Page 73 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

“So,” I ventured warily, “why the sudden kindness? Slipping aphrodisiacs into my wine again?”

“No.” One eyebrow arched. “Would you rather I let you turn into an ice statue?”

“I just wasn’t expecting… this.”

“I told you from the beginning I had no interest in harming you.”

“Harming me is one thing,” I said, picking at a stray crumb, “but mulled wine in the dead of night is another.”

“Maybe I prefer you warm and coherent.” He took a drink.

My body certainly approved; the tremors had stopped. “Thank you,” I muttered, setting the empty plate aside. “It helped.”

Kazimir lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, as if to dismiss my gratitude. “Shall we stick to safer topics, or do you want to keep analyzing my every move?”

“Oh, I intend to keep analyzing.”

He chuckled. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Summoning my nerve, I chose to address the issue that had bothered me since our journey from Arvoryn Manor. “Earlier, when I teased about taking lovers, you were… upset.”

Kazimir’s gaze fixed on his wine, swirling the last of it. “Are you planning to take a lover, Arabella?”

“That’s not the point.”

He set down his mug. “It is to me.”

I refused to flinch under his intense gaze. “You and Morana were lovers, and it didn’t bother you one bit that she had others,or even a husband. Yet at the mere hint I might do the same, you snapped like an enraged wolf. Why?”

His eyes darkened with possessiveness. “Morana and you are not the same.”

“Our agreement doesn’t prevent me from seeking another bed,” I reminded him.

He stalked forward and braced his hands on either side of me, leaning into my space. “You seem to think I was joking.” He lowered his voice. “What’s mine stays mine.”

A forbidden spark lit beneath my ribs. I should have been outraged. Iwasoutraged—but also disturbingly heated by it. “I’m not a trinket in your hoard.”

“No.” His gaze dipped to my mouth. “You’re a force in your own right. Being mine doesn’t diminish that—it amplifies it. My resources, my protection, devoted to preserving exactly who you are.”

My heart hammered. “And you? Planning to collect another lover?”

His posture stiffened, as though the notion offended him. “I have no interest in trifles,” he said roughly. “I find myself sufficiently occupied with one infuriating woman.”

The blunt honesty stole my retort. He looked so intense in that moment—dark eyes locked on mine, a stray lock of hair falling across his forehead. But he also seemed vulnerable, the fearsome Dark Lord letting slip a confession he might not even realize was a confession.

“Oh,” I managed, feeling ridiculously breathless.

His mouth curved slightly. “Yes.Oh.”

He stepped back, restoring a sliver of distance. The earlier chill was long gone; I was warm from head to toe, and the mulled wine wasn’t solely to blame.

Grateful for the reprieve, I cleared my throat. “Fine. New subject?”

“Gladly.” He leaned against the opposite counter, arms folded. “That tale you told Griffin, ‘The Hero’s Garden.’ My library holds no record of it. Where did your mother learn it?”

I shrugged. “She never said. But she believed the roses represented transformation, not conquest.”

Kazimir looked skeptical. “The Golden Roses are powered by ley lines—no moral lesson involved.”

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