Page 21 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Kazimir’s gaze swept over the remaining soldiers. Another muttered syllable sent them choking too. They fell one by one, thrashing uselessly until they were still. Drowned on dry land.

He hadn’t raised a finger.

He turned to me, his face a thunderous mask. The air around him crackled with residual magic, the runes on his neck glowing with a faint, malevolent light beneath his grime-streaked skin. There was no “I told you so” in his eyes, though. No chiding for my recklessness. There was only a cold, possessive fury that anyone had dared to get that close to me. That anyone had even thought about harming what was his.

To everyone else, he was the Scourge of Azroth, a terrifying warlord executing his enemies with casual, brutal efficiency.

To me, standing there covered in sweat, grime, and blood, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his eyes burning with protective rage, he was the most breathtakingly attractive thing I had ever seen.

The adrenaline of the fight, the proximity to death, my own surging power all coalesced into a single, undeniable thought.

Invading a kingdom was excellent foreplay.

The ghost of a smirk played on my lips. He noticed it, of course. He noticed everything. His own expression softened almost imperceptibly, the raging storm in his eyes calming to a low, possessive simmer.

“Well?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me in places completely inappropriate for a battlefield. He gestured dismissively at the dead men at our feet. “Did you learn anything?”

He was still pissed. Royally pissed that I’d nearly been skewered.

“I learned that drowning people with magic is remarkably efficient.” I tried for snark, but my voice was still a little shaky. The battle raged around us, but everyone was giving the villains a wide berth. “And that you have a flair for the dramatic, but that’s not really new.”

“Your shield failed. We’re increasing your training.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

I rolled my eyes, affecting a weary sigh. “Kaz, you already have me fighting animated wooden constructs two nights a week, we spar with actual swords every other day, and I practice my own magic until I see spots. What’s next? Sleep deprivation? Blindfolds? Fighting with one hand tied behind my back?”

A dangerous, wicked glint entered his eyes. He stepped closer, crowding me against a barricade, his body a solid wall of heat and power. His lips brushed my ear as he leaned in.

“Now that you mention it…” His voice dropped to a sinful whisper. “I’ve been thinking about blindfolds. And restraints. Though not for combat training.”

A shiver of pure, unadulterated lust crawled straight down my spine and settled between my thighs. Gods, we were both terrible people—flirting in the middle of a massacre we’d orchestrated.

“I had it under control,” I lied.

“Of course you did.” His lips moved to my neck, teeth grazing just below my ear. “But I was getting bored over there.”

The heat of his breath against my skin made my knees weak. The inappropriateness of it all—standing amidst death and destruction while wanting nothing more than to tear his clothes off—was its own kind of intoxication.

Before I could reply, he straightened, his public mask of the cold, aloof Dark Lord snapping back into place. He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful.

“Come on.” He began scanning the battlefield. “Let’s go find someone else to kill.”

He started dragging me along with him, deeper into the beautiful, bloody chaos he’d created.

The battlefield thinned as we advanced. Kazimir slipped between shadows, his magic reaching out to crush throats and snap bones. I followed in his wake, my own power flickering between golden light and consuming darkness as I dispatched those who thought me the easier target.

We were unstoppable. Untouchable. A perfect union of destruction.

“That commander—the one with the silver pauldrons,” I called, pointing to a man barking orders atop another makeshift barricade.

Kazimir’s eyes narrowed. “Shall we divide his attention?”

I grinned, already understanding the strategy. We’d practiced this maneuver in the training room countless times, but never unleashed it in battle. I circled left while Kaz moved right.

The commander spotted me first—the smaller target, the presumed weaker link. His sword raised as he shouted commands to his remaining men. Three broke formation, charging toward me.

I let my shadow daggers dissolve, instead calling forth the inverted healing magic I’d been perfecting. Gold light tinged with black swirled around my hands as I reached for the approaching soldiers. The first man’s momentum carried him straight into my outstretched palm. His skin withered on contact, aging decades in seconds as I siphoned his life force. He collapsed, a desiccated husk.

The others faltered, their faces masks of horror. That moment of hesitation was all Kazimir needed.