Page 119 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“I’ll be careful,” she interrupted, moving past me to the door. “But I won’t be left behind. Not again.”

The fragment screamed its approval and its rage simultaneously, a cacophony of contradictory impulses that made my vision blur. Part of me desperately wanted Arabella where I could see her, protect her, ensure nothing could touch her. The other part—the ancient, terrible part—wanted to lock her away where she’d be safe and his and unable to defy him ever again.

I was going to lose my fucking mind before this night was over.

Thorne entered from the hallway leading from his room, armed and alert. “My lord. I heard you were planning a hunt.”

“Word travels fast.”

“It does when you destroy a restaurant and leave three corpses in your wake.” His eyes flicked to Arabella, then back to me. “No one threatens Lady Blackrose and gets away with it as long as I’m head of your security. I’m coming with you.”

It wasn’t a request. Thorne had been with me long enough to know when to push and when to back off. This was apparently a pushing moment.

“Fine,” I said again, the word coming easier this time. Having Thorne along meant another set of eyes on Arabella, another layer of protection between her and whatever threats lurked in the Spire’s depths. And in me.

You don’t need help protecting what’s yours.

I shoved the voice down with enough force to make my runes flare hot beneath my skin. The pain helped.

A shadow near the window began to ripple and distort, reality itself seeming to fold inward like fabric being pulled through a too-small opening. The air grew thick with the scent of thunderstorms and burnt sugar as darkness peeled away from the wall in layers.

Then Nyx’s head emerged.

It wasn’t a smooth transition. The dragon’s snout appeared first, followed by her neck at an angle that suggested she’d miscalculated the exit point by about three feet. Her front legs came through next, scrambling for purchase on thin air before she realized she was upside down. With an indignant squawk, she tumbled out of the shadow space in a tangle of pink-shimmering limbs and leathery wings.

She landed on the floor with all the grace of a drunk falling down stairs.

The pink blaze on her snout had spread since last night, bleeding across her cheeks in rosy streaks that made her look like she’d face-planted into a bowl of crushed raspberries. Her scales shimmered with that same sunset-through-storm-clouds iridescence, and even her wing membranes had taken on a faint blush.

She shook herself off, sneezed a puff of purple smoke, and fixed Arabella with a look of pure devotion.

Then she noticed me watching and her liquid silver eyes narrowed to slits.

“Absolutely not,” I said before anyone could suggest it. “The dragon stays here.”

Nyx’s answering hiss made her opinion of that plan abundantly clear. She positioned herself between Arabella and me, her tail lashing in agitation.

“She can help,” Arabella said, moving to stroke Nyx’s snout. The dragon immediately softened under her touch, though she kept one wary eye on me. “Her shadow-walking is getting better.”

“ ‘Better’ is a generous term for what I just witnessed.” I gestured at the dragon, who was still slightly off-balance from her graceless entrance. “She looks like she’s been dipped in pink paint.”

Nyx made an offended chirping sound and deliberately turned her back on me, pressing her head against Arabella’s chest.

“She’s still learning,” Arabella said, scratching behind the dragon’s horns. “And she’ll be useful. You know she will.”

I wanted to refuse. But the truth was, Nyx’s developing abilities would be useful. And having the dragon focused on protecting Arabella was even better than Thorne.

Besides, Nyx clearly didn’t trust me right now. The feeling was mutual—I didn’t trust myself either.

“Fine,” I said for the third—fourth?—time, wondering if I’d lost all authority in my own domain.

I pulled shadows around us like a cloak, darker and denser than I typically bothered with. No half measures tonight. If I was going to hunt through the God Spire’s underbelly, I’d do it properly—as the predator I’d spent my life becoming, not the man trying desperately to hold on to his humanity.

The fragment purred its approval.

We left the apartment in silence, descending through levels that grew progressively darker and more dangerous. The Spire’s lower reaches catered to the kind of clientele who preferred their business conducted in shadows, where questions weren’t asked and bodies disappeared without fuss.

My kind of people, usually.