Page 92 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“If you don’t have the sense to protect yourself,” I said coldly, “perhaps I should have let them have their way with you after all.”

The words were cruel, calculated to cut, but instead of flinching, Sebastian tilted his head and studied me with those unsettling violet eyes. “You’re upset.”

“I’m always upset. It’s part of my charm.”

“No, this is different.” A small vine crept up the wall beside him, flowering with tiny white blooms. “You’re not yourself.”

The fact that he was worried about me, of all things, made the simmering rage flare white-hot. In response, the blooming vine shot forward, wrapping around my wrist with surprising strength.

“What the—” I yanked my arm, but the vine held fast. “Release me!”

“I’m sorry!” Sebastian looked mortified. “It’s not intentional—they respond to my emotions—”

I snarled, and shadows erupted from my hand. The vine didn’t just wither—it combusted, creating a smoking hole in the bone wall that went deep enough to see the chamber beyond.

Sebastian jerked back but didn’t flee. “Lord Blackrose,” he said, and I wanted to hit him just for the sympathy in his voice. But he plowed on, oblivious to the danger. “Would you like to talk about what’s troubling you?”

“What’s troubling me,” I said, my voice dropping to subzero temperatures, “is that I’m wasting time babysitting an idiot who’s too precious to defend himself when I should be hunting down a traitor. What’s troubling me is that I specifically told everyone to stay out of trouble, and yet here you are, alone, nearly getting yourself violated by street thugs because you lack the basic survival instincts the gods gave a particularly stupid moth. The only reason you’re still breathing is because my wife has a baffling soft spot for you.”

Sebastian flinched and went blessedly silent.

“Get back to the apartment,” I ordered. “And if you deviate by so much as a single step, I’ll let the next villains keep you.”

He hesitated.

“Go!” I roared. Shadows erupted behind me, forming into massive wings.

The Scone Lord scrambled away, nearly tripping over an unconscious thug in his haste. I watched until he turned the corner, heading in the right direction, then sent a shadow warrior to follow him. Just to make sure he actually made it back. For Arabella’s sake.

The rage was still there, simmering beneath my skin. But Sebastian’s words echoed in my mind. You’re not yourself.

I thought of Arabella’s face when I’d tried to compel her. The tears in her eyes. The way she’d said, “This isn’t you talking.”

But if it wasn’t me, then who the fuck was it? There was no one else to take the blame for my bad behavior.

The hunt for Pip resumed, but my focus was shattered. Every shadow I sent out searching came back empty. Every lead turned into nothing. The wine’s effects were shifting from heightened senses to a pounding headache, and those whispers kept sliding through my thoughts.

By the time I gave up and returned to our apartment, dawn was already breaking over the God Spire. I’d spent the entire night hunting ghosts and fighting my own mind, the Twilight Wine ensuring every moment was torture without Arabella there to… to…

I was going to murder the Alchemist. Slowly. Creatively. With extreme prejudice.

27 Submit to Romantic Treatments

(Despite Wanting to Murder Each Other)

Arabella

The venom creates a tingling sensation that opens your pores while simultaneously dissolving the top three layers of dead skin.” The spa attendant held up a jar of purple liquid containing a particularly angry jellyfish. She wore the spa’s uniform—a flowing black robe with silver embroidery that made her look like she was officiating a cult ritual rather than explaining beauty treatments. “It’s completely safe when administered properly.”

I stared at the translucent creature pushing against the glass. Its tentacles glowed with green light that screamed, “I will kill you painfully and without remorse.”

“Define ‘safe,’ ” I said.

“Well, the fatality rate is under ten percent.” The attendant’s smile never wavered. “And those are mostly due to allergic reactions. Or improper handling. Or that one incident with the siren who tried to make friends with it.”

“Fascinating,” I said, taking an instinctive step away from the jar. “But I think I’ll pass on having deadly toxins rubbed into my face today.”

The attendant nodded. “As you wish, my lady. Perhaps you’d prefer our volcanic hot stone massage? The stones are harvested from active volcanoes and blessed by fire elementals.”