Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
VAMPIRES DON’T AGE
Poe
“In her arms, even my demons kneel.” — A
I t 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 turned into 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.
I’m lost in thought rearranging the paper on his gift—worrying if he’ll like it, if he’ll think it’s silly. But… What do you even get a man who had everything? A man who had all the money in the world… I had to get creative.
Besides, he’s given me the most thoughtful, heartfelt gifts— how could I not give him something that came straight from mine?
And no, I didn’t get him just one gift.
I got him nine.
One for every birthday he spent in a hell I couldn’t even imagine.
Nine years of feeling forgotten, unwanted, unloved.
I can’t erase what he went through… but damn it, I was going to do everything I couldn’t to make up for it. Whatever it took.
I glanced down at the nicely wrapped gifts laid out in front of me and smiled.
The first gift is a thin silver chain with a little letter P on it. Something simple that he can wear with the one he has that matches the one he gave me. This one is not much but it meant something.
I wanted him to wear it and remember that he’s not alone anymore. That I’m with him. Always. Even when I’m not in the same room as him.
Then there was the custom knife set.
Yeah. Knives.
I asked Uncle Vitali for help and he delivered— sleek, sharp, and in the same deep blue as Azariel’s favorite car, his rose garden, and yes, my hair. Cobalt blue.
I know what the knives mean to him.
He never said it out loud, but I saw it. I saw him.
The way he holds them. They way his hands move when he cleans or sharpens them. They ground him. Anchor him.
He’s done that since he was a kid.
Oddly, knives give him peace when all he’s known is war— and I’m more than okay with that.
I swear the man could kill half of humanity and I’m pretty sure I would still love him after. I would even defend him in a court of law.
Wrong? I know.
Do I think I need therapy for it? Maybe.
Oh, well.
The world wasn’t kind to him. I honestly don’t care if he burns it to hell.
The rest of the gifts?
Okay, they’re a little ridiculous. But they reminded me of him.
A stack of slasher movies I adore and that kind of remind me of him. We’ll binge watch them. I’ll bribe him with freaky sex if he refuses to.
A Halloween mask I bought entirely for my entertainment and kink. Let’s be real, he’s already terrifyingly hot. Add the masks? My pussy might combust.
Oh, and a brand new, high-tech, super fancy blue computer with three add on screens. For his nerdy hacker hobby.
And a few other things I couldn’t resist. I hope they make him smile.
Each gift might not look like much to anyone else— but to me, they say one thing loud and clear. I see you. All of you. Even the parts that he hid so well.
I was lost in thought when I heard it—the soft crunch of gravel under boots.
My pulse quickened.
I straighten up, book bouquet in hand, heart thundering, the world around me going quiet.
And then…he’s there.
Azariel stepped into the garden like a walking, breathing once in a lifetime eclipse. Black slacks, a white dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his chest, neck tattoos and silver chain. His dark hair fell perfectly messy over his forehead. How… beautiful…
And his eyes—those gray, glinting eyes—locked onto me.
He stopped in his tracks.
My breath caught in my lungs.
“Baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now. His lips quirked, just a little. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
Wait.
Was that?—
Blush?
Was my grumpy, morally questionable not so heartless prince blushing?
Lord… help me. I didn’t think I could love this man more.
He took a step forward, and all I could think of is that I was so lucky. He’s mine, and I’m his, in this strange, twisted way that might not make sense to anyone else. And maybe it didn’t even make sense to us. But it’s ours.
It’s… perfect.
And it’s been a long time coming.
“I did,” I whispered, my heart thundering in my chest, “Just say thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“Good boy.”
His lips curled into something more dangerous, more seductive, and he finally looked down at the table, the bouquet, the gifts, the cake. His gaze lingered on the cake and amusement danced in his eyes before he turned his gaze back to me.
“Vampires don’t age?”
I nodded. “Yup.”
“Cute. You made this?” he asked, his tone dark, but there’s something soft there too, something warm that’s rare for him, reserved only for me.
“I did,” I answered, rising to my feet. “A black cake for a dark prince.” I took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. “I know you don’t like your birthday, but... I wanted to celebrate you. You might not like this date but I love it. How could I not? It’s the day you were brought into the world and there’s not a more special day than that.”
For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze flickering between me and the objects before him. His lips twitched before he stepped toward me.
“It’s just another day to me. I don’t give a fuck,” he murmured, his hand brushing my cheek, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “But for you… I’ll allow it.” He grinned teasingly. His words are almost a whisper, a dark promise, his voice thick with something tender, something fierce. “Thank you, baby.”
I looked up at him, my heart aching with the weight of it. He’s always so cold, so untouchable, like nothing could ever break through his armor. But when he looked at me like this, when he spoke with that quiet, raw honesty... it made me want to press closer, to bury myself in him.
“You’re welcome,” I whispered, barely audible, though the words hung in the air between us, fragile and vulnerable.
He raised a single black brow, skeptical, then gestured toward the gifts laid out on the blanket. His voice was rough but tinged with curiosity. “Nine gifts?”
I nodded, a shy smile tugging at my lips. “For every year you went without.”
Something shifted in his face. The edge in his eyes melted away. His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. His gaze turned so soft—so achingly soft—that for a second, I forgot how to breathe. I couldn’t get air in my lungs.
Then, wordlessly, he dropped to his knees, settling beside me on the blanket like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He lifted a hand, slow and tentative, as if asking permission with his eyes before brushing his fingers along my cheek. His thumb rested beneath my eye, warm and trembling just slightly. “You’re unreal,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Sometimes I think I’m dreaming you.”
I leaned into his touch, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Then don’t ever wake up,” I said, and my voice cracked a little, too full of things I hadn’t said yet.
“I love you,” is right there, perched on the tip of my tongue, begging to be freed.
Instead, he pressed his forehead against mine. We stayed like that, suspended in time, the air thick with everything we’re afraid to say. Then, in a voice that’s barely more than a breath, he whispered, “I’m keeping you. Forever.”
Forever .
God. Nothing has ever sounded more perfect.
“Good,” I whispered back, a shaky smile breaking across my lips. “Because you’re not getting rid of me.”
He let out a laugh—an actual laugh. Deep, rich, and rare like something sacred. It vibrated through my body and soul.
He pulled back slightly, eyes glinting with mischief as he nodded toward the blanket. “Chocolate cake?”
I grinned, already reaching for the candle and matches. “Is there anything better?”
He smirked. “Yeah. Eating it now.”
Before I could react, the Neanderthal dipped his fingers into the cake, scooping up a generous swipe of black frosting. With zero warning, he smeared it across my lips, beautiful eyes dancing with mischief.
“Hey!” I squealed, laughing.
But before I could retaliate, he tackled me gently, laughter turning into something deeper. Then, he kissed me—messy and sweet and full of everything he’s too afraid to say out loud.
And as he kissed me with everything he had in that guarded, aching heart of his, I realized something:
He hated his birthday.
But he’s here.
He’s smiling. Laughing. Letting me love him.
Even though it’s hard for him.
Even though I knew he still thought he didn’t deserve it.
And that?
That’s the greatest gift he could ever give me.
Himself.