Venom's Kiss Ch. 01 - Teaser (Patreon)

But the truth was more complicated. Sarika hadn’t left the order because she wanted a new life. She had left because she wanted to live—truly live, beyond missions and blood-soaked silk sheets and temple rituals. She wanted more, and she found it in him, in their girls and in the chaos of weekday mornings and the quiet, stolen moments like this one.

Sarika leaned forward, resting her palms against the tile wall, the water cascading down her back. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, letting the heat soak into her skin, trying to pretend—for just a little longer—that the past wasn’t already starting to stir beneath the surface. But something in her bones told her the quiet wouldn’t last forever, and if the stories were true… the order never really let go.

The water slid over her body like a second skin, but Sarika barely felt it anymore—her thoughts lingering in places far older than this home, far colder than the warmth of her shower. She hadn’t just left the order… she had disappeared.

Made it look like she’d been compromised—caught mid-mission by a high-value target who refused to go down quietly. The fake trail had taken months to craft, and the final moment—a bloodied room, a torched safe house, just enough biological evidence planted—was enough to convince her handlers that she was dead. Thankfully, they never searched further.

No one ever left the sisterhood, at least not alive. That had always been the unspoken law. But Sarika knew the truth: the only way to leave was to be dead, so that’s exactly what she became. To them, she was a name carved into stone. A fallen operative and a shadow lost to the night. It was the only way she could even attempt a life beyond poison and blades and whispered orders passed down in candlelit temples.

Even then, she hadn’t dared to hope it would work. That Liam—this sweet, stubborn, perceptive man—would fall in love with her, marry her, trust her, even without ever knowing the whole truth. That her body, so finely tuned to seduction and lethality, could carry life instead of taking it. That her daughters could thrive in her arms without fear.

It had taken time, though. In the beginning, before their first real kiss, before that first sleepless night tangled in borrowed sheets and gasping silence, she had already started preparing him, just in case. A tiny drop in his tea, or a slight trace on her fingertips. Small, nearly undetectable microdoses of the same class of venom she had been raised on. Nothing fatal—barely enough to register. But over time, his body slowly and patiently adapted.

Because Sarika wouldn’t lose him to a kiss, as she loved him enough to protect him from what she was. It had been her greatest gamble and her most intimate betrayal. But it worked, and the night they first touched skin to skin, with no fear between them—just heat, and breath, and love—that was when she knew.

She could have a life and be alive for the first time since she could remember. It was a miracle, one she never took for granted, so she’d always stayed careful. No paper trails, temple rituals, and no contact with her old network. Every toxin she used in her studio—every plant, oil, and compound—was researched, tested, and dosed with precision. Even then, she only used it sparingly, never enough to raise alarms and never enough to leave a trace.

She’d scrubbed herself clean of who she was, hiding in plain sight. And being married to a police officer? That had only helped seal her new identity. Because really, who would think to look for a Vishakanya among the wives of Toronto’s finest? Among bake sale volunteers, school fundraisers, and yoga instructors with cheeky Instagram reels? No one, and that was the point.

Still… some days, the silence felt too perfect… too still. As though the world was holding its breath, waiting for a long-forgotten truth to catch up. Sarika inhaled, steady and deep, and finally reached for the tap. The water slowed, then stopped, the soft patter of droplets giving way to the hum of a house in motion below. Pots clinking, the buzz of the waffle maker heating up, a child’s voice echoing faintly through the vents.

Sarika stepped out, wrapped herself in a plush white towel, and wiped the steam from the mirror. Her reflection stared back, calm and composed. But there was still fire in those eyes and steel beneath the softness. She padded into the bedroom, her skin warm and clean, the towel tucked tightly around her curves as she crossed to the dresser. Today was just another Wednesday. Studio at nine. Groceries afterward. Dinner with the family.

Just another perfect, ordinary day, and she intended to keep it that way.