Here stood the most dangerous man in London, his hand around my throat and a sword precariously pressed against my skin. And I knew. I knew with unwavering faith that he would not harm me. It was a revelation, a clear burst of sunshine on a grey and drizzly day.
I was one of the only people who could say with true certainty that Arthur Adley, Dark Lord of London Town, would never ever hurt them.
I swallowed, something shifting inside me at that knowledge, something at a cellular level. Irreversible. An eclipse, his moon casting me in much-needed shadow. It was the acceptance of letting go of my old life and being reborn—my cleansing baptism in hell’s raging fire.
It was a heady surge of power charging through my veins.
Arthur’s sword nicked my throat, propelling me back into the moment. A tiny trickle of blood ran down my neck and toward my breasts—my communion, my sanguine pledge to join his side. Arthur’s eyes were stone, stones rolled in lava and ash and solar flares, as he pushed and pushed me.
“You’re so certain,” he said, head tilted. His eyes were narrowed as though he was searching for my deception, any doubts in my heart.
There were none. Not a single, solitary one.
Making sure I had his undivided attention, I said, “I am your queen.” Arthur stopped breathing. Taking advantage of his pause, I lifted my hand and pressed down on the blade until it was back by his side. He let me take away its threat.
The residue of the recent tragedies faded, and a new feeling was awakened. An opening of a new door in my heart. One that only allowed in Arthur and his family. One that kept me safe, sheltered and in his dangerous embrace. I felt taller, stronger … changed.
I pressed my palm to his chest, sharing the blood he had just spilled. “I’m your tainted, sullied, and corrupted queen.”
“You’re not ready for me,” he growled, but I caught the hint of yearning in his voice. He was cracking before me, the way the ground fractured during the early pangs of an earthquake. The warning that its devastation was coming. That once its wrath was released, there was no going back to how things were before.
Once Arthur let me into his granite heart, I could never leave it.
“Try me,” I taunted, and cupped his cock with my free hand. He was rock hard under his trousers, and he hissed as I squeezed him. I made sure he was looking right at me when I said, “Try your best to destroy me, Arthur. Try your best to break me apart. But I’ll still be here when you’re exhausted, my claws sunk deeply into your flesh as you drag us both to hell.”
“I won’t let you go,” he warned, and shivers ran down my spine at the malevolent honesty of the threat. “You want to rule at my side? Then I’ll never let you leave me. If you walk by my side, you can never ever fucking leave.”
I was making a binding contract with the devil. An Adley’s word is his bond … that’s what Arthur had said in the pit. He was waiting for the verbal agreement to be signed. Waiting for me to finally hand over my soul.
“I am your queen. And you are my king. Your dark kingdom is now ours.”
I removed my bloodied hand from his chest and drew a cross over my heart with my finger. “Forever.”
And that was when he broke. My world shook as Arthur smashed his mouth to mine. He wasn’t gentle—but I had never expected him to be. He was savage and cursed with a wickedness that was born from loss at a young age and a father who saw violence and death and the suppression of feelings as a form of bonding.
But I would love him. All of him—the wicked and the warm. I always had. I had never wanted him to change, only to let me in.
Arthur’s tongue slid along mine and I moaned, grasping his hair. His hands fell to my leathers. He snapped the button, and I heard it drop to the floor. He wrenched the trousers down to my ankles, and I kicked one leg off my feet. Arthur ripped off my knickers and pushed two fingers straight inside me. His lips pulled away from mine and trailed down my neck. He bit down on my skin, and I