Page 253 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“Forever isn’t long enough.” I pulled out and slowly slid back in, angling so that I stimulated her clit and made her squirm. I was so hard that the sensations were overwhelming, my dominion magic leaking out to wrap us both in shadows. I increased my pace, driven by the need to get closer, deeper, to merge with her completely. “I want eternity. Every lifetime.”

“You have them.” She clenched around me, already close again.

I made love to her with all the pent-up emotion of the last horrible hours. The fear when the Shadow King took her. The rage at my mother’s betrayal. The desperate relief when Arabella opened her eyes and said my name.

“Mine,” I growled, feeling my control finally snap. My shadows darkened the room until there was nothing but us, nothing but this bed and our bodies moving together. “My wife. My Dark Lady. My everything.”

“Yours,” she agreed, then bit my shoulder hard enough to draw blood. “And you’re mine. My villain.”

The words sent me over the edge. I came with a roar that probably echoed through half the fortress, spilling inside her as she found her own release again. The bond between us flared white-hot, our magic intertwining until I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.

We collapsed together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and racing hearts. I rolled to the side, pulling her with me so she sprawled across my chest. Neither of us spoke for long moments, content to simply breathe and exist in this perfect bubble of postcoital bliss.

“So,” Arabella finally said, tracing the glowing scars on my chest, “we conquered Solandris, freed an ancient evil, and declared our undying love for each other. What do we do for an encore?”

“Bath,” I decided. “Then food. Then I’m going to fuck you again. After that, we’ll figure out how to track down the Shadow King and put him back in his box.”

“Solid plan.” She yawned. “Though maybe we could sleep at some point? I did just fight off possession by an eldritch horror.”

“Fine. Bath, food, sleep, then more fucking.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“I know. It’s disgusting.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Next thing you know, I’ll be writing poetry about your eyes glowing golden in battle.”

She snuggled closer, boneless and content. “I love you, Kazimir Blackrose. Even if you did ruin my life.”

“I love you too, Arabella Blackrose.” I tightened my arms around her. “Thank you for ruining mine right back.”

She laughed, and I felt that pleasant ache in my chest expand until it threatened to crack my ribs. This woman had destroyed everything I thought I knew about myself, torn down every wall I’d built, and made me into someone I didn’t recognize.

Someone who loved. Someone who was loved in return.

I should have been terrified. Instead, I was planning all the ways I could make her laugh like that again. All the ways I could worship her body and challenge her mind and feed her darkness until we were both glutted on it.

The Shadow King was free. Solandris was in chaos. The world was probably ending.

But Arabella was in my arms, alive and whole and mine, and that was the only victory that mattered.

The rest we’d figure out tomorrow. After all, what kind of villain would I be if I didn’t start at least one apocalypse?

75 Savor the Calm

(Because Storms Are Definitely Coming)

Arabella

The sheets still smelled like sex and battlefield grime when I slipped out of bed, leaving Kazimir sprawled across the mattress.

His hair stuck up at odd angles, and a line of drool connected his mouth to the pillow. The most feared villain in the realm, reduced to this. I bit back a laugh and grabbed one of his shirts from the floor, pulling it over my head. It fell to mid-thigh and smelled like smoke and shadow magic.

My stomach growled, reminding me that we’d skipped the “food” part of our post-battle plans in favor of more pressing activities. Three times, to be exact. My thighs still trembled slightly as I padded toward the door.

The Inner Sanctum’s small kitchen was tucked away inside the main fortress, a private space reserved for family. The fact that I thought of it that way—family—should have been more jarring. Instead, it felt right. Natural. Like everything else about this insane life I’d chosen.

The smell hit me before I rounded the corner. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Fresh bread. And underneath it all, the green, earthy scent of Sebastian’s magic.

I found him at the wooden table, surrounded by what looked like a bakery’s worth of goods. Tarts lined up in perfect rows. Loaves of bread still steaming. Cookies stacked in precarious towers. His hands moved mechanically, kneading dough that probably didn’t need any more attention.