Page 108 of Sweet Venom

There… he said it.

My chest tightened, and a smile spread across my face. Heat crept up my neck and bloomed in my cheeks—I was sure they were pink.

I didn’t say a word. I just looked up at him, meeting his gaze as he smiled down at me— thanks to our ridiculous height difference—and pretended he hadn’t just stolen another piece of my soul.

With just a smile.

With just a few words.

With roses the color of my hair.

Azariel took control over my every thought long after we left his garden. His husky voice lingered in my head like the scent of roses. I couldn’t stop replaying the moment he said“rare, sweet and a little stubborn.”

He meantme.

He not only accepted me as I am but he saw me. Really saw me.

And years? He bred them for years for… me.

All of this felt like a dream, and at times I caught myself worrying I might wake from it soon and that’s a thought too heartbreaking to bear.

Now, after spending my day with him, I sat curled up in a velvet chair by the window, my iPad resting in my lap. I’ve written two chapters in one sitting and I’m loving every word. Being here with Azariel has made it easier to dive into the romance aspect of the story. I even inserted some—okay maybe most— of Azariel’s qualities to the morally gray hero.

I hope my readers fall for him the way I already have. Yeah, he’s an ass—but my God, he loves his girl. The number of times I’ve caught myself cheesing like an idiot while writing their scenes is honestly kind of embarrassing.

If only my cousins, the heartless gang, could see me now. Talk about a plot twist they didn’t see coming or hell, maybe they did.

Speaking of heartless…

The iPad’s screen lit up with an incoming FaceTime call.

Artemis.

I answered with a swipe, and her face appeared immediately—blonde, bold, and effortlessly stunning. Her golden hair fell in perfectly tousled waves over her naked shoulders, her crimson lipstick giving her a dramatic look. She wore a lavender silk robe and her expression was dripping with amusement. Fake amusement. I can spot when my cousins are faking even through a screen.

“Are you done writing the story between you and your tattooed Dark Daddy yet?” she purred.

I smirked. “That’s all you got? Don’t tell me you’re losing your mean touch, Arty?

“Don’t call me that.” She bites back with a smile. “God, you’re so tragically poetic when you’re in love.”

Love?

Thud.

My heart perked up at the word.

It’s strange hearing it from someone else when I haven’t fully come to terms with it myself. I know I love him. There hasn’t been a day since I was five years old that I didn’t.

My love didn’t appear out of nowhere just because he did things no one else ever has. It grew quietly, slowly, over years— so quietly that I had to pretend it didn’t exist. But now, there’s no need to hide it.

I let that love live freely, and every day it grew stronger and more perfect.

“Ugh. You’re even daydreaming about his ass now. I’m disappointed, P. I really am.”

I rolled my eyes, even as a smile tugged at my lips. “Hi to you, too. And no, I haven’t finished the book. Yet.” Mind you I didn’t deny what she said about writing the story of me and Azariel.

“Please,” she scoffed. “We’ve all read your books. It’s obvious he’s the hero in every single one of them—dark suits, haunted eyes, American Psycho energy. If the hero on this one doesn’t keep a body or two in a rose bush, I’ll be shocked.”

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