Page 130 of Sweet Venom

“You found him?”

He knew exactly who I was referring to.

Cato nodded once.

Good.

I’d deal with it next. Personally.

“That would be all,” I said, my voice cold, but laced with the deadly promise of pain.

Cato didn’t reply. He simply turned and left, as silently as he’d entered my office— like another shadow that never truly belonged to the light.

With the box in my hand, I glanced back at the monitor, watching as Poe focused hard on the screen in front of her. Her eyes were heavy, her brow furrowed. It was more than clear to me that she was struggling and I had enough.

With one final glance at the screen, I stood from my chair, determined to fix it. I couldn’t spend another day without her.

Another day without her smiles? Her jokes? Her sweetness? That was not an option.

I bounded up the stairs two at a time, reaching her door in seconds.

I knocked, only stepping inside when I heard her soft “Come in.”

Poe froze, her eyes tracking every step I took toward her. Her posture was stiff and her gaze wary. I stopped a few feet away, letting the silence stretch between us.

“Azariel,” she said finally, her voice softer than usual, quieter. The weariness in her tone hurt me more than any visible wound has before.

“Baby,” I responded, my own voice softer. I noticed her eyes flash with tenderness as I placed the dye box on the table in front of her, watching her eyes flicker to it. “It’s over. No more.”

She looked at the bottle, then back at me, clearly confused. “What? Where did you?—”

“Let’s fix that, yeah?” I cut her off, my voice low as I pointed at her hair. “It’s just hair. It can be fixed. It’s okay.”

Her eyes lingered on the bottle, and then, almost hesitantly, she looked up at me. There was something searching in her gaze, something that made my chest tighten. She knew I wasn’t talking just about her hair.

“You noticed,” she whispered, sounding sad.

I clenched my jaw, feeling the full weight of her sad gaze on me. “Of course, I did. I notice everything,” I said, my voice hard, so she knew this was real. I saw her. I saw everything. “How could I not? If you’re everything I see.”

Her breath hitched, and I saw the brief flicker of something in her eyes. She wanted to say something, but hesitated, the words stuck in her lips.

My pulse quickened. Without thinking, I reached for her, my fingers brushing the soft blue strands of her hair. My gaze dropped to the gauze covering the wound I’d treated. It was healing well. She’d taken care of it, just like I showed her.

She flinched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she raised her hand, as if to stop me. But I caught her wrist gently, holding it there.

“Let me,” I said, my voice low and gentler than I ever let it be for anyone else.

I reached for the box and took out the bottle of dye.

Poe’s lips parted, uncertainty still lingering. Then she gave a small nod.

“Okay.”

I poured the dye into my palm, my touch careful as I began to apply it to her hair. My fingers worked through the roots of her blue locks, massaging the dye gently into her scalp without touching her wound.

She didn’t say a word. But I could feel the tension in her body and the vulnerability she was trying so hard to keep hidden. I worked carefully, methodically, as if every stroke of my hand could somehow erase the pain and weight she carried.

The silence lingered as I kept applying the dye.

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