Chapter 25 Recognize an Old Enemy
(and Become a New One to Your Wife)
Kazimir
The Twilight Wine hit my tongue like ice and turned it numb before warming into a fiery burn as it slid down my throat.
The effect was immediate. Every nerve ending seemed to come alive, making me hyperaware of Arabella’s presence beside me.
The silk of her dress against my hand, the subtle scent of her perfume, the way her lips glistened where the wine had touched them.
I watched Arabella’s eyes widen as it hit her, her pupils dilating. “Oh,” she breathed. “That’s… that’s… fuck.”
I knew exactly what she was feeling. The wine amplified everything—especially desire.
Even the brush of fabric against skin became an erotic experience.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly acutely aware of the weight of my clothes, the texture of the couch beneath me, and most of all, the heat radiating from Arabella.
She turned to me, her eyes dark with want. “Is it always like this?”
“Yes.” My voice was rough. “That’s why it’s so popular.”
She moved closer, her hand finding my thigh. “No wonder.”
The touch sent a jolt through me, far more powerful than it should have been.
I caught her wrist, but instead of pulling her hand away, I guided it higher.
“You said you wanted to try something different,” I murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver in response. “The shadows are still partially down.”
Her voice was husky, filled with want and excitement. “Here?”
“If you want.” I let my hand trail down her side, feeling the way she arched into the touch.
Take her, a voice whispered in the back of my mind. Show them all who she belongs to.
The thought sent a spike of arousal through me, followed immediately by an inexplicable flash of anger. The voice felt foreign and intrusive, but the wine made it difficult to focus on why.
I pushed the stray thought aside. I was a villain. I didn’t see anything wrong with claiming my bride in front of an audience, especially one that appreciated such displays. And if the way Arabella was pressing against me was any indication, she was amenable to the idea.
“We can stop anytime,” I murmured. She nodded.
I pulled her onto my lap to straddle me. My hands found her waist, then slid lower, bunching the silk gown as I explored the smooth skin of her thighs.
I let my fingers drift higher, toward the heat I could feel radiating from her core. “Just think—anyone could see.”
She glanced around the booth, taking in the shadows and the strategic positioning that would hide most of what we were doing. Below us, the orgy was still in full swing, and several other couples had found their own dark corners.
“You know,” she breathed against my ear, her voice thick with the wine’s influence and lust, “after our wedding, when you threatened to claim me in front of your entire court…” She paused, pressing closer, and I felt her heart racing against my chest. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
My hands stilled on her thighs. “Is that so?”
“I hated how much I wanted it.” Her admission came out in a rush, her cheeks flushing deeper. “The idea of everyone knowing exactly who I belong to.”
In all our time together, through every battle of wills and moment of passion, she’d never admitted to belonging to anyone—least of all me. She’d fought that notion with teeth and claws, and now here she was, straddling my lap in a den of villains, offering it freely.
“Say it again,” I commanded.
Her eyes met mine, pupils blown wide. “I belong to you, Kazimir Blackrose.”
The thrill that shot through me was equal parts triumph and humility. This magnificent creature, this woman who could bring me to my knees with a look, was choosing to be mine.
“And I,” I said, sliding my hand higher under her dress, “belong to you.”
Her hands curled into my hair as she whispered, “What’s mine, stays mine.”
“What’s mine stays mine,” I echoed.
She gasped as my fingers found the edge of her silk undergarments, already soaked through. The Twilight Wine made every sensation electric, and I could feel her trembling as I traced lazy patterns against the fabric.
“So wet for me already,” I murmured, pushing the silk aside. “And I’ve barely touched you.”
“The wine—” she started, but I cut her off by sliding three fingers into her in one rough thrust.
“Not the wine,” I corrected, curling my fingers to hit that spot that made her back arch. “This is all you.”
My thumb found her clit, working it in tight circles as I fucked her with my fingers. The wine amplified everything—I could feel every flutter of her inner walls, every pulse of her desire. She was so responsive, so perfect, grinding down against my hand with abandon.
“Kaz,” she moaned, burying her face in my neck. “Oh gods, I’m already—”
She came with shocking suddenness, her whole body going taut as she clenched around my fingers. The sound she made—a long, broken groan muffled against my throat—nearly undid me.
I laughed, dark and rough, continuing to work her through it even as she whimpered from oversensitivity. “That’s it. Let them all hear you. Think about all those people out there realizing exactly what I’m doing to you in here.”
She shuddered, drenching my fingers further. “Too much,” she gasped, her hands fisting in my shirt. “Kaz, please—”
“Please what?” I asked, adding a fourth finger and watching her eyes roll back. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop?”
