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CELEbrATE STILL BEING ALIVE (STUBBLE IS THE OFFICIAL AFTERMATH LOOK)

ARABELLA

Something dark and weightless feathered across my skin. A brush of shadow against my collarbone that was somehow both possessive and playful. It lingered, tracing a path up my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The touch hummed with a low thrum of power, intimately familiar.

I smiled, eyes still closed. “Kaz.”

The shadow retreated, then returned, deliberately slow, tracing my jawline. Teasing.

I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light filtering through heavy curtains.

Kazimir sat perched on the edge of the bed, watching me with unnerving intensity.

Shirtless. The intricate runes etched across his chest and arms stood out starkly against pale skin.

His black hair was a glorious wreck, and a few days’ worth of stubble darkened his jaw.

It wasn’t just scruff; it was feral. Dangerously, stupidly hot.

“How long was I out?” My throat felt like I’d swallowed half the rubble from the tower collapse.

“Three days.” His voice was rough from disuse. Relief warred with some other, darker undercurrent in his tone. It screamed mine and finally all at once. “We slept through most of it.”

“Three days,” I echoed, pushing myself up on shaky elbows.

My body screamed profanities at me. Between the bruises, strained muscles, and the dull ache of magic clawing its way back from empty, I felt more rested than I should.

And the agony had dulled to a persistent throb, at least. “Unconscious?”

He gave a shrug, his gaze never leaving mine. “Mostly. You surfaced yesterday. Drank some water. Immediately passed out again.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face. Clearly, my brief moment of consciousness hadn’t been particularly impressive. “Don’t remember?”

I shook my head, searching the foggy aftermath of the ritual and the fall. I remembered Kazimir finding me, and our sex under the stars, but everything after we left the barren rock isle was just a blur. We must have collapsed the second we arrived.

“You?” I asked, forcing my gaze away from the distracting landscape of his torso to the faint pink line healing across his brow. The worst of his injuries seemed repaired, leaving only faint reminders. That thick stubble, though… that was new. And unfairly appealing.

“Better. Surprisingly.” He flexed his fingers, a subtle test. Shadows coiled around them, looking less like frayed threads and more like waiting vipers. “My magic replenished faster than expected. Yours feels… less obliterated.”

I focused inward, probing the space where my power resided. Relief fluttered, sharp and bright. It wasn’t full, not by a long shot, but the terrifying emptiness was gone. The well wasn’t dry anymore.

Then the cold dread washed back. “The others? Vex? Griffin? Thorne?”

His expression tightened, a flicker of something that might pass for empathy in a normal person. In Kazimir, it was controlled acknowledgment. “Alive. Recuperating. Griffin is cataloging structural damage and noting detailed complaints about ancient masonry.”

I exhaled shakily. But the worst question still hung in the air. “And Sims?”

Kazimir’s gaze hardened. “His death was quick, but he took his attacker down with him.” A beat of silence. “We’ll honor him appropriately. No sentimental bullshit. Just… respect.”

An ache tightened under my ribs. Sims. His cynical pragmatism, his unwavering loyalty to this impossible man.

Gone. The loss felt sharp and unexpectedly deep.

I hadn’t known him long, but he was part of this chaotic fortress, part of Kazimir’s strange inner circle that he called advisors.

I took a breath, pushing the grief down until I could process it appropriately.

Kazimir’s hand settled on my hip, warm and possessive through the thin fabric. I glanced down and realized I was wearing one of his ridiculously soft, large shirts. Nothing else. Heat prickled my cheeks.

“Feels like we were gone for years,” I murmured, instinctively leaning into his warmth, chasing away the lingering chill of loss and near-death. “Even if we were just comatose side-by-side.”

His eyes darkened, the ever-present hunger resurfacing with startling speed. “I’ve been awake a few hours,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Tried to occupy myself because I found waiting… distasteful.”

Ah. That predatory stillness hadn’t just been relief. He’d been waiting . My stomach did a nervous little flip-flop. “I’m awake now.” I let my gaze linger on his mouth, then travel slowly down his chest. “What did you have in mind, Lord Blackrose?”

His answering smile was pure, uncut wickedness. Hungry. Promising. “Why tell you,” he murmured, leaning closer, invading my space, his scent of storm and steel filling my senses, “when I can show you?”

Later—how much later, I couldn’t say—I lay sprawled across the sweat-dampened sheets, boneless and buzzing.

Every inch of me hummed with a sated, languid energy.

Kazimir was beside me, his chest rising and falling in a matching rhythm.

My body felt thoroughly, gloriously wrecked.

Used. Claimed. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through me.

Staying here, tangled up with him, drifting back to sleep, was dangerously tempting.

I stretched, a groan escaping me as my muscles protested. I was deliciously sore. Everywhere. “Bath,” I managed. “Definitely need a bath.”

Kazimir rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. The sheet slid lower, revealing more of that unfairly perfect, rune-scarred torso. “Can’t walk, hero? I can carry you.”

