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Devil’s Night

A soft glow puts its hands on the front of my shirt and pulls me up, steadily, steadily, from the dark well of a dreamless sleep. That gentle light plants kisses on my eyelids until I open them to discover what unearthly creature would cause any light to enter my room.

The particular yellow of the candlelight situates me in time.

Only one person would light a candle and place it on the low table across from the bed.

My wife, Persephone.

An unearthly creature to be fucking sure. I’ve never met a person who belongs more surely to the sun and the flowers.

And yet.

She’s here with me, in the dark.

The candlelight skims the contours of her body, all delicate skin and a curved belly that hints at the baby I’ve fucked into her. I hold out a hand to her and she comes to me willingly, naked and graceful, with a half-smile mostly disguised by shadows. When she’s close enough to touch—when I’m certain she’s real—I pull her down into the bed with me. She climbs over me, languid but still charged somehow with a strange energy.

“You didn’t need light if you wanted to fuck.” I take her chin in my hand and draw her close, tasting mint and laughter on her lips.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You didn’t need light for that, either.”

“I wanted to see you.” She runs her palms over my chest and lower until they meet my ribs, framed neatly by her knees. “Don’t you ever want to see me?”

I always want to see her. But I’m always seeing her. My mind can’t wander without chasing her around a corner or pinning her deliciously to a bed. Even when the light is unbearable, there is always the ghost of her skin beneath my palms and her hand in mine. I couldn’t escape her if I tried.

She will never escape me.

I push her hair back from her face and trace her cheekbones with my fingertips, then trail a finger down to her newly fully breasts and circle each nipple with a fingertip. Her eyes flutter closed. “Ah—you’re not looking anymore.”

“Maybe I’ve seen all I needed to see,” she says, and I pinch at a nipple until she pinches me back, fingers digging into my chest.


“Yes. I’m a liar.” These last few words come out on breathy gasps. I can see what she wants even when she lies. A slow roll of a knuckle between her legs, an even pressure on her clit. Slow. Torturous. She likes it to verge on mean, so I push harder, harder, until she cries out and shudders herself through an orgasm. When she opens her eyes again they’re as dark as mine get.

Persephone eases herself back, pushing up so she has enough room to center herself over my cock. I’ve been ready for her since the instant I woke up, and the little liar knew it. What else does she know? She knows it’ll be easier to take me if she’s come first. No matter how many times we do this, it’s an intoxicating struggle for her. The stretch. The filling. She takes the head of me and bites her lip.

I keep my eyes open. It’s not a performance I need to witness with sight, but why not? My little liar wife working herself down over my cock is a sight I won’t deny myself if I can help it.

She’s so fucking tight.

“I—couldn’t—sleep,” she says, and it’s my favorite thing, the way she tries to carry on a conversation while she’s impaling herself on me. I run a hand down over her thigh. “It’s almost midnight.” Her voice, her voice. “It’s almost the dark time of year. There’s so little light.” With a small grunt of effort she seats herself against me and I put my knuckle back on her clit. She fucks it almost instinctively, and yes, yes, I’m going to make her come on my cock.

“Is there a question?” Does she hear the hitch in my voice? I’m lying still, as if she has no effect, but she does. The slick tightness of her. The pulses of those finely tuned muscles. The rock of her, body against body.

“Are you more powerful in the dark time of year?” Persephone braces herself and moves into the slow rhythm that tortures me back, a rolling grind that has the side effect of more pressure on her clit. 

I take my finger away just to hear her mewl of displeasure and trace a path back up to her neck, which I encircle with a hand as easily as I’ve ever done anything, putting pressure beneath her jawbone on the sides of her neck. Her breathing speeds up. “What do you think, little liar? Could anything make me less powerful?”

“No,” she breathes, her fucking becoming more frantic. She wants to come already. She always was.

“Whose hand is on your neck?”


“And whose cock is buried in your pussy?”


She’s wetter with my hand on her like this. She’d be even wetter if I made her bend over the bed and strapped her, but I’m feeling particularly generous tonight. Her hips rock and thrust, and both hands come up to make a cage around my wrist. No part of her attempts to pull away. She likes to feel the bars of the cage.

“Have you been good?”

This question makes her groan. “No,” she admits. “I woke you up in the middle of the night. I lit a candle.”

“You know what that means.” Another small gasp at the stern tone.

“What does it mean?”

“It means you have to come by yourself. And do it now. Don’t make me wait, or I’ll take you over my knee.”

As it is, I don’t have to touch her clit. The words alone—the hand on her neck—make her explode around me, panting, shaking, leaning into the hand around her throat. 

And why not? I let her come down, down, almost to the end, and then I take her hips and fuck into her with all the abandon of a man at midnight, woken by his wife, until I’ve filled her again. She rides me, still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and when I’m finished with her I tip her into the bed, her head meeting the pillow. “You’ll sleep with my come on your thighs,” I whisper in her ear. “For your disobedience.”

She murmurs something, sleepy and used, and puts a hand on the back of my head to pull me in for a kiss. “I’m not sorry,” she whispers back.

I climb out of bed and pinch the candle’s flame in my fingers.

The darkness comes to me like a cloak and I return to her, my queen of the night. Persephone is already asleep. I put a hand on her side to feel the rise and fall of her breath. 

The turning of the year doesn’t make me more powerful.

She does.

Thank you so much for reading Devil’s Night: A King of Shadows bonus scene! Scroll down to learn more about King of Shadows, the modern Hades & Persephone retelling you need (I promise).King of Shadows book cover
“Breathtaking, intense, and scorching hot, KING OF SHADOWS is the modern myth I’ve been waiting for.” –New York Times Bestselling Author Skye Warren

Persephone has always been my forbidden bride. She just doesn’t know it yet.

My word is law in my fortress kingdom, and the deals I make are unbreakable. Before she was even born, Persephone’s mother traded her as payment for her debts.

Now those debts are coming due.

When sheltered, innocent Persephone throws herself at my feet, she has no idea that she already belongs to me. All she knows is that I’m the most powerful man in the world.

And all she wants is the one thing she can never have: her freedom.

I’m the king of her nightmares. And she’s my new queen.

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