Page 34 of The Dark Lord Awakens
“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 completedthe ensemble, along with boots that added a good inch to my height.
Throughout the dressing process, Mr. Snuggles found increasingly creative ways to insert himself into the proceedings—sitting on garments before I could put them on, batting at the cape as Azrael tried to fasten it, and generally making himself the center of attention. At one point, he managed to get himself tangled in the cape, resulting in a frantic few minutes of dragon extraction that left Azrael’s perfect composure slightly ruffled.
“Is all this leather and dramatic drapery really necessary?” I asked as Azrael knelt before me, fastening one of seemingly endless silver buckles on my boots while Mr. Snuggles helpfully headbutted his elbow. “I’m inspecting a city, not auditioning for Villain of the Year.”
“The Dark Lord must project power and authority,” Azrael replied, his fingers working deftly at the buckle despite the dragon’s “assistance.” “Your appearance is a statement of your dominion.”
As he looked up from his task, our eyes met unexpectedly. The crimson of his irises had darkened to something deeper, like wine held to candlelight. His gaze lingered for a heartbeat too long before dropping to my lips, then quickly back to the buckle. The air between us suddenly felt thick, charged with something I couldn’t name but could definitely feel. Mr. Snuggles, sensing the tension, stopped his playful interference and looked between us curiously, his head tilted.
“I think ‘I have glowing skin and can create shadow weapons with my mind’ is statement enough,” I muttered, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest. Was it hot in here, or was it just the leather pants? Definitely the leather pants.
Azrael rose in one fluid motion, his body momentarily close enough that I caught his scent—something like midnight air and exotic spices, with an undertone of something metallic anddangerous. He moved behind me to adjust my cape, his cool fingers brushing the nape of my neck as he fastened the clasp. Mr. Snuggles watched this interaction with unusual intensity, his single purple eye narrowed slightly.
“The cape is essential to your image,” he said, his voice lower than usual, breath ghosting against my ear. “Though I admit it may prove… cumbersome for urban exploration.”
A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. I cleared my throat, trying to focus on anything other than how close he was standing or how his fingers seemed to linger at my collar. Mr. Snuggles chose that moment to leap onto my shoulder, breaking the tension as I had to adjust my balance to accommodate his weight.
“It’s going to get caught on everything,” I said, my voice embarrassingly unsteady. I reached up to scratch under Mr. Snuggles’ chin, grateful for the distraction. “Not exactly practical.”
