Page 25 of The Dark Lord Awakens
“Holy mother of—” Lucien gasped, his voice rough with sleep. “Do you have to materialize like that? Couldn’t you, I don’tknow, knock? Or send a text? Or maybe not watch me sleep like some supernatural stalker?”
Azrael permitted himself the faintest smile, carefully calibrated to appear apologetic rather than amused. His master’s new manner of speech continued to fascinate him—so different from the cold formality of before, yet oddly charming in its directness.
“My apologies, my lord. I did not intend to startle you.” A lie, but a small one. The brief moment when Lucien was off-balance, vulnerable, unguarded—it was a treasure Azrael hoarded jealously. “Breakfast awaits in the antechamber, and your bath has been prepared.”
Lucien ran a hand through his tousled hair, a gesture that sent an inappropriate flare of heat through Azrael’s core. “Right. Bath. Food. Morning routine of the damned. Got it.”
He threw back the covers and stood, seemingly unaware of how the thin sleeping garment he wore clung to his form, revealing far more than it concealed. Azrael’s gaze tracked the movement with predatory focus, cataloging every detail—the elegant line of Lucien’s throat, the subtle definition of muscle beneath pale skin, the way the fabric draped over his hips.
Three hundred years of preservation had yielded perfection. His modifications to Lucien’s form had exceeded even his exacting expectations.
“Would you prefer to eat first, my lord, or bathe?” Azrael asked, his voice betraying nothing of the hunger that clawed at his insides.
“Food,” Lucien decided, stretching in a way that made the thin fabric ride up, exposing a strip of skin at his waist. “I’m starving. Apparently, being an evil overlord burns a lot of calories. Who knew?”
“Indeed, my lord.” Azrael moved to the antechamber, opening the door with a flourish to reveal the breakfast spread.“The kitchen has prepared a selection based on your preferences from previous days.”
Lucien’s eyes widened at the sight, genuine pleasure lighting his features. “Now that’s what I call breakfast! You guys really know how to feed a guy.”
He sat at the small table, immediately reaching for the steaming cup of shadow bean brew. Azrael positioned himself precisely two steps behind Lucien’s right shoulder—close enough to attend to any need, far enough to maintain proper decorum. The perfect position to observe without being observed in return.
From this vantage, Azrael could watch the elegant movement of Lucien’s throat as he swallowed, could note the way his fingers curled around the cup, could catalog each subtle expression of pleasure as he tasted particularly satisfying morsels.
“This coffee is actually decent today,” Lucien commented, taking another appreciative sip. “Still not Starbucks, but definitely an improvement over yesterday’s attempt at liquid torture.”
“I instructed the kitchen to modify the recipe,” Azrael replied, permitting himself a small glow of satisfaction. He had pleased his master. “If it remains insufficient, further adjustments can be made.”
“No, this is good. Really good, actually.” Lucien turned to flash him a smile—a genuine, warm expression that sent an electric current down Azrael’s spine. “Thanks for taking care of that.”
Such simple gratitude should not affect him so profoundly. And yet Azrael was momentarily speechless, his carefully constructed responses deserting him in the face of that unguarded smile. How many centuries had he waited to see Lucien’s lips curve in pleasure again? How many nights had hereplayed the memory of that rare expression, hoarding it like a miser with his gold?
“It is my pleasure to serve, my lord,” he finally managed, the formal response automatic while his mind struggled to regain equilibrium.
Lucien turned back to his meal, seemingly unaware of the momentary crack in Azrael’s perfect facade. “So what’s on the agenda today? More magical training? Another thrilling meeting with the department heads? Tax review with Lord Taxman who, by the way, takes his job way too seriously?”
“You have requested continued instruction in shadow manipulation this morning,” Azrael confirmed, grateful for the return to practical matters. “Following that, Lady Shadowfax has requested an audience to discuss intelligence reports from the eastern border.”
“Ah yes, my daily dose of ‘everything is terrible but we’re pretending it’s fine.’” Lucien sighed, reaching for a pastry filled with void berries. “At least the food’s good.”
Azrael watched as Lucien bit into the pastry, a drop of dark juice escaping to trail down his chin. The urge to lean forward, to catch that droplet with his thumb—or perhaps his tongue—was nearly overwhelming. His fingers twitched at his side before he forced them into stillness.
“Your bath awaits when you have finished, my lord,” he said instead, his voice perfectly steady despite the heat pooling in his abdomen. “The water has been prepared with the shadow essence you found beneficial yesterday.”
“The magical bubble bath that makes me tingle in places I didn’t know could tingle,” Lucien muttered, though without real annoyance. “Fine. But I’m bringing this pastry with me. Multitasking at its finest—getting clean while getting crumbs everywhere.”
Twenty minutes later, having consumed a breakfast that would have satisfied three demons, Lucien followed Azrael to the bathing chamber. The ritual that followed was both familiar and novel—a dance they had performed for three days now, yet one that felt new each time.
“Wow, the water’s all… galaxy-like today,” Lucien said, eyeing the swirling darkness in the massive tub. “Are you sure that’s not going to turn me purple or give me an extra limb or something?”
“The shadow essence is perfectly calibrated to your magical signature, my lord,” Azrael assured him, moving to the side table to arrange the bathing implements. “It will merely enhance your natural abilities and restore any depleted energy.”
“If you say so,” Lucien shrugged, then—with the casual immodesty that continued to test Azrael’s control—dropped his sleeping garment and stepped into the tub.
Azrael kept his gaze averted, though every fiber of his being strained to look. The brief glimpse he allowed himself—pale skin, elegant lines, the perfect proportions he had so carefully maintained—was seared into his memory to be revisited later, in private.
The soft sigh of pleasure Lucien released as he sank into the water was almost Azrael’s undoing. The sound bypassed all rational thought, striking directly at the most primitive part of his nature. His nails lengthened momentarily into claws before he forced them back to human appearance.
“This feels amazing,” Lucien murmured, eyes closed as he leaned back against the tub’s edge. “Like being massaged from the inside out.”
