Chapter 40
Chapter
Forty
THE FOX AND HER PRINCE
Azariel
“I’d follow you into the dark, even if you were the one who led me there.” — P
D ate night.
Apparently, that’s what normal couples do—or so my stubborn little fox informed me. Me? I’d rather shove my knives in my ears and gargle battery acid. But it made her happy.
So, I went.
To a concert.
She’d mentioned it in passing while we were at Venomous. Said her favorite Korean American rapper—Stephen Choi, apparently a global sensation—was touring in New York, but the tickets were sold out.
So I got her a private booth.
Dropped a stupid amount of money, pulled a few strings. Worth it.
The place was packed. Blinding lights. Screaming teenagers. Everyone waving lavender light sticks in the air like they were in a cult. Poe told me that’s his fandom color. Figures.
I turned away from the chaos and looked at the only crazy fan that mattered.
She was glowing.
That wide, radiant smile of hers was reserved for moments of pure, unfiltered joy. Like right now. Waiting for some tattooed pop god to step on stage.
So, I swallowed my pride and stood beside her.
I suffered.
For her.
And I’d do it a thousand times more if it meant she’d keep looking at me the way she had for the past half hour. Like I’d hung the damn moon for her. If only she knew... this is just the beginning of what I plan to give her.
The whole galaxy, if she wants it.
“I think the show’s about to start,” Poe whispered, her hand wrapped around mine. Small fingers, soft touch—barely there, and yet I felt it in my bones.
I’ve always run cold, even in summer. But when Poe touches me, I feel warmth.
It’s damn near magic.
And I don’t believe in magic. Hell, I didn’t even believe in love. But here I am.
Whipped as fuck.
The lights dim. The venue erupts in every shade of purple imaginable.
Poe’s eyes go wide, lips curling into a giddy grin. She’s lit from the inside. I've seen that glow before—books, her readers… and now this asshole: Stephen Choi.
The pretty fucker has too much real estate in my woman’s mind. I hate it. But I say nothing.
Because her joy makes my chest ache in the best fucking way.
The beat hits, the crowd explodes, and there he is—shirtless, tattooed, cocky. Stephen fucking Choi.
Poe’s grip tightens on my hand. “Azariel, look!” she practically squeals. “Wow. He’s—even hotter in person!”
Hot?
I look at her slowly. Arms folded.
“What did you just say?” I growl.
She gives me a sheepish grin. “He’s hot. But not your level of hot. So stop sulking and enjoy the show.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I mutter.
If she wasn’t, I might’ve dragged the pretty boy offstage and crushed a million fangirl dreams. Not that I’d admit that out loud.
She doesn’t hear me. She’s too busy singing—loudly. Badly.
The crowd’s a choir of obsession. She’s melting into it, light stick clutched to her chest like a damn relic. I hate how she screams his name.
Her screams are mine.
And now I’m irritated.
So, I pull out my phone and do what any rational man would do when his girl gets a little too obsessed with a shirtless rapper.
I started buying the damn record label he’s signed to.
Why not? I already own a piece of the F1 team Madden Hunt. Got my fingers in most of Shaw Banning’s companies. You never know when someone needs to be taught a lesson. A dream-crushing one.
Same goes for Stephen.
It only takes me minutes to hack into the right files, pull contacts, and start drafting the buyout. Just another Tuesday for me.
Meanwhile, Poe is floating somewhere between heaven and groupie hell, singing her lungs out to a guy who doesn't even know she exists.
I glanced over. She’s glowing. Off-key, beautiful, completely his in this moment.
And somehow still mine.
I smile. Just a little.
She catches me looking. “You okay?”
I poke her nose. “Just peachy.”
She rolls her eyes, but they sparkle with love. Fuck.
How did I get so lucky to be loved by this creature?
I’ve done terrible things, some I’m proud of and others I rather forget, yet she still saw my heart and chose to love it.
Yeah, I’m one lucky fucker.
“You’re all I see…” she whispers.
I smirked. “I know.”
“Oh, wow. Cocky much?”
I winked. She laughed, kissed my cheek, and then looked right back at Stephen.
I hated that her eyes were on another man.
This silly infatuation might become a problem for me now that I think about it. Her eyes sparkle too damn much for my liking.
I was about to pull out my phone again, considering buying a controlling stake in the entire entertainment industry when I noticed something—or someone—in the crowd that immediately pulled my attention away from my phone and my thoughts of corporate conquest.
There’s a woman, standing near the side of the stage. At first, I thought she’s just another fan, but something about the way she stood—so composed, so cold—grabbed my attention.
