Chapter 34 Ask Your Wife to Trust You
(When You Don’t Trust Yourself)
Kazimir
I was halfway to the door when Arabella’s voice cut through the apartment.
“Where exactly do you think you’re going?”
I didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. The fragment had been screaming since we’d left the restaurant an hour ago, a relentless assault of violent impulses that made my skull feel like it was splitting.
Every second in her presence was a battle between wanting to protect her and the ancient thing inside me that wanted to either destroy her or claim her so completely she’d never escape.
Both options were unacceptable.
“Hunting,” I said curtly, reaching for my coat. “Someone tried to kill my wife. I intend to find out who and introduce them to creative applications of pain.”
“Without me?”
I finally glanced back. Arabella stood in the common area, dressed in her new black leathers. The sight of her sent the fragment into a possessive frenzy.
Mine. She’s mine. Make her submit. Make her—
I gritted my teeth. “Yes, without you. You’re the target. The safest place for you is here, behind wards.”
Her eyes flashed. “The safest place for me is wherever I can see the threats coming. Or have you forgotten what happened the last time you tried to keep me ‘safe’ by leaving me behind?”
“This is different,” I snapped, shadows curling around my body in agitated spirals. “Professional assassins just tried to kill you in a public restaurant. Whoever sent them will try again.”
“Exactly.” She crossed her arms, and the movement drew my attention to the twin daggers strapped to her thighs. “It was my life they threatened. I have every right to hunt the bastards who tried to take it.”
Logically, she was right. But logic had nothing to do with the war raging in my head.
Keep her close. Never let her out of your sight. She’s yours to protect, yours to control, yours to—
“Fine,” I bit out, the word tasting bitter. “But you stay behind me. You don’t engage unless I give the order. And if I tell you to run, you fucking run.”
Her lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I don’t take orders well. You should know that by now.”
“Arabella—”
“I’ll be careful,” she interrupted, moving past me to the door. “But I won’t be left behind. Not again.”
The fragment screamed its approval and its rage simultaneously, a cacophony of contradictory impulses that made my vision blur.
Part of me desperately wanted Arabella where I could see her, protect her, ensure nothing could touch her.
The other part—the ancient, terrible part—wanted to lock her away where she’d be safe and his and unable to defy him ever again.
I was going to lose my fucking mind before this night was over.
Thorne entered from the hallway leading from his room, armed and alert. “My lord. I heard you were planning a hunt.”
“Word travels fast.”
“It does when you destroy a restaurant and leave three corpses in your wake.” His eyes flicked to Arabella, then back to me. “No one threatens Lady Blackrose and gets away with it as long as I’m head of your security. I’m coming with you.”
It wasn’t a request. Thorne had been with me long enough to know when to push and when to back off. This was apparently a pushing moment.
“Fine,” I said again, the word coming easier this time. Having Thorne along meant another set of eyes on Arabella, another layer of protection between her and whatever threats lurked in the Spire’s depths. And in me.
You don’t need help protecting what’s yours.
I shoved the voice down with enough force to make my runes flare hot beneath my skin. The pain helped.
A shadow near the window began to ripple and distort, reality itself seeming to fold inward like fabric being pulled through a too-small opening. The air grew thick with the scent of thunderstorms and burnt sugar as darkness peeled away from the wall in layers.
Then Nyx’s head emerged.
It wasn’t a smooth transition. The dragon’s snout appeared first, followed by her neck at an angle that suggested she’d miscalculated the exit point by about three feet.
Her front legs came through next, scrambling for purchase on thin air before she realized she was upside down.
With an indignant squawk, she tumbled out of the shadow space in a tangle of pink-shimmering limbs and leathery wings.
She landed on the floor with all the grace of a drunk falling down stairs.
The pink blaze on her snout had spread since last night, bleeding across her cheeks in rosy streaks that made her look like she’d face-planted into a bowl of crushed raspberries.
Her scales shimmered with that same sunset-through-storm-clouds iridescence, and even her wing membranes had taken on a faint blush.
She shook herself off, sneezed a puff of purple smoke, and fixed Arabella with a look of pure devotion.
Then she noticed me watching and her liquid silver eyes narrowed to slits.
“Absolutely not,” I said before anyone could suggest it. “The dragon stays here.”
