Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
TWISTED SOULMATES
Azariel
“Your love tastes like venom… and I drink it like wine.” —P
T wo days.
It’s been two days since Poe got hurt.
Two days that she retreated into herself and barely said a word and when she did it felt forced. It’s also been two days of fucking nightmares. I relive that day in my mind but instead of getting to her in time before that fucker hurt her more than he did— I didn’t make it. She had no light in her eyes. Nothing. And me? I was the boy with a number for a name who delivered the pain.
Fuck.
I sat back in the leather chair of my home office, the quiet hum of the monitors the only sound that filled the air. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but I wasn’t focusing on the reports I had to look over before signing contracts. I had no mind for it. No, tonight my attention was fixed on the monitor showing Poe’s room.
I had been watching her for days, though she had no idea. Poe never noticed when I watched her from a distance. I had perfected the art of lurking in the shadows long before I became skilled at reading her every move. But tonight, was different, I wasn’t watching her like I normally did. I was searching her carefully, trying to find signs of distress. She iced me out, and like a fucking coward I retreated because I… I got fucking scared.
Shit.
Me— a man who has seen hell more than once— afraid.
But I am. I could experience a thousand nightmares of memories of my past, I can handle that but I can’t bear a single nightmare of a life where Poe’s heart wasn’t beating and wasn’t mine.
And since the book signing, she had been acting different. It wasn’t that she was scared or sad—it was something quieter, something that hurt me. She was weary as if she didn’t trust she was safe. She tried to hide it with dark humor but she did a terrible job.
Because I could see the truth in the way she held herself, in the way she avoided my gaze, in the way her hands trembled slightly when she thought I wasn’t watching.
I wonder if there’s something more that I don’t know. I thought the root of her social anxiety was a trait she inherited from her father. Valentino Nicolasi is not exactly the most social of men and I truly believe he would rather hold a conversation with a rock than indulge in it with a human that doesn’t share his blood.
Was there more?
Poe even in her quiet and shy nurture when she was a kid, she was always so strong and even now as a woman she is unshakable, but she was retreating into herself and I fear I won’t be able to reach her if this goes on.
While I spent those two days locked in my office watching her, she spent her days holed up in her room, writing. Her fingers typed quickly on the keyboard, but I knew there was no real peace in her mind.
I saw it though. She might be going through it but she was also trying to work through it, trying to push her fears aside.
I also noticed how often her small hands moved to her hair, lightly tugging at the roots, like she was searching for something. A reassurance? I knew what that color meant to her. It reminded of her father. Her safe place. The strongest man she knows. I should be jealous but I’m not. How could I? Valentino is another man who would rip his heart out of his chest if it meant it made his girl happy.
I leaned closer to the screen, and the image of her fidgeting bothered me. Her black roots were growing in and that bothered her but she preferred to stay quiet.
Stubborn, beautiful little fox.
Frustration rises in my chest. I hated seeing her like this—vulnerable and uncertain. Poe was a woman made of stardust and fire, someone who held the world at arm’s length so it didn’t hurt her. And now, it felt like she was slipping through my fingers.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I gave her space to breathe but I can’t let this go on. She needs to know that she’s safe and what happened will never happen again.
I’ll rip my heart out before it ever does.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. My head snapped up from the screen, anger burning in my chest.
Cato stood in the doorway.
His posture was rigid, hands folded behind his back like he was barely restraining violence. His eyes, cold and flat, held the kind of boredom that came from a life too used to blood. The only person I allowed inside my home was him—not because I trusted him, but because I knew exactly what he was capable of. Cato had walked through hell and made it kneel. Whatever darkness I carried, he drowned in worse—and survived.
That made him invaluable. Not just a weapon. A scalpel. Precise.
Unfeeling. Deadly. A villain in every sense of the word, but mine to wield.
Without speaking, he crossed the room and placed a small black box
on my desk. I didn’t need to ask. I knew what it was. I’d asked for it.
Poe’s hair dye—the exact shade she always used.
I stared at the box for a long moment, my fingers lingering on it
before I lifted my gaze to meet his.
