Page 22 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

When we reached the bathroom door, Azrael made a subtle gesture with his hand, creating a barely visible shimmer across the entrance.

Mr. Snuggles bounced off it with an indignant squeak, then sat back on his haunches with an expression of profound betrayal.

He pawed at the barrier, making a series of increasingly pitiful sounds.

“Is the magical dragon-proofing really necessary?” I asked, watching as Mr. Snuggles continued his dramatic performance, flopping onto his side and staring at me with his single eye widened in what I could only describe as draconic puppy dog eyes.

“After the incident, I believe precautions are warranted,” Azrael replied diplomatically.

“It was just a little splashing,” I said, though even I had to admit that “splashing” was a generous description for what had looked like a miniature tsunami contained within four walls.

Mr. Snuggles flopped down dramatically outside the door as it closed, his tail thumping against the floor in what I was learning was his version of a sulk.

Inside the bathroom, I found the massive obsidian tub already filled with what appeared to be liquid midnight, but darker and more intense than previous days.

The steam that rose from the surface carried an exotic scent that reminded me of thunderstorms and dark chocolate, with an undertone of something more potent.

“Enhanced shadow essence,” Azrael explained, noticing my hesitation. “Harvested from the deepest reaches of the void realms. Even rarer and more potent than our previous formulations.”

“It’s not going to make me grow an extra head, is it?” I asked, eyeing the dark liquid suspiciously. “Because I’ve only just figured out how to style this one, and I don’t have the bandwidth for head number two right now.”

“It will merely intensify your natural dark radiance, my lord,” Azrael assured me. “Though I should warn you that the sensation will be considerably more… intense than our previous sessions.”

That didn’t sound ominous at all.

I stripped and slipped into the tub without preamble.

The moment the liquid touched my skin, I gasped.

This was nothing like the previous baths.

It felt like being submerged in carbonated silk—effervescent, cool yet somehow warming, with a tingling sensation that danced across my skin like static electricity, ten times more intense than before.

“Holy mother of—” I bit back a curse. “That’s… something else entirely. Like taking a bath in Pop Rocks and lightning on steroids.”

“This particular essence is responding more strongly to your innate darkness,” Azrael said, his gaze professionally neutral as he prepared various bottles and cloths nearby. “It recognizes its master more readily than the diluted versions we’ve been using.”

The tingling intensified, spreading through my body like wildfire but without the burning.

It felt like every cell was simultaneously being massaged and charged with electricity.

Not unpleasant, exactly, but overwhelming—like stepping from a quiet room into a rock concert where the bass is so loud you can feel it in your teeth.

“Is it supposed to feel like I’m being gently electrocuted by a very considerate lightning bolt?” I asked, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

“The sensation varies based on one’s connection to the shadow realms,” Azrael replied, moving behind the tub with a bottle of what I assumed was magical shampoo. “For a being of your power, it should feel… invigorating.”

Invigorating was one word for it. “Borderline inappropriate” might be another, but I wasn’t about to share that observation with Azrael. Some things are better kept private, especially when your demonic butler already has boundary issues.

Azrael poured something dark and shimmering into his palm. His fingers slid into my hair, and a fresh wave of tingling sensation cascaded down my scalp. It was like someone had replaced my brain with a sparkler—all fizz and pop and bright sensations.

“Sweet merciful caffeine,” I muttered, my eyes falling closed despite myself. “That feels like my brain is getting a deep tissue massage.”

“The essence purifies as it energizes,” Azrael explained, his voice closer to my ear than I’d expected. “It removes impurities while restoring magical pathways.”

He worked in slow, methodical circles, applying pressure in a way that was somehow both clinical and intimate.

The contradiction was very on-brand for Azrael—everything he did existed in that uncanny valley between professional service and possessive devotion.

As his hands traced patterns across my shoulder blades, spreading the essence with firm, confident strokes, each touch sent fresh waves of tingling energy cascading through me.

I bit my lip to keep from making sounds that would definitely complicate our professional relationship.

