Chapter 28
Evander felt a wave of commiseration for the princess.
Because for a moment, she looked not like a royal or a spymaster, but simply a young woman who’d lost someone she held dear.
“Pieter,” she whispered.
Victoria guided her gently to the loveseat next to the window.
They gave the princess a moment to recover her composure.
“We believe he was murdered because he got too close to the truth,” Evander finally said, his tone kind but firm. “His death wasn’t in vain. He left a notebook with one of Lady Hartley’s contacts. The information he gathered will no doubt prove invaluable to our mutual investigation.”
Elo?se was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was steady, though Evander could see the effort it cost her.
“Then we must ensure his sacrifice means something.” She straightened, the mask of composure sliding back into place. “What have you learned in Paris?”
Evander gave her a concise summary of their findings—Molyneux’s murder, the letter mentioning the Mercier journal, Brassard’s operation, the magical conduit devices being shipped across Europe.
Elo?se listened intently, occasionally asking sharp questions that revealed the depth of her own intelligence gathering.
“The convergence,” she said when he finished.
“So Molyneux believed its location might be in Brussels too. But I’ve spent weeks investigating that possibility.
” She shook her head. “I’ve found nothing to support it.
No unusual ley line activity, no gathering of dark mages, no evidence of ritual preparation to unlock it.
If Brussels is the target, they’ve hidden their tracks extraordinarily well. ”
Evander’s stomach sank at this news.
“Maybe Brussels isn’t the target at all,” Fairbridge said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“Misdirection,” he continued with a shrug. “If I were planning something of this magnitude, I’d want my enemies looking in the wrong place. Brussels may be a feint.”
Evander’s pulse quickened. Fairbridge was onto something.
Viggo narrowed his eyes. “If not Brussels, then where?”
“There is one place where you may find an answer.” Elo?se furrowed her brow.
“In my investigation, I came across a reference to a secret archive in the Prague Library. It is said to contain texts dating back to the founding of the Holy Roman Empire—including, some believe, records Les Prophètes Illuminés might have been after.”
Tension knotted Evander’s stomach. “A secret archive?”
Elo?se nodded. “It probably explains why the library is jealously guarded by the local authorities and the Prague Institute for the Arcane. Access is nearly impossible to obtain.” The princess’s expression was grim.
“But I know someone who might have a way in. If the Crimson Codex exists, and if there are clues to its location anywhere in Europe, Prague is where I would look. I can arrange for my contact to tell you how to get into the library tomorrow.”
Evander met Viggo’s worried gaze, his mind racing.
“Then Prague is our next destination,” Evander said finally.
Victoria drummed her fingers on her knee where she sat next to Elo?se. “My tour continues to Salzburg in three days.” She levelled a steady gaze at Evander. “Prague is not far. I could arrange for your party to travel with my entourage as far as the Austrian border.”
“That would be most helpful,” Evander said.
“We should return to the reception,” Fairbridge advised politely. “We’ve been gone for a while.”
Elo?se nodded. She rose alongside Victoria and reached out to touch Evander’s arm briefly.
“Find them, Duke Ravenwood. Find whoever is behind this and make them pay for what they’ve done.” Her voice grew steely. “For Pieter. For Lina. For all the people who’ve died because of this conspiracy, mages and thralls alike.”
“We will,” Evander promised solemnly.
Viggo fell into step beside Evander as they took turns filing out of the gallery to return to the party.
“I wasn’t expecting the princess to be Leon’s informant,” he murmured.
Evander glanced at him, amusement lightening his mood for a moment. “I saw your face during the waltz. Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
Colour crept up Viggo’s neck. “I wasn’t—”
“You were.” Evander’s lips twitched. “For what it’s worth, the princess spent the entire dance discussing intelligence networks and assassination techniques. Not exactly romantic conversation.”
“Assassination techniques?”
“She has surprising depths.” Evander’s hand brushed against Viggo’s as they walked. It was brief, deliberate, and unseen by anyone else. “But she’s not the one I was thinking about during our dance.”
The simple words, spoken so quietly, had Viggo’s shoulders visibly loosening.
“Can I come to your room tonight?” the Brute said suddenly.
Evander faltered, vacillating between desire and duty. Duty won.
“We can’t.”
Viggo narrowed his eyes. Fairbridge disappeared round the corner head of them. The Brute glanced around to check no one was in the corridor with them before pulling a startled Evander into a shadowy alcove.
He crowded him against the wall, his heat enveloping Evander in a sultry cocoon that had him leaning instinctively into his lover, seeking more of the intoxicating warmth.
Viggo lowered his head and nipped at Evander’s ear, causing him to shudder.
“It has been three days, fifteen hours, and twenty minutes since we last made love.” The Brute cupped Evander’s backside possessively. “I want to be inside you.”