“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.
Then she surprised me when she spoke.
“I have OCD,” she said softly, barely louder than a whisper. “It gets worse when I’m anxious.”
My hand paused for a moment in her hair. Her words settled heavily in my soul, but not in a way that scared me. They fell like puzzle pieces quietly falling into place.
Now it all made sense.
The way she avoided certain foods and how she only ate Snicker Bars on certain days. Her habit of only wearing certain colors and matching completely. The way her skin care routine had to stay just right, or she’d seem off for the rest of the day. The times I’d watched her wash her hands until her skin turned pink. All those little things I’d found odd but endearing— quirks I loved—suddenly had a name. A reason.
And then it hit me.
How many times had I pushed her? Tried to ‘help’ her anxiety without understanding what it was tethered to? Basically, forced her to do things she maybe wasn’t ready for because I thought it would make her stronger and it would make her happy.
A sharp pang twisted in my chest. I swallowed hard, guilt coiling like a snake in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, brushing back a strand of her hair that had slipped free. “I didn’t know. I should’ve seen it and not pushed you so hard.”
Fuck. I even took her from her routine.
Her eyes opened, soft and piercing my heart as she searched my face.
“It’s not something I like people to know,” she murmured. “They look at me weird.”
“I’m not people,” I said, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.
A flicker of guilt crossed her face, like maybe she thought she’d hurt me.
“You aren’t,” she said quietly, more to herself than to me.
“Thank you for telling me,” I added, meaning every word. She just placed a weight she’d been carrying alone in my hands. I would carry it gladly for her.
“Thank you for caring,” she whispered back, and gave me a small grin.
Fuck . There it was.
That smile I loved so fucking much.
The smile that melted the ice around my heart.
Come on, baby , I thought. Don’t ever stop smiling.
When I was done applying the dye, I reached out and took her hand in mine, gently pulling it into my grasp. The contact as always sent a shock through me. Fucking sparks buzzed under my skin.
“You don’t ever have to hide from me,” I murmured softly. “You’re perfect.”
Her green eyes softened, and for the first time in days, I saw it— that full, radiant smile. And with it, the spark I’d been missing, the one I love more than I can ever explain, came flickering back to life.
Good girl.
“You’re perfect too,” she whispered.
I felt something settle inside me at the sound of her words. Fuck, only Poe would think such a thing about someone like me.
“Don’t lie to me now,” I teased. Shit.
This is what I’ve become. Lame jokes and silly banter. This woman has turned me into her golden retriever bitch.
“Never,” she whispered like a vow.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
My chest ached like her sweet vow had reached into me and rewired the beast in me and made it her bitch as well.
For a moment, the world outside this room disappeared. There was nothing but the two of us, nothing but everything we shared.
“Come on,” I said, breaking the silence as I gently tugged her toward the bathroom. “Let’s go get this washed out.”
She gave a small nod and followed quietly. When we reached the bathroom, I turned on the sink, the sound of water rushing filling the space between us. Poe stood by the sink, her eyes meeting mine. The weariness that was before had slowly disappeared. Now, all I could see was trust. It was the same trust she had shown me when she was a little girl, before I had hurt her. The one she had shown me since we’ve been here at the manor.
The trust I value more than all the power and money in the world.
I moved behind her and carefully guided her to lean over the sink. Gently, I rinsed the dye from her hair, the water running clear as I worked, my hands careful against her wound.
While I worked on removing the dye, she didn’t speak. She just stood there quietly, her body relaxed in a way it hadn’t been in two days. And when the water ran clear, I stood back, my hands still warm from the touch of her hair. She lifted her head, her eyes meeting mine. Fuck, was she gorgeous.
“Better?” I whispered, my voice soft, as if afraid I might spook her and break the tender moment between us.
She nodded, her lips curving up into a wide smile.
“Good.”
“Good,” she repeated.
As she lifted her head from the sink, I caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. I hadn’t noticed it before, not in the rush of everything that had happened. But now, as I looked more closely, I could see the faint bruising around her neck. Those were not my love bites. No. That is discoloration of her skin where the motherfucker’s hands had wrapped too tightly.
