Page 184 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

The shadow retreated, then returned, deliberately slow, tracing my jawline. Teasing.

I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light filtering through heavy curtains. Kazimir sat perched on the edge of the bed, watching me with unnerving intensity. Shirtless. The intricate runes etched across his chest and arms stood out starkly against pale skin. His black hair was a glorious wreck, and a few days’ worth of stubble darkened his jaw. It wasn’t just scruff; it was feral. Dangerously, stupidly hot.

“How long was I out?” My throat felt like I’d swallowed half the rubble from the tower collapse.

“Three days.” His voice was rough from disuse. Relief warred with some other, darker undercurrent in his tone. It screamedmineandfinallyall at once. “We slept through most of it.”

“Three days,” I echoed, pushing myself up on shaky elbows. My body screamed profanities at me. Between the bruises, strained muscles, and the dull ache of magic clawing its way back from empty, I felt more rested than I should. And the agony had dulled to a persistent throb, at least. “Unconscious?”

He gave a shrug, his gaze never leaving mine. “Mostly. You surfaced yesterday. Drank some water. Immediately passed out again.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face. Clearly, my brief moment of consciousness hadn’t been particularly impressive. “Don’t remember?”

I shook my head, searching the foggy aftermath of the ritual and the fall. I remembered Kazimir finding me, and our sex under the stars, but everything after we left the barren rock isle was just a blur. We must have collapsed the second we arrived.

“You?” I asked, forcing my gaze away from the distracting landscape of his torso to the faint pink line healing across his brow. The worst of his injuries seemed repaired, leaving only faint reminders. That thick stubble, though… that was new. And unfairly appealing.

“Better. Surprisingly.” He flexed his fingers, a subtle test. Shadows coiled around them, looking less like frayed threads and more like waiting vipers. “My magic replenished faster than expected. Yours feels… less obliterated.”

I focused inward, probing the space where my power resided. Relief fluttered, sharp and bright. It wasn’t full, not by a long shot, but the terrifying emptiness was gone. The well wasn’t dry anymore.

Then the cold dread washed back. “The others? Vex? Griffin? Thorne?”

His expression tightened, a flicker of something that might pass for empathy in a normal person. In Kazimir, it was controlled acknowledgment. “Alive. Recuperating. Griffin is cataloging structural damage and noting detailed complaints about ancient masonry.”

I exhaled shakily. But the worst question still hung in the air. “And Sims?”

Kazimir’s gaze hardened. “His death was quick, but he took his attacker down with him.” A beat of silence. “We’ll honor him appropriately. No sentimental bullshit. Just… respect.”

An ache tightened under my ribs. Sims. His cynical pragmatism, his unwavering loyalty to this impossible man. Gone. The loss felt sharp and unexpectedly deep. I hadn’t known him long, but he was part of this chaotic fortress, part of Kazimir’s strange inner circle that he called advisors. I took a breath, pushing the grief down until I could process it appropriately.

Kazimir’s hand settled on my hip, warm and possessive through the thin fabric. I glanced down and realized I was wearing one of his ridiculously soft, large shirts. Nothing else. Heat prickled my cheeks.

“Feels like we were gone for years,” I murmured, instinctively leaning into his warmth, chasing away the lingering chill of loss and near-death. “Even if we were just comatose side-by-side.”

His eyes darkened, the ever-present hunger resurfacing with startling speed. “I’ve been awake a few hours,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Tried to occupy myself because I found waiting… distasteful.”

Ah. That predatory stillness hadn’t just been relief. He’d beenwaiting. My stomach did a nervous little flip-flop. “I’m awake now.” I let my gaze linger on his mouth, then travel slowly down his chest. “What did you have in mind, Lord Blackrose?”

His answering smile was pure, uncut wickedness. Hungry. Promising. “Why tell you,” he murmured, leaning closer, invading my space, his scent of storm and steel filling my senses, “when I can show you?”

Later—how much later, I couldn’t say—I lay sprawled across the sweat-dampened sheets, boneless and buzzing. Every inch of me hummed with a sated, languid energy. Kazimir was beside me, his chest rising and falling in a matching rhythm. My body felt thoroughly, gloriously wrecked. Used. Claimed. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through me. Staying here, tangled up with him, drifting back to sleep, was dangerously tempting.

I stretched, a groan escaping me as my muscles protested. I was deliciously sore. Everywhere. “Bath,” I managed. “Definitely need a bath.”

Kazimir rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. The sheet slid lower, revealing more of that unfairly perfect, rune-scarred torso. “Can’t walk, hero? I can carry you.”

I pulled a face, though honestly, my legs felt about as useful as overcooked noodles. “Your ego hardly needs any encouragement.”

His smirk widened into a wolfish grin. He stood, gloriously naked and utterly unashamed, scooped me effortlessly into his arms, and strode towards the bathing chamber. A startled laugh escaped me. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my cheek against the warm skin of his shoulder. Ridiculous. Being carted around like a spoil of war by a terrifying Dark Lord shouldn’t feel this… comfortable. Safe, even. Gods, I was ruined.

He deposited me gently onto a bench near the enormous marble tub that could probably host a small naval battle. He fiddled with ornate taps, pouring in oils that released a heady scent of spice and something dark and floral. The steam swirled around him, half-obscuring him like his own shadows.

I couldn’t help it. I grinned.

“Care to share?” he asked, turning back toward me, one eyebrow raised.

My grin widened. “Just enjoying the domestic image. The Scourge of Azroth, fussing over bath salts.”

He flicked a spray of water droplets at my face. I shrieked, half-laughing, as he reached for me again. “Don’t youdaredrop me!”

---