Page 118 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

The restaurant was in ruins. Tables overturned, that fascinating ceiling view cracked and leaking sea water. Other diners cowered behind whatever cover they could find, staring at me with the kind of terror I usually welcomed.

I stood in the center of the devastation, breathing hard, my runes burning so hot I could smell charred fabric. The fragment was still there, still screaming, but now it was screaming in triumph.

The display of power was exactly what we’d been trying to avoid. Every Syndicate member with half a brain would know something had changed, would know I’d accessed power levels that should have been impossible. So much for hiding whatever changes the Heirloom had wrought.

But as I turned to check on Arabella—found her unharmed if wide-eyed, Sebastian’s vines having provided additional protection—I found I didn’t care.

They’d tried to kill her. In front of me. That was unforgivable.

The fragment and I were in complete agreement on that point.

I might have something ancient and murderous sharing space in my skull, but I was still Kazimir Blackrose. And the sheer audacity of attacking my wife in my presence made my vision blur red.

I could feel power thrumming beneath my skin, and my runes began to feel like they were writhing instead of burning, as if they were trying to shape themselves into something new. I flexed my hands, half expecting to see blood pouring from the old scars. But nothing was different except my magic felt sharper and hungrier.

For once, the voice in my head was silent. Not because it had gone away, but because we finally wanted the same thing.

Who the fuck tried to kill what’s mine?

34 Ask Your Wife to Trust You

(When You Don’t Trust Yourself)

Kazimir

I was halfway to the door when Arabella’s voice cut through the apartment.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?”

I didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. The fragment had been screaming since we’d left the restaurant an hour ago, a relentless assault of violent impulses that made my skull feel like it was splitting. Every second in her presence was a battle between wanting to protect her and the ancient thing inside me that wanted to either destroy her or claim her so completely she’d never escape.

Both options were unacceptable.

“Hunting,” I said curtly, reaching for my coat. “Someone tried to kill my wife. I intend to find out who and introduce them to creative applications of pain.”

“Without me?”

I finally glanced back. Arabella stood in the common area, dressed in her new black leathers. The sight of her sent the fragment into a possessive frenzy.

Mine. She’s mine. Make her submit. Make her—

I gritted my teeth. “Yes, without you. You’re the target. The safest place for you is here, behind wards.”

Her eyes flashed. “The safest place for me is wherever I can see the threats coming. Or have you forgotten what happened the last time you tried to keep me ‘safe’ by leaving me behind?”

“This is different,” I snapped, shadows curling around my body in agitated spirals. “Professional assassins just tried to kill you in a public restaurant. Whoever sent them will try again.”

“Exactly.” She crossed her arms, and the movement drew my attention to the twin daggers strapped to her thighs. “It was my life they threatened. I have every right to hunt the bastards who tried to take it.”

Logically, she was right. But logic had nothing to do with the war raging in my head.

Keep her close. Never let her out of your sight. She’s yours to protect, yours to control, yours to—

“Fine,” I bit out, the word tasting bitter. “But you stay behind me. You don’t engage unless I give the order. And if I tell you to run, you fucking run.”

Her lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I don’t take orders well. You should know that by now.”

“Arabella—”