat,” he points out.

  That’s it. I’m done. So done with him always looking at me like I’m that little girl he remembers meeting all those years ago. I’m not a goddamn child—I’m a woman.

  Out of my seat in what feels like a single step, I loom between his spread legs. My knees graze the outer edge of his seat, that’s how close I bring myself, balling my fists at my side.

  “Don’t. Call me that,” I grit.

  “Would you prefer kid? Perhaps baby?”

  My stomach whirls at the last one but I shake it from my mind. “I said stop.”

  “Or what, kiddo? Are you going to throw a temper tantrum on me?”

  Slamming both hands onto his arm rests, I bring my face inches from his. “Stop fucking calling me that!” I sneer, vision tunneling on him and him only.

  Callan’s eyes burst in sudden shock, taking me aback. That abrupt flare of my rationality dissipates as quickly
as it’d sprung up. Why is he looking at me like that? He’s speechless, unmoving, regarding me in...wonder? I don’t understand what’s warranted such a reaction until he does a final sweep of me from head to toe, then morphs into a beast I’ve never seen up close right before my very eyes.

  It’s a clear spurred reaction. To me? Do I look like that right now, too?

  The skin beneath his eyes is shadowed with black veins, the whites of his eyes drowning in a crimson sea. He isn’t baring his fangs, but I suppose if he felt truly threatened, he would.

  I’m not scared, though.

  I’m as stunned as he is, probably more considering this is my first encounter with him in his true immortal form.

  Seeing him like this does something to me. Something immediate, I can’t explain it. My vision seems to close in on him further and the first thing that comes to mind is that common room. The parlor, too.

  I want him to do that to me. A whisper in my mind, yet the truth no less. Dangerous in every sense of the word.

  But Hook lives for danger.

  Which is why the next thing I know, he’s grabbing me, fingers digging roughly into my backside as he yanks me into his lap. My legs fall on either side of him, hands falling to his chest to support myself. Those vampiric features fade as we stare each other down.

  Breathless.

  Static.

  And I thought seeing him in that state was enticing.

  But seeing him beneath me, this trunk of a man, feeling his hard body against my soft planes...

  Holy shit is this really happening?

  “What the hell are you doing?" I'm barely breathing in his hold, immobilized as his palms sail gently up my figure.

  “I'm calling checkmate, love,” he grins, “that's what.”

  “We’re not done playing,” I remind him.

  “Yes, we are. You can’t play nice and since it was my idea to play, I get to call.” Leaning in closer, his nose starts up my neck.

  I barely manage, “That’s not fair,” as he inhales me along the way.

  “Life isn’t fair, my little pixie.”

  Tell me about it.

  “So what now?” I breathe, head tilting of its own accord, my body willingly molding to his touch as if we were, in fact, within the confines of that common room.

  I can almost hear those sounds going off around us, amplifying the sense of arousal claiming me with every passing moment.

  “You know what. We agreed,” he husks.

  “But you didn’t actually win. You distracted me with your stupid, fucking taunting and—”

  “That smart mouth.” He chuckles, trapping my jaw in his grip. The way our stares burn against one another—it’s never been like that before. “Why do you insist on playing this little game, like you don’t want me to devour you? Like you don’t want me to erase what remains of that little boy?”

  I try to get a word in, but he’s hushing me in an instant, dragging a finger to my lips. “You’re mine already, you know, have my blood pumping through your veins. Let me give you what we both want.”

  “I can’t resist you anymore,” I blurt, and it’s not of my own accord. It just comes barreling out in nothing more than a whisper.

  “So stop resisting me. It’s pointless,” he hisses. “C’mon, Tinksley, just a little taste.” Bringing that same digit to his mouth, I watch him prick it with a quick fang. The tiniest crimson droplet appears, enrapturing what remains of my coherent attention. I swear I can just barely smell it, taste it on my tongue already.

  “One taste. Just one before you leave me,” he rasps.

  I don’t know how to answer that, much less what to say. I can’t even nod, yet my lips seem to part on their own in some sick anticipation to please him.

  A moment later there’s a thin smear of blood painted across my lower lip. “Lick,” he commands.

  I hesitate, but it’s next to nothing. My tongue sweeps out, lapping up his essence in one fluid movement. The faintest tang blasts over my taste buds like a livewire, every inch of me awakening, desperate for—

  More, a hushed voice rings out in my mind, just as Callan brings his finger to my lips again. “Now suck.”

  Another command, and this time around, I don’t hesitate.

  Sealing my lips around the digit, I do exactly as he’s asked, hollowing my cheeks as I beckon his lifesource outward. The taste is still quite faint, but...It tastes so good.

  Good enough that a soft moan leaves me as I shut my eyes, savoring this moment, savoring him, just as he wanted.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s that nagging reminder that I shouldn’t be doing this. If I lose control, I’ll complete the transition, but I can’t fucking stop.

