Page 32 of Infernal Crown (Cursed Darkness (DarkHallow Academy) #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

VERIK

She blinks at me. She is thoroughly pissed off right now, but this is a weight off my shoulders.

Was I excited about doing the unthinkable and bridging two realms together?

Of course. Was it going to be easy? Fuck no.

It might’ve killed me. I would still have attempted it and succeeded, but maybe not be around to win back my throne and see Lysithea free.

I turn to Lysithea, watching her process everything that’s just happened. The Crown sits on her head like it was always meant to be there, and part of me thinks maybe it was. The grimoire might’ve been a manipulative fuck, but that manipulative fuck couldn’t lie.

She gulps and reaches up to grip the Crown. She pulls it from her hair with a surprised expression. “It came off.”

“Maybe because you have accepted it?” Dathan says. “It doesn’t feel needy anymore.”

“Unlike you,” I mutter, pissed off that I missed out on the fucking. In fact, that is something I plan to rectify before I go and burn some rebels to the ground.

I move towards her, my hellfire heritage making the air shimmer around me. “Before I go reclaim what’s mine, I need something.”

“What?” she asks, though the heat in her eyes suggests she already knows.

“You.” I pull her to the edge of the bed. The Crown falls from her hands, forgotten on the sheets. “I’ve been working through architectural calculations while you lot were fucking, and I’m feeling distinctly left out.”

“Poor baby,” she murmurs as I spread her legs wider to give me access.

I unzip my pants and pull my cock out. This position gives me perfect access to her cunt, still damp with cum. Gripping underneath her thighs, I lift her hips.

“Fuck,” I groan as I push inside her pussy. The sensation grounds me in a way nothing else can. Not architecture, not magic, not even the promise of reclaiming my throne. Just her, tight and perfect around my cock.

“Verik,” she gasps, arching off the bed.

I grip her tighter, angling her hips so I can drive deeper. The sight of her spread out in front of me, flushed and desperate, makes my hellfire sing with possession. Mine. She’s fucking mine, and soon I’ll have my throne back, and everything will fall into place exactly as it should.

“You feel perfect,” I growl, setting a brutal pace that makes the bed frame protest. “So, fucking perfect.”

Her nails rake down my forearms, leaving red lines that heal almost instantly. The pain sharpens my focus, makes everything more intense.

This is what I’m fighting for. Not just a kingdom or a throne, but this. Us. The impossible bonds that tie us together despite every rational reason to walk away.

“Harder,” she demands, and I comply because denying her anything feels fundamentally wrong.

I slam into her with enough force to make her whimper, my fingers digging into her thighs hard enough to leave bruises. The possessive part of me loves marking her, claiming her in ways that transcend magic or blood bonds.

“You’re going to think about this while I’m gone,” I tell her, my voice rough. “Every time you move, you’ll remember how I fucked you.”

“Arrogant bastard,” she pants, but her pussy clenches around me in response.

“You love it.”

She doesn’t deny it. Can’t.

I drive deeper, feeling her body yield to mine in ways that make my hellfire roar with satisfaction. The power thrumming through my veins has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the woman falling apart on my cock.

“Come all over me,” I demand, shifting the angle to bury myself even deeper.

She shatters, her orgasm ripping through her. The sensation pushes me over the edge, and I bury myself as deep as I can go, flooding her with my release.

For a moment, I just hold her there, both of us breathing hard. Then I pull out slowly, watching my cum leak from her well-fucked pussy with dark satisfaction.

I shove my cock back in my pants as Lysithea leaps off the bed, pulling her clothes back on hurriedly. The guys are already dressed and waiting by the door.

“Where’s the fire?” I ask.

“What’s the plan?” Lysithea asks instead of answering.

“Plan for?”

“Reclaiming your throne.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised by the sudden change in atmosphere. “Well, my plan is surgical,” I say. “No grand battles. No sieges. I know the architecture of my own keep better than they do. I know every weakness, every hidden passage of the palace.”

“When are you going?”

“Now,” I say with a wicked smile. “Blackgrove expects me to do this, and I’m done fucking waiting.”

She nods. “Let’s go then.”

“Oh, whoa, slow your roll there, hellcat. You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Oh, yes, we are,” she counters. “You are not doing this without us.”

I couldn’t love her more.

I stare at her. The sheer, stubborn force of her will is a physical thing, a wall I could break myself against and get nowhere. Her violet eyes are daring me to argue.

“It’s not a debate,” I say, my voice a low growl. “It’s my realm. My war.”

“Our war,” Dathan corrects. “You think we’re just going to sit here and knit while you go play king? Not happening.”

“This isn’t a game,” I snap, turning on him. “These are demons who’ve overthrown my parents as rulers. They aren’t going to make this easy.”

“And we are?” Lysithea asks, stepping up to me, her chin tilted in challenge. “We fought and killed a fucking god, Verik. I think we can handle a few disgruntled demons.”

I want to lock her in this room. Wrap her in wards so thick nothing could touch her. But the look in her eyes tells me she’d just tear them apart. The Soul Scar on my arm burns, a reminder that we’re connected, that leaving them behind is a weakness, not a strength.

“Fine,” I bite out. “But you do exactly what I say. None of you know what you’re doing there.”

She gives me a slow, wicked smile as she reaches for her Crown and places it on her head. “We are the power source that will annihilate those fuckers.”

“And then you get to usurp your dad and take his throne,” Dathan adds with a snort. “I’m sure he will love that.”

I glare at him. “His arse was removed by the rebels. It’s up for grabs.

Winner takes all.” I leave them gaping after me, but I don’t give a shit.

I was exiled because of my parents’ weakness.

I will not defeat these rebels, take back the kingdom and seat my father back on that throne.

Over my dead fucking body. And I know, now that she has her Crown back, Lysithea will not let that happen to me.

“Where to?” Evren asks.

“The far east corner of the grounds,” I reply instantly. “That is where I was thrust through with hellfire licking my arse.” I slam my fist into my other hand. “It’s the perfect place. I won’t have to create a brand new opening.”

We reach the spot. The grass is still slightly scorched in a perfect circle, a permanent scar on DarkHallow’s grounds. The air here feels thin, warped. A lingering echo of the portal my parents created that spat me out years ago. Now I’m returning, but I’m not the same exiled prince.

I’m the fucking king in waiting.

I plant my feet at the centre of the circle. The others form a perimeter around me, their power a familiar weight in the air. I don’t need their help to tear a hole in reality, but their presence focuses me. It gives the rage a purpose beyond simple destruction.

“Are you sure you’re ready to test this?” I ask Lysithea.

“Let’s do this.”

“Get your magic ready,” I command, my voice low. “The other side won’t be welcoming.”

I raise my hands, palms out. Hellfire answers my call. I sculpt a doorway, my fingers flicking in the air as I see the schematic in my mind’s eye. I peel back the layers between dimensions with precision, folding space to create a clean, stable doorway.

The air screams as it parts. Through the shimmering heat haze, I see it. My home dimension.

I step through, followed closely by the others, and nearly get my head chopped off for the effort.