“The essence must be applied evenly,” Azrael explained, his hands moving lower down my spine. “To ensure balanced restoration of your magical reserves.”

“I’m pretty sure my magical reserves are plenty restored,” I said quickly, my voice embarrassingly tight. “In fact, I’m feeling downright overflowing with magic right now. Positively brimming. A veritable fountain of arcane energy.”

“The process requires thoroughness, my lord,” Azrael insisted, though he did move his hands back to safer territory. “Half measures would be ineffective.”

I was starting to suspect that “thoroughness” was Azrael-speak for “I get to touch you more,” but I couldn’t prove it, and honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure I minded. Which was a whole other can of worms I wasn’t ready to open.

“I think that’s enough essence application for one day,” I said firmly, reaching for a nearby washcloth. “I’m feeling very restored. Super restored. Maximum restoration achieved. I’m so restored I could probably power a small city with my excess magic.”

Azrael withdrew his hands with what seemed like reluctance. “As you wish, my lord. Though I should note that your luminosity is not yet at optimal levels.”

“I don’t need to be optimal. I just need to be functional. Besides, too much glowing and I’ll look like I swallowed a flashlight.”

I finished washing quickly, acutely aware of Azrael’s presence even though he’d moved to a respectful distance. The shadow essence had left my skin tingling pleasantly, and I could swear there was a subtle glow emanating from beneath the surface—like I’d replaced my blood with watered-down neon.

When I stood and reached for a towel, I caught Azrael’s gaze flickering over me before quickly averting.

It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed him looking—he was my butler, after all, and seeing me naked was apparently part of the job description—but there was something different in his expression this time. Something… hungry.

“Something wrong?” I asked, wrapping the towel around my waist with perhaps more haste than dignity.

“Not at all, my lord,” Azrael replied smoothly. “I was merely assessing the effectiveness of the shadow essence. Your natural luminosity has been… enhanced.”

“Enhanced. Great. Just what I always wanted—to glow in the dark. Very practical for sneaking up on people.” I grabbed a second towel for my hair, rubbing it vigorously.

“Though I suppose it beats the alternative. What’s the opposite of luminous?

Dull? Dim? ‘The Dim Lord’ doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of my enemies. ”

“You misunderstand, my lord,” Azrael said, stepping closer with a robe held open for me. “The luminosity is not a common light. It is the manifestation of your shadow power—darkness made visible. It inspires both awe and terror in those who behold it.”

“Darkness made visible,” I repeated, slipping my arms into the robe. “That’s either really profound or complete nonsense. I honestly can’t tell which.”

As Azrael secured the robe around me, his hands lingered at my waist a moment longer than necessary. “It is the mark of your divine right to rule, my lord. A sign that sets you apart from lesser beings.”

I snorted. “Divine right to rule? Pretty sure I got this job through cosmic clerical error, not divine appointment. The universe’s version of getting someone else’s mail.”

Azrael’s expression remained serious. “You underestimate your significance, my lord. Your return was foretold. Your power is unmatched. Your very existence shapes the fabric of this realm.”

“Yeah, well, my very existence is about to shape the fabric of some leather pants, apparently,” I deflected, gesturing toward the dressing room. “Let’s get this show on the road. The city isn’t going to inspect itself.”

When we opened the bathroom door, Mr. Snuggles was waiting exactly where we’d left him, looking distinctly unimpressed with his forced exile.

He immediately wound around my ankles, making a series of chirping sounds that somehow conveyed both “I missed you terribly” and “how dare you bathe without me.”

“I think someone missed you, my lord,” Azrael observed dryly as Mr. Snuggles continued his ankle-weaving routine all the way to the dressing room.

“Appropriate” attire turned out to mean “enough leather to outfit a biker gang.” The outfit Azrael had selected consisted of formfitting black leather pants (of course), a silk shirt in deep crimson, and an elaborate long coat with high collar and silver embroidery that somehow managed to be both imposing and stylish.

A sweeping cape fastened with silver clasps completed the ensemble, along with boots that added a good inch to my height.