  Can’t. Stop.

  I’m still sucking, seeking out more of that sharp, metallic tang, when the rest of his fingers enclose around my jaw, pulling me closer.

  His scent invades me, spurring me on as his lips graze my cheek, that deft, free hand of his threading into my hair, locking into a fist at the roots. “I usually take things without permission, but God,” he exhales harshly, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

  Holy…

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  My eyes snap back open, lips ceasing their hold. I ease back, daintily wiping the damp corners of my mouth. “Why?”

  I’m pulled closer still, impossibly so. “Because you can’t die without one last kiss.”

  ♫ In For The Kill (Remix)- Skrillex ♫

  My cock’s about to explode.

  Right there between her legs.

  Each second that ticks by with her in my lap kicks the fucker up another notch.

  “You can kiss me when I’m dead,” she breathes, grinding her hips against me.

  I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it, but I sure as fuck do, hissing through my teeth. My dick strains beneath my slacks, begging to be freed from it’s now too tight confines. I’ve been willing the bastard to remain calm, at ease.

  But fuck calm.

  What is calm?

  How can he or I be any such thing when her scent continues filling my nostrils? When her mewls and moans appeal to the beast within? She’s assaulting all of my senses, a delicious little morsel I want to devour.

  And I know she wants me to as well.

  “If I’m kissing you, it’s right here, right now.” I trap her ass in a hellish grip. I shouldn’t be fucking groping her like this, I know this, but I can’t fucking hold back anymore, not after what just happened. She sucked my goddamn finger, for fuck’s sake. “I want you to remember it when you cross to the other side, all of it.”

  “Is that even possible? Will I remember anything?”

  “I don’t know, and right now, I don’t particularly care. What I care about is this.” Lips to the corner of her mouth, I breathe her in, eliciting another roll of her hips. “Stop averting and answer me. Will you let me be your last kiss?”

  Still no answer.

  Although, if the rapid tempo of her breathing says anything at all, it’s that she wants to say yes. What’s stopping her is that rationale of hers. A few days ago I would have dared to say it was iron-clad. Now? Not so much. The abrupt bounce of her emotions, how her body responds to me; it speaks the truth.

  She’s torn, straying further and further away from keeping her decision intact, and the more time that passes in which she doesn’t feed, the harder it’ll be, period.

  I’d be lying if said that doesn’t appease me, that I don’t want her to lose control.

  I want her to lose it entirely, and losing it for me?

  The fucking cheery on top.

  “Why does it feel like you’ve been waiting years for this moment?” she asks, pinning me to the seat with those inquisitive pools.

  I swallow, feeling far more vulnerable than I care for. “Because I have. Now answer me.”

  Tinksley holds my stare, searching my face—for what, I don’t know—but I assume she finds it, because not a ful
l minute later, I literally watch her make the decision to throw all caution to the wind. “Fuck it. Kiss me, Captain. Kiss me as if I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

  The sick part is, she might just be.

  Yes, Draegan said she has two to three weeks, but with my luck, it’ll be sooner. I suspect she’s going to start feeling the effects a bit harder now that she’s had a taste.

  “There’s no coming back from this,” I remind her, tightening my fist in her hair.

  This is her last out.

  The. Last. One.

  “There’s no coming back from anything I’ve done. Do it, Callan. Kiss—”

  I’m fucking kissing her. Not my lips to her cheek, or gentle brush to her forehead.

  No.

  I’m press my lips against hers so fervently, I’m surprised she doesn’t shatter in my grasp.

  She tastes exquisite.

  Feels even better; softer than I’d let myself imagine.

  What gets me most?

  Those little sounds she’s making, those almost inaudible, appreciative mewls as her fingers snake into my hair.

  “So fucking sweet,” I mumble, high as hell on cloud nine.

  Evidently, she’s right there with me, hands fumbling to undo the buttons of my shirt. As soon as she’s got the first three undone, warm, soft palms slip beneath the dark, crisp material, exploring the rigid planes of my chest.

  “Touch me,” I hear her whisper. Or at least, that’s what my mind insists she said.

  I want to. God, trust me I do but—

  That tongue of hers, one I’m just now learning is wicked and demanding, dips into my mouth, obliterating my hesitation and coaxing me to oblige.

  This is going so much further than a simple swipe of our lips. I’m mentally begging her to slow down for her own good, but the desperation of her assault disarms me completely. I’m useless to do anything but reciprocate what she’s seeking out and give into my own desires.

  Releasing my hold on her hair, my hands trace down the outline of her figure, molding to every dip and swell in a slow descent until they glide over that pert little ass of hers.

  A firm grip, a rough tug toward me, I roll her into my erection, my teeth nipping at her bottom lip.