Page 142 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating
“What?” Perris gasped, the black poison veins now creeping toward his temples.
Arabella’s smile was cold enough to rival my own. “I get to choose who deserves my gift.”
Perris’s expression crumpled in disbelief. “But—you can’t?—”
“Oh, I absolutely can,” Arabella said.
“Please—” he begged, reaching for her sleeve again.
She stepped out of reach. “Fuck you, Perris. You’re going to die, just like those people you betrayed.”
I felt a surge of... something. Pride? Arousal? Both, if I was being honest. This darker side of Arabella was exquisite. I could have reminded her that he might have more information, butI wanted to watch her embrace this part of herself without my interference.
Perris alternated between curses and pleas as the poison worked its way through his system. His body convulsed, and black foam bubbled from his lips. “You heartless bitch,” he gasped. “You’re no better than him—” His eyes flicked to me.
“Perhaps,” Arabella said calmly. “But I’m the one who gets to walk away from this room.”
The last of his curses died with him, his body slumping in the chair.
I raised an eyebrow at Arabella. “That was... unexpected.”
She shrugged, though I could see the slight tremor in her hands. “He deserved worse.”
“I don’t disagree,” I said carefully. “Though we might have needed more information from him.”
“My truth-sense told me he’d given us everything useful,” she replied grimly. “The rest would have been just pathetic begging. Besides, I thought you’d appreciate the efficiency.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
“Let’s go,” she said, turning toward the door. “We have a war to plan.”
I followed, unable to suppress the fierce pride swelling in my chest. My wife—my brilliant, ruthless wife—was becoming more dangerous by the day.
And I was absolutely here for it.
57
KICK HIM WHERE IT COUNTS?(FOREPLAY, APPARENTLY)
ARABELLA
I woke before dawn with a restlessness that wouldn’t settle. The space beside me was empty, the sheets cold. Kazimir hadn’t returned to our chambers last night.
After dressing in my training leathers, I made my way through the citadel’s quiet corridors. When I reached the training chamber, he stood at the far end, shirtless, shadow blades in both hands. Rippling arcs of ebony coiled across his forearms, writhing with quiet menace. He made creating solid shadow weapons look infuriatingly easy.
He glanced over when I entered, our gazes locking for a fraction of a second. A glint of hunger flared in his eyes, making my pulse tick faster.
“You’re early,” I said.
He gave a faint huff of laughter. “I needed a distraction that wasn’t made of ink and parchment.”
“Did you work all night?” I crossed my arms. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
His jaw tightened, though the circles under his eyes confirmed it. “You needed rest.”
“And you didn’t?”
His shadow blades dissolved as he rolled his shoulders. “I’m used to going without.”
