Page 107 of Sweet Venom

Poe

“Even monsters have hearts—and my broken one beats only for you.” — A

Evening settled quickly after a quiet day in the garden with Azariel, helping him tend to the roses. I hadn’t expected anything grand, but I also hadn’t expected that sitting in dirt, helping him care for the plants, would feel so magical— so meant to be.

It felt as if this was exactly where we were supposed to be. Nowhere else.

As always, he didn’t say much. Azariel wasn’t a man of many words and honestly, I didn’t need him to be. I just needed to exist with him.

A few kisses hadn’t changed him dramatically—he was still the same Azariel—but his gaze had softened whenever he looked at me. No longer cold or distant. He didn’t pretend I didn’t existanymore. It felt like it used to, when he’d let me sit with him in silence while we readThe Little Prince.

The air around us felt sweet, because even in silence, I could feel the full weight of his attention. I spent the entire afternoon trying to settle my heart—who, by the way, had become an even bigger fan of Azariel.

When my eyes landed on the rose bushes, flashes from our time earlier in the garden came rushing back.

The afternoon sun poured over us like warm honey on a cold winter day, softening everything it touched—the hedges, the stone paths, the hauntingly stunning water fountain, even the sky itself. I knelt beside him among rows of blue roses, their petals so vibrant they looked unreal, like something out of a dream.

I watched in awe as Azariel moved with a quiet confidence that made it so easy to forget how dangerous he really was. His tattooed hands—strong yet surprisingly gentle—cupped a rose stem as he showed me how to trim it without bruising the bloom.

It’s easy to picture him as a little boy with a permanent scowl, helping his father to tend to the roses. The thought made me smile.

“Like this,” he said, his voice low, soft. “Always cut at an angle. Gives it a cleaner drink.”

I nodded, imitating his movements carefully. Holding the rose felt as if he was giving me a part of him to care for. I held it the way I would hold his heart— if only he’d let me have it.

I could feel his eyes on me—watching me closely but not judging. Just… there. Caressing every part of me.

“How did you get them to bloom this color?” I asked, almost too quietly. “Blue roses aren’t exactly natural.” I was certain I knew what his answer would be, but I wanted to hear it from his lips.

He didn’t answer right away. I glanced at him, trying to act like I wasn’t waiting for something that felt huge and that could change everything.

He looked so different in the sunlight. No black suits today. Just worn jeans that hugged his hips a little too well and a loose, sleeveless white shirt that clung to his torso in all the right places. The cotton was thin, just enough to make my heart trip when I caught sight of the tattoos covering his chest and arms—inks of broken wings, bloody skulls, chains and other symbols I hadn’t had the courage to ask about yet. I had a feeling those tattoos are linked to his past life before Uncle Vitali and Aunt Kadra.

God, he was massive—built like dangerous storms and chaos in human form. Most people would probably find him intimidating, maybe even terrifying. But not me. There was nothing about him that scared me. Nothing at all.

He had muscles layered on top of muscles— hidden before his usual clothes, but now I saw them, every sculpted line and curve. His rugged beauty should be illegal. No one should be so damn perfect.

His black hair was slicked back and a thin silver chain rested against his collarbone, catching flashes of sunlight every time he moved.

He didn’t look like a coldhearted gentleman. He looked like a stone-cold criminal with an obsession with blue roses. And that was hot. Unfairly hot.

I made a mental note to add that detail to the plot of my book.

“I bred them,” he finally said, eyes still on the rose in my hand. “Took years.” The way he whispered ‘took years’ was as if he weren’t talking just about the rose.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

I know, heart. I can’t believe he’s real too.

“Why blue?” I whispered, needing him to say it. My fingers brushed my own hair that was dyed a deep, unnatural shade of cobalt blue.

I didn’t want to guess out of my ass, but I wanted to hear him say it.

He hesitated. Then he glanced at me, the corner of his mouth twitching in the faintest smile. Hold on, heart. Don’t go wild now. It’s just a smile but it wasn’t just a smile. It was a rare one and it was beautiful. “Because they remind me of something… rare and sweet.” His gray eyes twinkle and I swear I fell deeper into everything that is him. “And a little stubborn.”

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