Kingdom of the Feared (Kingdom of the Wicked, #3)

by Kerri Maniscalco

A nightmare to some, but to me he currently looked like a dream.

Wrath quickly deemed war on my mouth and battled like the general he was, taking no prisoners. There was ownership in this kiss, possession. And I gave it right back. He was mine. Every inch of his wicked soul, every steady thump of his heart, belonged to me.

“Even the most volatile fuel requires a spark to cause flames.”

Having Wrath there, watching, made it feel as if he were the only one in the room with me. It was his attention I desired above all, his greedy hunger I wanted to ignite. His fury. I longed for him so desperately, so deeply, I ached.

“Right now, I want the demon, not the prince. Show me why they call you the Wicked.” I grabbed his shirt and tugged him to me, my lips hovering above his. “And don’t you dare hold back.”

I loved when he looked at me like that. Like I was the beginning and end of each of his fantasies. He certainly was mine.

“I want you. So bad I can’t think straight.”

“If you die on me now, I’ll hunt you down and drag you back.” “Sounds rather threatening.” “It’s a fucking promise, my lady.”

“Once something is put in motion, we rarely have control over the outcome, no matter what our initial intentions are.”

“And he is her fate. As she is his. ‘As above, so below.’ They are the balance. Light and dark. One fallen from above, and one created in the underworld below.”

“You struck the match; I hope you meant it when you said you enjoyed the burn.”

I didn’t know how to go on. To get back up. I didn’t know if I wanted to get up.

“Rise,” he said softly. “Just as they always feared you would.”

He wasn’t looking at me like I was pathetic. He looked like someone who understood, intimately, what it was like to lose everything. To be forced to stand when you wished to fall. To get up on your own and defy the hand of fate that brought so much pain by smacking you down time and again. To choose to live and flourish despite the bad. And most important, to dare to dream of better days while your current world was a living nightmare.

“But I would never hurt anyone. Regardless of a prophecy.” Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. If someone hurt Wrath or anyone else I loved, I wouldn’t hesitate to bring them pain in return. To strike back brutally and viciously.

He was touching me like I was precious, like each embrace was a moment to cherish, to indulge in and savor.

Where there once was love, hatred burned between them now, bright and all-consuming.

I looked at my sister. She might be a monster now, but she wasn’t pretending to be anything else.

“Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.” “Subtlety is for cowards, my lady.”

suddenly understood my sister all too well. I wanted our enemies to suffer. For every year, every month, day, hour, and second of pain they inflicted on my loved ones, I wanted to return the favor until they begged for mercy or death. And then I’d deny them that, too.

“You saw a small taste of what my queen is capable of. If I don’t kill you first, she will.

“I don’t think it matters who the first villain is or was—we’ve all done terrible things.”

But I was greedy. I wanted it all. All of him. The good parts and the bad and every piece and part in between.

“Standing back so someone can walk the rest of their path alone is often the most difficult part, especially when you care.”

To hear him call me his love, to openly share our hearts and souls, I’d walk through Hell again and again.

“Be careful what you wish for, wife. Your husband might be depraved enough to deliver.”