Page 64 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

I practically dove into the bath, sending water sloshing over the sides in my haste.

The hot water did absolutely nothing to calm my overheated body—if anything, it only heightened my awareness of every nerve ending currently screaming for attention.

The black rose petals swirled around me like they were performing some kind of synchronized swimming routine, their scent rising with the steam to fill my head with images that definitely weren’t helping my current predicament.

I scrubbed myself with unnecessary vigor, as if I could somehow wash away the memory of Azrael’s fingers on my skin, the heat in his eyes, the way he’d looked at my mouth like it contained the secrets of the universe.

It wasn’t working. My mind kept conjuring increasingly vivid scenarios involving those elegant hands doing things that definitely weren’t in any butler manual I’d ever heard of.

Scenarios that were making certain parts of my anatomy stand at attention like they were auditioning for the royal guard.

A soft knock at the door made me jump so violently I nearly drowned myself.

“Enter,” I called, making sure I was sufficiently submerged to hide the evidence of my continued interest. The water might be steaming, but it wasn’t quite transparent enough to reveal the full extent of my embarrassment, thank whatever dark deity was in charge of bath opacity.

Azrael returned with a stack of neatly folded fabric. “Your evening attire, my lord.”

I squinted at the pile. “That doesn’t look like my usual pajamas.”

“You requested something more suitable for the warmer nights,” he reminded me, setting the stack on a marble bench. “These arrived today from the void realms.”

I vaguely remembered adding some sleepwear to one of my OpenSesame orders, but I’d been so focused on relief supplies and construction materials that I hadn’t paid much attention to the details. Based on the small size of the stack, I was starting to regret that lack of attention.

“I’ll assist with your hair, my lord,” Azrael said, picking up a small crystal bottle of what I assumed was shampoo. Before I could protest, he was kneeling behind me at the edge of the tub, his sleeves rolled farther up to reveal more of those unfairly distracting forearms.

“That’s really not nec—” I began, but the words died in my throat as his fingers slid into my hair, applying gentle pressure that sent shivers down my spine.

The sensation was so unexpectedly pleasurable that I had to bite back a sound that would have been deeply inappropriate for a butler-master relationship.

“The essence in this wash will enhance your natural luminosity,” Azrael explained, his voice closer to my ear than I’d expected, his breath cool against my skin. “It also strengthens magical pathways.”

I made a noncommittal noise that might have been agreement or might have been the sound of my brain short-circuiting.

His fingers moved in slow, methodical circles across my scalp, each touch sending waves of tingling pleasure through my body.

If this was how he washed hair, I couldn’t imagine what he’d do with more intimate activities.

Actually, I could imagine it all too well, which was exactly the problem.

“You have such beautiful hair, my lord,” Azrael murmured, his voice pitched low enough that it felt like a secret between us. “Like moonlight given form.”

My cheeks heated at the unexpected compliment. “It’s just hair,” I mumbled, feeling weirdly vulnerable under his ministrations. “Nothing special.”

“On the contrary,” he said, his fingers sliding to the nape of my neck in a way that made my toes curl, “everything about you is exceptional.”

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. For all his formal manners and occasional creepiness, there was something in the way he said it that made me believe he meant it—not as flattery to a superior, but as a genuine observation.

“I—thanks,” I managed, not sure how to respond to that level of earnestness. Compliments generally made me uncomfortable, like wearing shoes that were slightly too small. I never knew what to do with them except shuffle awkwardly and wait for the moment to pass.

Azrael’s hands moved to my shoulders, kneading muscles I hadn’t even realized were tense. “You carry too much tension here,” he said, his thumbs pressing into knots with just enough pressure to border on pain before releasing into relief. “The weight of a realm is a heavy burden.”

“Yeah, well, accidentally becoming king of a demon realm wasn’t exactly in my five-year career plan,” I said, trying for humor to distract from how good his hands felt.

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘assistant manager at a coffee shop’ or ‘guy who designs t-shirts with sarcastic sayings.’”

A soft sound that might have been a chuckle escaped him.

