Page 141 of Sweet Venom

All because of a girl with kind green eyes and the sweetest smile.

A girl named Poe.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

VAMPIRES DON’T AGE

Poe

“In her arms, even my demons kneel.” — A

It was his birthday today.

And I was giddier than a kid on Christmas morning with a sugar high.

Literally.

So much so that I snuck out of his bed before the sun was up. And listen, it’s a known fact that I hate mornings. I hate them more than those damn disgusting olives. But for Azariel? I was up at the crack of dawn on a mission to make this a special day for him.

It was his birthday. His real one. Not the one his mother chose for him.

I’d already had a few things delivered to the manor with the help of Aunt Kadra because Azariel hates strangers knowing where he lived.

And Aunt Kadra? She went all out. She sent everything I could possibly need to pull off this surprise. Only the best for her precious heir and sun. Childhood favorites included.

Like the exact porcelain tea set he used with his her during their monthly tea parties. Yes. Tea parties. My brooding dark prince still spends late afternoons sipping herbal blends and talking about life with his mother. I can’t even. It’s heartbreakingly sweet.

His favorite food that I learned was breakfast. The man could eat breakfast dishes for lunch and dinner.

While he slept like the beautiful vampire he was, I spent the morning preparing everything. I even baked a cake. From scratch. Using a viral internet tutorial. I expected baking chaos, but miraculously, it turned out… edible. Pretty, even. A black cake for a dark prince.

And really—it’s the thought that counts. Right?

And after we had breakfast—he cooked, by the way, and he’s unfairly good at it—I kicked him out of his own house. Politely. With lots of love. I needed an hour to set up the picnic, and I didn’t want him spying on me through his security screens and ruining the surprise.

That was thirty minutes ago.

Now I’m in the garden, surrounded by the scent of those insanely pretty-blue roses—his favorite. I even picked a few to decorate the picnic setup. They’re stunning. But not as stunning as the man I’m celebrating today.

The weather’s perfect too—warm enough to feel caressed by the sun, with golden light spilling across the stone benches, thorns coiling up the wrought-iron black gates, and ivy curling along the garden’s walls and statues.

I quickly set the last of the roses into a bouquet, a delicate thing wrapped in black lace. Next to it, I’ve placed our favorite book,The Little Prince, my fingers tracing the pages I’ve turnedinto a book bouquet of sorts. I carefully folded each page and highlighted quotes that made me think of him, of us, of everything dark and beautiful between us. I highlighted words about love and loss, about the invisible things that matter most. The book began our love story, and now it sits here, a soft little symbol of everything we’ve become.

I texted him.

Me: Okay. You can come now. I’m in the garden.

I looked at the mismatched tea party under the sunlight. There are dark gray porcelain cups, black tea ready to steep, and the black heart-shaped cake I’ve baked. It’s more gothic than sweet—just like him—and across the surface, in white icing, it read:Vampires Don’t Age.

It’s a little joke.

A reminder of the way I see him. To me he was eternal, untouchable, like time itself bends around him and has no hold over him. God, he was ethereal. No wonder the man had a tight grip on my heart and soul. I was doomed from the start.

Azariel’s eyes— those gray eyes that always seem to see more than I wanted them to— pierced straight through me, branding themselves on my heart like a tattoo I’d never be free of.

He’s inked in my soul.

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