I pulled a face, though honestly, my legs felt about as useful as overcooked noodles. “Your ego hardly needs any encouragement.”

His smirk widened into a wolfish grin. He stood, gloriously naked and utterly unashamed, scooped me effortlessly into his arms, and strode towards the bathing chamber.

A startled laugh escaped me. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my cheek against the warm skin of his shoulder.

Ridiculous. Being carted around like a spoil of war by a terrifying Dark Lord shouldn’t feel this…

comfortable. Safe, even. Gods, I was ruined.

He deposited me gently onto a bench near the enormous marble tub that could probably host a small naval battle. He fiddled with ornate taps, pouring in oils that released a heady scent of spice and something dark and floral. The steam swirled around him, half-obscuring him like his own shadows.

I couldn’t help it. I grinned.

“Care to share?” he asked, turning back toward me, one eyebrow raised.

My grin widened. “Just enjoying the domestic image. The Scourge of Azroth, fussing over bath salts.”

He flicked a spray of water droplets at my face. I shrieked, half-laughing, as he reached for me again. “Don’t you dare drop me!”

He pulled me flush against his chest, his grip firm. “I just went to all that trouble with the bath salts. It’d be a shame to waste them by splashing all the water out.”

I clung to his neck, anyway, preparing to be dunked.

But instead of tossing me in, he lowered me carefully into the steaming water.

A long, contented sigh escaped me as the heat seeped into my aching muscles, melting the tension.

Bliss. He slid in behind me a moment later, his body fitting against mine like we were carved from the same stone.

His legs bracketed mine, his chest a solid wall at my back. Pure, decadent comfort.

We soaked in silence for a while, the only sounds the lapping water and our quiet breathing. His arms rested loosely around my waist, his stubbled chin settling on my shoulder. It was almost normal. Which, for us, was wildly abnormal.

He finally broke the quiet, his lips brushing my ear. “I’m proud of you.”

I turned my head, blinking. “Proud?” That wasn’t a word I associated with Kazimir. Possessive, yes. Impressed, occasionally. Proud?

“You fought,” he stated simply, his eyes holding a rare, unguarded intensity.

“Like a cornered shadowcat. And the Lifeweave…” His grip tightened fractionally.

“Reckless. Godsdamned, suicidally reckless.” A beat.

“But you did it. You survived harnessing that kind of power. Alone.” He shook his head, a flicker of awe warring with the lingering disapproval. “It’s staggering.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. Annoyingly, a part of me preened under his assessment. “I—” I floundered, sinking lower in the water. “It all happened so fast,” I admitted quietly. “I didn’t exactly have time for a risk assessment.”

I felt the rise and fall of his chest behind me. “I know,” he said, the words rough. “And I’m… relieved you’re still here to assess anything at all.”

My heart gave a painful squeeze. That kind of vulnerability from him was rarer than a snowstorm in the desert.

He reached for a soap and sponge and began lathering up my back. “Did you study the ritual on your own?”

“Yes.” I quickly told him how I’d been memorizing everything in secret, even as he was pushing me toward learning the control that I so desperately needed.

“In the end, I wasn’t alone, though,” I said as he ran the sponge over my chest. I turned for better access, but also so I could lock eyes with him.

“Without your magic helping me, I wouldn’t have been able to complete it. ”

I placed my hand over his heart, fingers splayed. “You could have died.”

“Unlikely,” he murmured. “I had unfinished business.”

With a smile, I took the soap and sponge from him and began massaging his chest and abdomen. “Skyspire?” I prompted, needing to focus on something other than the way he looked at me.

“A mess,” he confirmed, his voice regaining its sharp edge. “The eastern tower is gone, of course. Collateral damage in the adjacent corridors.” He paused. “But the citadel holds. Mostly.”

“And the Guild?”

Shadows flickered at the edge of my vision, Kazimir’s power stirring with his anger. “Thorne is handling the interrogations. He took Sims’s death… personally.”

I swallowed hard. Kazimir placed his hand over mine, to stop it from moving lower.

“There was a spy,” he continued, his tone hardening. “Feeding them information.”

My stomach plummeted. “Who?”

“Unconfirmed. But Pip vanished during the attack, with no trace.”

“Pip?” The image of the nervous, earnest young servant flashed in my mind. The one who’d seemed genuinely terrified of Kazimir but still tried to be kind. “You think he betrayed us?” It felt wrong. Impossible.

Kazimir’s hand tightened around mine before he released it. “I don’t know yet.”

Worry warred with a sudden, icy suspicion. “I can’t believe?—”

He cut me off with a low exhale. “We’ll find out. For now, the Heirloom is secure. Hidden here, in our private tower. Warded to hell and back. Only you and I will know its location.” His voice dropped, possessive and absolute. “I’m not taking chances until I know who to trust.”

“Always the strategist,” I teased, trailing wet fingertips over the runes on his chest. “Even mid-bath.”

“Strategy has served me well,” he murmured, a flicker of that danger returning. “It led me to you, didn’t it?”