His hands slid lower, working at a particularly stubborn knot between my shoulder blades.

The position required him to lean closer, his chest nearly touching my back, his breath ghosting across my damp skin.

I was acutely aware of every point just shy of contact, of the scant inches separating his body from mine, of how easy it would be to lean back into him.

“I should rinse your hair, my lord,” he said after a moment that stretched too long to be comfortable but not long enough to satisfy whatever unnamed hunger was growing between us. He reached for a silver pitcher beside the tub.

“I can do it,” I said quickly, suddenly desperate for some distance before I did something stupid like turn around and kiss him. “You’ve done enough.”

“As you wish.” He rose in one fluid motion, gathering the used towels. “I shall await you in your chamber to assist with your evening preparations.”

He left before I could respond, closing the door with a soft click that somehow felt like both a reprieve and a disappointment. I slumped back into the water, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Get it together, Beau,” I muttered to myself. “You’re the Dark Lord of Iferona, not some lovesick teenager. Act like it.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? I might be inhabiting the body of an all-powerful demon king, but inside, I was still just Beau—awkward, inexperienced, and apparently harboring a massive crush on my immortal butler.

A butler who was probably just doing his job and not experiencing the same torturous attraction that was currently making parts of me float despite water density physics.

I finished rinsing my hair and scrubbing the rest of me, trying to think unsexy thoughts.

Tax forms. Sewage systems. The time I got food poisoning from gas station sushi.

None of it helped. My mind kept circling back to Azrael—his hands in my hair, his breath on my skin, the way his eyes had darkened when they met mine.

Finally, I gave up and climbed out of the tub, wrapping a towel around my waist. I approached the stack of “evening attire” with trepidation, lifting the top item with the caution of someone handling an unexploded bomb.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I groaned, holding up what appeared to be the world’s smallest shorts.

They were black with silver trim, made of some silky material that felt like water in my hands.

The matching tank top was equally minimal, designed to show off far more skin than I was comfortable displaying.

I had a vague memory of clicking “add to cart” on something labeled “OpenSesame Cooling Sleepwear” during a late-night ordering session when I couldn’t sleep.

The product image had been tastefully cropped to show only the top half, and I’d been too tired to read the full description.

Clearly, I should never be allowed to shop unsupervised after midnight.

With a resigned sigh, I pulled on the shorts, which barely covered the essentials, and the tank, which clung to my torso like a second skin.

A glance in the mirror confirmed my fears—I looked like I was auditioning for a very specific type of performance.

The silver trim caught the light with every movement, drawing attention to places I wasn’t used to highlighting.

“This is fine,” I muttered to my reflection. “It’s just sleepwear. No one’s going to see it except?—”

I glanced down at my still-obvious arousal and quickly grabbed the robe hanging nearby, wrapping it tightly around myself. There was no way in hell I was letting Azrael see me in this state. I’d never live down the embarrassment.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Azrael was arranging pillows on my bed with the same meticulous attention he gave to everything. He turned at my entrance, his eyes taking in the robe with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Are the new garments not to your liking, my lord?” he asked, his voice perfectly neutral despite the intensity of his gaze.

“They’re fine,” I said quickly. “Just a bit… drafty. I’ll change into them after you leave.”

“As you wish.” He moved to the nightstand where he’d placed a glass of what looked like wine. “Your evening draught, my lord. It aids in restful sleep.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the glass and trying not to notice how his fingers brushed against mine in the transfer. “Though I’m not sure I’ll need help sleeping. Today was exhausting.”

“Indeed, my lord.” His eyes hadn’t left me, tracking every small movement as I took a sip of the drink. It tasted like berries and honey with an undertone of something herbal.

“Is there anything else you require before retiring?” he asked, and was it my imagination or did his gaze linger on the loosely tied belt of my robe?

“I think I’m good,” I replied, setting the half-empty glass on the nightstand.

“Very good, my lord.” Azrael moved to leave, but paused beside me, close enough that I could feel the coolness radiating from his body. “If I may be so bold… you seem troubled. Is there anything I can do to ease your mind?”