Page 179 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

I tore my gaze from the chaotic swirl of magic long enough to grab an uncorked inkwell from what remained of Griffin’s worktable. My hands trembled as I crouched by the Heirloom’s pedestal, drawing wide circles of runes that curled around the base: symbols for life force, for binding, for sacrifice. Each line came back to me as if I’d known them all my life.

Seven runes ringed the pedestal in neat arcs. The eighth, largest of all, stretched directly beneath the Heirloom, forcing me to contort awkwardly so I didn’t accidentally brush the artifact itself. Ink smeared across my fingers and stained my training leathers.

Below, I heard a roar that shook the stones. Another quake almost knocked me flat. Kazimir’s fresh agony ripped through the bond, blade-sharp, and I felt my vision tilt dangerously. I bit down on a whimper and steadied my nerve.

No time left.

Pressing both palms to the runes, I began reciting ancient syllables. My voice wavered, but the words flowed from memory. A hush settled around the pedestal, followed by a golden glow that crawled along every swirling line until the entire sequence blazed with brilliant light.

Relief and fear tangled in my chest. My magic recognized these sigils; my heroic blood answered. The Heirloom’s amber aura flickered, out of sync with the golden circle, but I pushed forward, chanting each phrase until my throat felt raw.

On the final word, I slammed my hands onto the runic ring. Power flooded me, a torrent of raw magic scorching every nerve. I gasped, my back arching in pain as a thread of golden lightburst from my chest to the crown, tying us in a single, searing cord.

That connection made the Heirloom feel alive in my mind: ancient, battered, and carved hollow by the crack it bore. Through that glowing bond, I sensed the artifact’s wounded state, the edges of the fissure pulsing like an open gash. The entire tower groaned, as if objecting to my interference.

I kept going, channeling my life force through the link. The text had warned this ritual would demand sacrifice. I’d prayed it wouldn’t kill me, but there hadn’t been an option to stop once it began. My strength rushed out in waves, siphoned by the Heirloom.

How much does it need?My vision blurred. It felt endless.

Kazimir’s panic flared through our bond. He realized what I was doing. I sensed the dark swirl of his dominion magic as he fed his strength into me, even though he might be bleeding out down there.

Tears swam in my eyes. “Idiot,” I whispered through a throat gone tight. “Glorious, stubborn idiot.”

I let his dominion power weave with my heroic magic, funneling both into that bright cord of light. The Heirloom’s amber aura blazed in unison, surging so intensely it almost drowned the entire runic circle in brilliance. Where the fracture cut the metal, I watched the edges begin to fuse, stitching themselves back together.

Below, the roar grew deafening. The tower rocked on its foundations, beams splintering and stones scraping into fresh rubble. I felt Kazimir’s magic flicker; he was weak. I clung to what remained of my control and hurled the entirety of my life force at the artifact. A final burst of light exploded between the Heirloom and me, wringing out my soul like a soaked rag. Then—suddenly—the fracture fused, leaving only unmarred metal in its place.

The Heirloom shone, steady at last… but I couldn’t savor the victory. I pitched forward, my forehead smacking softly against the pedestal. Kazimir’s relief washed over me, followed immediately by fresh fear as yet another violent blast rocked the tower’s lower floors, shuddering upward.

I tried to stand, but my legs refused to unbend. My mind felt hazy, my strength nearly gone. And it was too late anyway. The tower was caving in. I flung my arms out in a desperate attempt to find something to keep me from sliding into the yawning void. The floor tilted. Stone, mortar, and centuries of architecture gave a final, tortured groan.

I had one clear heartbeat in which I understood there’d be nothing to save me. The tower was crashing to oblivion, and I was trapped. I reached out and snatched the newly healed Heirloom, holding it tight against my chest.

The floor dropped from beneath me. A ragged scream caught in my lungs. Through the bond came Kazimir’s unfiltered terror, echoing my own. My world whirled in a storm of dust, golden glare, and collapsing stones. The entanglement between Kazimir and me stretched impossibly thin. But it didn’t break.

I had no strength left to spare. The only thought scratching through my panicked brain was to use the Heirloom. It was the last shred of protection I had.

Clutching it in my trembling fingers, I shoved the gleaming crown onto my head as the tower’s remains swallowed me in a crush of thunder and stone.

Then I fell into the dark.

72

PUSH BEYOND YOUR LIMITS (DARK LORDS DON’T DIE UNTIL THEY FIND THEIR LADIES)

KAZIMIR

I rammed my dagger through the idiot hero’s throat. His eyes went wide, shocked in that timeless, righteous way that heroes often died, like they never saw it coming. But I barely registered the kill.

My focus hung by a thread, pulled in a thousand directions. Every corner of the courtyard bristled with chaos, and magic pounded through the entanglement that bound me to Arabella. She was attempting the Lifeweave ritual—of course she was. Beneath my own frantic terror, her will thundered through our link, fueling me even as it threatened to crush me.

I yanked the blade free. The Guild warrior’s corpse slumped onto the stone with a harsh gargle. My bones throbbed in time with the raw surge of power I felt from Arabella. She was channeling her own life force into that damned Heirloom, and somehow still bolstering me through our connection. I hated imagining the toll it demanded from her.

A second Guild fool lunged. I hissed a command, and my shadow warriors tore him apart before I could blink. Usually, I took a degree of satisfaction in watching them feed on myenemies, but I barely registered the blood splatter. Instead, I reeled as each new wave of Arabella’s desperation tore along my insides, twisting my runes in pure agony.

The citadel shuddered hard enough to rattle my teeth. I stumbled backward, dragging my gaze toward the eastern tower. I needed to reach her—to stop her or help her or do anything but stand there. Another quake fractured the stone. I managed two steps before Thorne grabbed my arm.

“My lord! The tower’s failing!”

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