Page 93 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

I finally managed to unfasten my jacket and fling it across the room. It knocked into a vase of black roses, sending water and petals scattering.

“Perfect,” I muttered. I stomped over to the mess and kneeled to gather the fallen flowers. Their bitey petals nipped my fingers, drawing tiny beads of blood. The sting was sharp and bracing, but it was something tangible I could hold on to, given how badly everything else swirled in my head.

“‘Things you don’t know, Arabella,’” I said in a mocking imitation of Kazimir’s measured tone. “Yes, of course. Are you planning to sacrifice me to an ancient god, or?—”

A knock on the door cut through my rant.

“Go away!” I shouted.

The knock came again, more urgent this time.

Fuming, I ripped open the door, prepared to slice someone to ribbons with my words. A young servant girl stood there, trembling violently enough that she nearly dropped the silver tray in her hands.

“S-sorry, my lady,” she stammered. “Lord Blackrose said to bring you refreshments.”

The tray held a decanter of wine and a steaming dish that smelled infuriatingly appealing. Kazimir, the meddling bastard, was always one step ahead.

“Fine,” I said briskly, taking the tray. “Thank you.”

I shut the door with another satisfying slam, set the silver tray on a table, and poured myself a large glass of wine. I downed half of it in a single gulp.

“You will not think of him,” I warned myself, pacing the length of the room. “You will not remember how his hands felt on your waist, or how his?—”

When Kazimir got angry, he just broke things. I glared at my wine glass, thinking about hurling it at the wall. But that would be messy.

So I turned and flung the glass into the fireplace instead. It shattered in a glorious spray of crystal and red. The flames hissed as they swallowed the remains. A little tension seeped out of my body. I considered throwing the decanter next, but decided not to waste the rest of the wine. Instead, I stripped off the rest of my training clothes and stormed into the bathing chamber. I cranked the faucet so hot water gushed into the tub and slipped into its rising steam, hissing at how the heat stung my sore, shadow-kissed skin. The traces of dark magic still curled beneath my flesh, as if they had nowhere else to go.

The warmth eased my muscles, but it did nothing to calm my racing thoughts. “‘Things you don’t know,’” I repeated, anger dripping from every syllable. “Yes, please, keep whatever it is from me, Kazimir. I’m sure there’s no possible way it can backfire.”

I scrubbed myself with almost violent determination, as if I could scour away the memory of his hands and my own traitorous response. My elbow knocked over a jar of bath salts, sending shimmering blue crystals into the water. They stained the water with a vivid azure that clung to my skin.

“Shit,” I muttered.

A scratching sound at the window made me pause. Through the rippled glass, I glimpsed Nyx pressing her muzzle against the pane.

Sighing, I stood and wrapped myself in a towel. When I unlatched the window, Nyx squirmed inside and shook droplets of rain off her inky scales.

I stepped aside so she could properly shake herself dry. “I hope you haven’t eaten anything unfortunate.”

Nyx tilted her head, blinking at me as if to say she’d never do such a thing. That smug look in her eyes betrayed otherwise, but I didn’t have the energy to press her.

I threw on a robe, and we trailed back to the bedroom. The mess lay in wait: broken glass, scattered petals, puddles of water, and my clothes left in a careless swirl.

“It needed a woman’s touch,” I said.

Nyx hopped onto the bed and promptly began shredding a pillow, filling the air with drifting feathers.

“Glad you approve,” I muttered. Grabbing the decanter of wine, I took a solid drink from the neck, then flopped onto the bed. Nyx abandoned her growing pile of feathers and curled up beside me with keen amusement. Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing the storm still raging in my chest.

Kazimir was off dealing with that so-called crisis. And had left me to stew here alone. Would he come back to finish what we started? Or would he ice me out again, the way he had when I’d practically been ready to rip his clothes off?

My lips still throbbed with the memory of his kiss. The sheets smelled faintly like him—winter storms and charred wood, a scent that struck me as both forbidding and safe in a twisted way. Like a bonfire blazing in the coldest night.

“I really do hate him,” I announced to Nyx, who rested her head on my stomach. “His damn secrets, his maddening hands, his ridiculously perfect cheekbones.”

Nyx let out a soft rumble that sounded too close to laughter. Rolling my eyes, I stroked her muzzle.

He had no right to tease me like this, and I intended to make that perfectly clear the moment he returned. The reminder sparked fresh anger in my chest. I took another deep swig of wine, then set the decanter aside.

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