Nyx’s answering hiss made her opinion of that plan abundantly clear. She positioned herself between Arabella and me, her tail lashing in agitation.
“She can help,” Arabella said, moving to stroke Nyx’s snout. The dragon immediately softened under her touch, though she kept one wary eye on me. “Her shadow-walking is getting better.”
“ ‘Better’ is a generous term for what I just witnessed.” I gestured at the dragon, who was still slightly off-balance from her graceless entrance. “She looks like she’s been dipped in pink paint.”
Nyx made an offended chirping sound and deliberately turned her back on me, pressing her head against Arabella’s chest.
“She’s still learning,” Arabella said, scratching behind the dragon’s horns. “And she’ll be useful. You know she will.”
I wanted to refuse. But the truth was, Nyx’s developing abilities would be useful. And having the dragon focused on protecting Arabella was even better than Thorne.
Besides, Nyx clearly didn’t trust me right now. The feeling was mutual—I didn’t trust myself either.
“Fine,” I said for the third—fourth?—time, wondering if I’d lost all authority in my own domain.
I pulled shadows around us like a cloak, darker and denser than I typically bothered with. No half measures tonight. If I was going to hunt through the God Spire’s underbelly, I’d do it properly—as the predator I’d spent my life becoming, not the man trying desperately to hold on to his humanity.
The fragment purred its approval.
We left the apartment in silence, descending through levels that grew progressively darker and more dangerous. The Spire’s lower reaches catered to the kind of clientele who preferred their business conducted in shadows, where questions weren’t asked and bodies disappeared without fuss.
My kind of people, usually.
I’d started the search for Pip at the Gilded Gallows two nights ago, following the same cold trail that had led nowhere.
No magical signature, no physical trace, nothing but Arabella’s certainty that she’d seen him.
And her truth-sense didn’t lie. Which meant someone was using magic powerful enough to fool even my detection spells.
The Pip I’d known had possessed no magic of his own—he’d been a servant, nothing more.
If he’d suddenly acquired the ability to hide from me, someone had given it to him.
The question was who.
The timing bothered me. Arabella spots Pip at the Gallows, and two days later, professional assassins try to kill her in a restaurant? I had enemies everywhere, though, many of whom had tried to assassinate me on multiple occasions. Could the two events be unrelated?
Sure. And I could sprout wings and start shitting rainbows.
We moved through the corridors like ghosts. Arabella stayed close by my side—not quite touching, but near enough that I could feel the heat of her presence. The distance between us felt both necessary and unbearable.
Thorne brought up the rear, his hand never straying far from his weapon.
And Nyx… Nyx continued her erratic phasing practice, leaving a trail of minor destruction and confused residents in her wake.
“She’s getting better at it,” Arabella murmured as Nyx extracted herself from a wall sconce. “The phasing, I mean.”
“She’s also developing an impressive talent for property damage,” I said, watching the dragon shake plaster dust from her wings.
Despite everything, Arabella’s lips twitched. “She hasn’t exploded anything yet.”
“The night is young.” At least the dragon’s antics were helping distract me from the roaring in my head.
We reached the lower market levels. The shops were mostly closed at this hour, their wares locked behind warded gates and protective spells. A few establishments catered to the nocturnal crowd—a poison dealer, an information broker, a shop that sold curses by the dozen.
I spread my senses wide, searching for any trace of unusual magic. Nothing. Just the usual background hum of a thousand competing enchantments, layered protections, and illusions designed to hide everything from contraband to murder.
Nyx phased into a narrow alley, and this time she actually managed a clean entry and exit. She solidified near a dark stain on the cobblestones and began sniffing at the ground, her tail swishing.
Arabella moved toward her, and I followed automatically, unable to help myself.
“Anything?” I asked roughly.
Arabella shook her head. “Just old blood. Days old, at least.”
I crouched beside the stain. A quick test confirmed it was human, but beyond that, nothing useful. The Spire saw violence daily. This could be from a simple mugging or a complex assassination. No way to tell.
We continued the search, moving through the levels methodically.
Thorne checked doorways and alcoves. Nyx phased in and out of shadows, investigating spaces too small or too warded for us to access easily.
Arabella used her magic to sense for recent disturbances, her truth-sense alert for any hint of deception or concealment.
And I fought a losing battle with the thing in my head.