“I don’t—fuck—I don’t know,” she babbled, caught between pushing into my touch and trying to escape it. The wine made everything too intense, too good, and I used that mercilessly, drawing out her pleasure until she was begging.
Only when she was trembling uncontrollably from another orgasm, tears of euphoria gathering in her eyes, did I ease my fingers out of her. She slumped against me, panting hard.
“I haven’t even touched you yet,” she complained weakly, and I could feel her lips curve into a smile against my neck. She turned her head to lay it on my shoulder as she sucked in breaths. “But I’m utterly exhausted.”
“Oh, I fully intend to let you return the favor,” I promised, shifting so she could feel exactly how hard I was beneath her.
She suddenly went rigid. “Kaz,” she said, but this time her voice was sharp with alarm rather than desire.
“What?” I sat up, alert.
“There.” She pointed toward the far side of the dance floor, where the crowd was thickest. “I think I saw Pip.”
The name hit me like a bucket of ice water, cutting through the wine’s effects with brutal efficiency.
Pip. The missing servant from Skyspire. The one who’d vanished during the Hero’s Guild attack.
The person I suspected of helping our enemies breach the citadel.
After all these weeks, the little bastard had finally surfaced.
I scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar figure—young, brown hair, nervous demeanor. “Are you certain?” I asked, shifting Arabella off me.
“I think so. It was just a glimpse.” She shook her head. “But he was moving toward the back exit.”
I was going to get answers, even if I had to tear them from his mind piece by bloody piece.
I conjured three shadow warriors with a thought, their forms materializing from the darkness around our booth.
“Stay with Lady Blackrose,” I ordered them.
“If anyone approaches her, kill them. If she’s threatened in any way, burn the place down. ”
“Kaz, wait—” Arabella started.
“Stay here.” Raw, irrational terror spiked through me. I needed her safe. “If it’s an ambush, I don’t want you caught in it.”
The look she gave me could have frozen hellfire. “What happened to doing everything together?”
She’s weak. She’ll slow you down. The traitor will escape because of her.
The thought slithered through my mind, both foreign and familiar. My jaw clenched as pure, undiluted rage flooded through me, replacing the fear. Pip had betrayed us. Helped enemies into MY fortress. Nearly gotten Arabella killed. The fury was so intense it made my vision blur at the edges.
With a sharp gesture, I sealed the shadow barrier around us. “This is different,” I said coldly. “This is about Skyspire’s security. My failure. My responsibility.”
“Your—” She stood, wobbling slightly from the aftereffects of her orgasms. “Kaz, we talked about this. You promised—”
She questions you? Show her what happens to those who defy the Dark Lord.
I blinked. Where was that voice coming from? It felt wrong, like wearing someone else’s clothes. But the anger—the anger at Pip, at the betrayal, at everything—that was definitely mine. Wasn’t it?
“You will stay here,” I commanded, my voice carrying the weight of dominion magic. I watched her flinch as my power pressed against her, though we both knew it wouldn’t work.
“You just tried to compel me,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “Like I’m one of your subjects. Like I’m—”
Property. She’s yours. Make her understand that.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. These thoughts—they came in whispers, sliding between my own fury like smoke through cracks. Something was wrong. This wasn’t how I—
“I’m trying to protect you,” I snarled, the rage making my control slip.
“Stop.” Her magic flared, golden light pushing against my shadows. “Listen to yourself. This isn’t you talking.”
She’s trying to control you. Manipulate you. Just like everyone else.
I leaned in, but she didn’t give an inch. “Maybe this is exactly who I am,” I hissed. “The Dark Lord doesn’t need anyone’s permission or help to handle his own domain.”
Arabella glared at me, and the fact that she didn’t have a witty comment or barbed accusation to hurl was worse than if she’d slapped me.
Then I saw the tears of fury gathering in the corners of her eyes, and I would have preferred that she had.
She could have knocked me across the nightclub with her power, but she turned the full force of her fury on me without lifting a hand.
For a moment, the whispers went silent. In that silence, I saw myself clearly—standing here, trying to dominate the one person who’d chosen to stand beside me.
I’d never made Arabella cry before, as far as I knew, and the soul-crushing guilt made me want to fall to my knees and beg her forgiveness.
But then Pip’s face flashed in my mind, and the rage returned tenfold.
He’s ESCAPING.
“I don’t have time for this,” I said, turning toward the barrier. “Stay or go, I don’t care. But I’m catching that traitor.”
The rational part of me—what was left of it—screamed to stop, to turn around, to fix this. But the fury, the whispers, the need to catch Pip and make him pay—
I dropped the barrier and vaulted over the railing of the VIP section, landing on the main floor and causing a mild panic as people scrambled to get out of my way. But with every step, even through the rage and the wine and those revolting whispers, one thought kept breaking through:
What have I done?