Page 76 of Sweet Venom

The blue Maserati and this one? Total opposites. And yet, somehow, both felt like Azariel.

Powerful.

Sharp.

Mysterious.

I stole a glance at Azariel as he steered us smoothly through the streets— one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift. Effortless. In control.

The way he drove did things to my body and sent my imagination running wild into dirty, filthy places. I made a mental note to add this to the book for the spice part.

He looked like the dark, handsome models I use as muses to create the villain in my stories. He looked dangerous and sexy doing something as mundane as driving.

Even with the lack of sleep from the nonstop travel, he looked steady, unshaken and alert. His sharp jawline, his dark, tousled black hair, and the way his harsh gaze remained focused ahead, unflinching—only added to his appeal.

Something had definitely changed. Maybe in him. Or maybe I was finally seeing what was always there. What I’d been too stubborn or too afraid to see.

Azariel looked handsome in the light, sure. But in the quiet dark? He was dangerous levels of beautiful. That usual steel wall of cold indifference was still there, but now it felt thinner, like the edges had softened and cracked just enough for the real him to peek through.

I touched my chest when I felt a sharp pain take over. It always happens when I look at him too long.

I wanted to say something—anything—to distract myself from the ache. To break the silence. But I didn’t want to ruin whatever strange peace existed between us. I knew it wouldn’t last. Peace between us never did.

Still, my curiosity won.

“So,” I asked softly, “where are we going now? You’re taking me home, right?”

He said we weren’t done chasing romance, but we’re back in New York now, so what kind of romance was he planning to find back here?

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, hands steady on the wheel. Then he glanced at me, but I couldn’t read his expression.

“Not quite,” he said.

“Not quite?” I raised an eyebrow. “Then where are we going?”

His red lips twitched—just a little. Maybe a smirk. Maybe not. I couldn’t tell. It was faint.

“Somewhere more... fitting. For the story.”

Somewhere more fitting for the story?

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. And somehow, I knew I wasn’t going to get more details about the location out of him.

It was obvious this was just another one of those moments where I was meant to follow along in silence, like a passenger on this strange yet exciting journey.

The more he drove, the more the city lights faded behind us. Skyscrapers faded into nothing and gave way to trees. Concrete turned into winding back roads. The deeper we went, the darker the world became around us, and yet it felt almost... peaceful. It felt… familiar.

I rolled down the window just a crack, needing to feel the night for some reason. The cool air rushed in, caressing my face like soft fingers. It’s odd. Goosebumps ran through me just like it did when Azariel’s cold fingers brushed my skin.

The steady purr of the engine filled the quiet, the sound almost soothing. Wherever we were headed, it was clear it was a world away from the noisy city.

my breath caught in my throat and my heart slowed.

It all unfolded in slow motion.

There, tucked beneath the heavy cloak of night and framed by towering trees like a hidden treasure, stood a manor. It rose from the shadows like something out of a dark fairy tale. Not the bright, cheerful kind. The other kind—the stories whispered under blankets, filled with broken souls and haunting secrets and old magic.

My kind of story.

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