As the memory rushed back of her being held down on the ground I felt a surge of anger, cold and primal. I saw red. The thought of someone laying their hands on her, hurting her like that made me want to spill blood and bathe in it. My fingers twitched, my fists curling at my sides, but I buried the rage deep, locking it away in the darkest part of me until later.
The bitch who had done this would pay. I’d make sure of that. But not now. She came first.
Always.
I took a deep breath, pushing aside the anger for now, focusing on what mattered.
Poe turned to face me, her trusting eyes meeting mine.
I took a slow step forward, my hand reaching out to gently cup her face. She didn’t flinch. She softened into it, leaning into the comfort I was offering.
“Let me…make it better,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
She blinked at me, her expression soft, questioning, but she didn’t pull away. I took it as permission.
Without another word, I dropped my gaze to the first mark on her neck. My lips brushed over it, soft and lingering, as if I could kiss away the pain the fucker caused.
She stiffened for a moment, but I didn’t stop. Instead, I pressed my lips to the next mark on her shoulder, and then another, moving slowly, gently, as though each kiss would ease the hurt she had carried with her ever since that day.
“Azariel…” she whispered breathlessly.
I kissed her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, each kiss a dark promise, a silent vow to always make her feel safe.
Then, I moved to her forehead and removed the gauze. My gaze hardened as I looked at the butterfly stitches. The sign of a wound that should’ve never been inflicted on her. I brushed my fingers over them first, before gently pressing my lips to the wound, soft and slow, as if my kiss could somehow erase the fear she endured that day.
Poe grew up with a father who was Detroit’s cleaner and an uncle who ran the whole damn city— but they kept her shielded from all of it. Unlike the rest of us, she’s not used to that kind of violence.
I kissed her chest and she shuddered slightly, her breath catching in her throat, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she stood frozen, letting me take the pain away. I could feel her heart beating against her chest and her pulse quickening beneath my lips. I moved up, closer to her face, until I was inches away. She was looking at me now, her eyes wide, lips parted slightly, as if she were waiting for something.
I must’ve done something right in a past life to be the lucky bastard who makes her heart beat like that.
I closed the distance between us and kissed her tenderly. She kissed me back the same way. Fuck . So sweet.
When I pulled back, I rested my forehead against hers, both of us standing still in the moment.
“I’ll make him pay,” I whispered, my voice rough, low. “He’ll regret ever laying a finger on you.”
Her eyes closed for a moment, a small shiver running through her as if my words of war brought her peace. When she opened them again, they were soft, softer than I had ever seen. “Good,” she whispered.
She knows exactly what my vow to her means— and still, she hasn’t protested. She hasn’t run from me.
My thumb traced the soft line of her jaw. “Poe,” I whispered her name like a prayer, the word leaving my lips almost reverently.
I leaned closer, my lips brushing the top of her forehead. Yeah, I’m one lucky son of a bitch.
“You’re too fucking good for me,” I murmured. “I know that, but I’m too selfish to care. I can’t let you go. Not now, not ever. I?—”
I almost say the words that have been stuck in my throat for years.
She noticed yet she didn’t make a big deal of it.
“I know,” she said with a knowing smile. “Now fuck me like you don’t.”
She knows…
With a wicked smile that matched hers, I loosened her robe, letting it slip from her shoulders and fall in a soft heap at her feet. I almost came in my pants at the sight in front of me. She was fully naked and I almost fell to my knees for the masterpiece that she was. My gaze traveled from her gorgeous face down to her perfect pink nipples—that begged to be sucked—down to her taut belly and my favorite part… that pretty pink pussy.
Mine … the beast inside growled.
And because I was a man obsessed, I did exactly what was asked of me. I took my precious cargo into my arms and did what she asked of me.
I fucked her like I didn’t love her.
When it was over and she had my cum all over her skin, I took her into the shower and fucked her some more until there was no doubt that she was mine… and I was hers.
And fuck, that was never going to change.