She’s tall and statuesque. Blonde. Stunning, really, but it wasn’t just her beauty that caught my attention. It was the fact that the anger radiating off her like an inferno was so intense it cut through the chaotic buzz of the concert like a sharp knife.
I glanced closer. I know that woman.
Artemis Volpe.
Poe’s cousin.
Daughter of Andrea and Lucan Volpe—fashion royalty, Olympic gold medalist, supermodel. And right now, she looks like she wants to set Stephen Choi’s world on fire.
She looked like someone crushed her soul while the rapper sings a song about first loves.
Her sharp features were tight, her lips pressed into a thin line, her blonde brows furrowed as she watched the rapper. It’s not just frustration with the idol. There’s pain in her eyes too. Pure, raw heartbreak.
I’ve seen angry fans, obsessive fans, but this? This is different. This is personal. Her eyes are locked on Stephen Choi with the kind of intensity that says she’s already told herself she’s not supposed to care. But she does. And whatever she’s feeling, it’s not good. That much I knew.
I lean over to Poe, whose head is still bobbing to the music. “Baby,” I say, a little too abruptly, “What’s wrong with your cousin?”
She glanced over her shoulder, following my line of sight. “Artemis?” Poe’s voice softened, a slight worry creeping into her tone. “What is she doing here? I talked to her earlier and told her about the concert and she told me she would rather eat shit than listen to the asshole. Those were her words exactly.”
I frowned. “She looks like she wants to kill the fucker.”
“I don’t know what happened between them, but… Artemis has a fucked-up history with Stephen. It’s been a while, but... you know Artemis. She doesn’t show her emotions, but when she does? It’s usually catastrophic.”
I looked back at Poe’s cousin, still standing near the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, her posture as stiff as a statue. She barely even reacts when someone bumps into her—just coldly moves aside without sparing them a second glance. She’s locked in her own little world of rage.
“Think they had a thing?” I asked, gesturing to Stephen, still in the middle of the stage, doing his thing. “He doesn’t look like her type.”
Poe nodded slowly. “I thought so too.” Her voice lowered slightly, as if saying it out loud somehow made it more real. “I’m guessing Stephen did something to break her heart.”
I glanced back at Artemis. The way her icy eyes burned a hole into the stage made me think she’s in some kind of personal hell.
“I hate seeing her like that. I just know that if I push her she’ll push me away. She’s been like that for a long time now. I just try to be there for her in the way she allows me too until she comes to me and asks for help.” The sadness in Poe’s voice bothered me.
Without thinking, I stepped toward her, grabbed her neck with a firm but careful hand, and pulled her to me. “You’re a wonderful cousin. And all you can do for her is be there. You got to let her sort her shit out.”
Poe’s eyes softened. “Yeah.”
The world slows down. The purple lights blur. And it’s just us at this moment. The concert was forgotten.
I kissed her hard—demanding, desperate, but with an underlying tenderness that only she gets from me. Only ever her.
Her plump lips are warm, softer than I could ever imagine, and I can’t help but pull her closer, feeling her heartbeat against mine. Fuck, she drives me mad. One kiss has me wanting to bend her over with her hands on the glass and fuck her with thousands of people here.
When I pulled back, just enough to catch my breath, I held her gaze. My thumb traced the edge of her jawline as I whispered, my voice low and thick with desire. “I can’t wait to take you home and fuck the shit out of you.”
Poe blinked, dazed, still processing the intensity of the kiss. Her lips part slightly. “Azariel…” she breathed, her voice softer. “What… What was that for?”
I leaned my forehead against hers, my hands still on her, holding her close. “Just making sure you know who you belong to.” My fingers gently brush against her skin, my grip soft but unyielding. “Who has your heart. Who fucks you exactly how you like.”
She stared at me, her cheeks flushed, her breath still a little shaky from the kiss. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, a smile tugging at her lips. “Like I could ever forget.”
“I don’t know. You were too busy falling in love with the fucker up there.”
“Don’t be jealous. I’m not in love with him,” she said, her voice soft but teasing. “But you? I’m definitely in love with you.”
A rush of warmth spreads through me at her words. Shit. She will never stop feeling like a dream to me. It’s not just the relief that she’s mine—it’s the beautiful truth in her eyes that has me gripping her a little tighter.
I don’t ever want to let go. I won’t. She’s fucked. She’s stuck with me.
“Good,” I muttered. And then I kissed her again, slower this time, claiming her. “Because you’re mine. And I’m not letting go.”
“You better not.”
She smiled wide and so did I. And after that she enjoyed the show until it was time to get home and once there I showed her with my hands and mouth exactly who she belonged to.
Me.