Evander’s cock throbbed to life, heat flooding his cheeks at the blunt declaration.
“Viggo—”
“Midnight,” Viggo said, his voice brooking no argument. “I’ll come to you.”
Evander opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. The truth was, he wanted Viggo just as desperately.
“Fine,” he murmured. “But be discreet.”
The look Viggo gave him could have melted steel. “I’m always discreet.”
By the time the reception wound to a close and their party returned to the hotel, Evander’s nerves were strung tight as a bow. He bid the others goodnight with what he hoped was convincing nonchalance and retreated to his room.
The clock on the mantelpiece read half past eleven.
Evander stripped off his evening coat and waistcoat and draped them carefully over the back of a chair. He loosened his cravat and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt before moving to the window to gaze out at the lamp-lit streets of Brussels.
He was thinking about what awaited them in Prague when a soft knock at the door made his pulse jump.
Evander crossed the room and opened it to find Viggo standing in the corridor, still dressed in his formal attire but with his coat unbuttoned and his cravat hanging loose around his neck. His dark eyes glittered hotly in the low light.
Desire coiled through Evander at the sight of his lover.
“You’re early,” he murmured.
“I couldn’t wait.”
Viggo stepped inside and closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock with a decisive click. Before Evander could speak, the Brute’s hands were on him, pulling him close and claiming his mouth in a kiss that stole his breath.
Evander sank into him with a soft sound, his fingers tangling in Viggo’s hair as the Brute walked him backwards toward the bed. The kiss was hungry, desperate, three days of want compressed into a slide of tongues and a press of bodies that had them both panting hard.
“I didn’t think it’d be so damn hard not being able to touch you all this time,” Viggo growled against his lips.
“But you did touch me.” Evander gasped as Viggo’s mouth moved to his throat. “We kissed yesterday.”
“That was just an appetiser.” Viggo nipped at the pulse point beating frantically at the base of his neck, making Evander shudder. “I want the main course.”
They tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, hands working frantically at buttons and fastenings. Evander arched into Viggo’s touch as the Brute stripped away his shirt, his large hands mapping the planes of Evander’s chest with a possessive intent that ignited his nerve endings.
“Three days,” Viggo murmured, his breath hot against Evander’s skin. “Eighteen hours. Forty-seven minutes.”
Evander huffed a breathless laugh. “You’re still counting?”
“Every bloody second.”
Viggo’s mouth closed over his nipple and Evander’s laugh dissolved into a wanton moan. His hands scrabbled at Viggo’s shoulders, shoving at his shirt until the Brute relented long enough to strip it off.
The sight of Viggo above him, all bronzed skin and hard muscle and tattoos, his dark eyes burning with lust, made Evander’s cock throb painfully against the confines of his trousers.
“Please,” he breathed. “I want to feel you.”
Viggo made quick work of the remaining barriers between them, stripping away trousers and underclothing until they were both gloriously naked. Evander reached for him and wrapped his hand around the Brute’s impressive length. He stroked slowly, marvelling at the heat and silkiness of his flesh.
Viggo’s head fell back, a guttural groan escaping his throat. “If you keep doing that, this will be over embarrassingly fast.”
“Then perhaps you should do something about it,” Evander teased hotly.
The challenge sparked something feral in Viggo’s eyes. He leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed something from the pocket of his jacket. It was a small vial of the intimate oil Evander liked to use.
Evander’s hole contracted and his heart raced with anticipation. “You came prepared.”
“I came hopeful.” Viggo settled between Evander’s thighs, slicked his fingers, and pressed one against Evander’s entrance. “Now stop talking and let me take care of you.”
Evander gasped as Viggo breached him, the familiar stretch sending sparks of pleasure up his spine. He gripped the sheets as Viggo worked him open with maddening patience, adding a second finger and then a third, crooking them just right to probe the spot that made Evander see stars.
“Viggo,” he panted as the Brute thrust slowly, deliberately inside him. “Enough. I need—”
“I know just what you need.”
Viggo withdrew his fingers and positioned himself at Evander’s entrance. Their eyes met in the lamplight.
Everything else fell away in that carnal moment—the investigation, the danger, the uncertain future. There was only this. Only them.
Then Viggo pushed inside and Evander forgot how to breathe.
The stretch of the penetration was exquisite, the hot sting quickly settling into pleasurable fullness, like his body had been made to take this man. Viggo stilled once he was fully seated, his forehead pressed to Evander’s, his breath coming in harsh pants.
“Are you alright?” he managed.
“Move,” Evander demanded desperately. “For God’s sake, move!”
Viggo cursed when Evander squeezed him intimately. A bone deep shudder shook the Brute. He laced their fingers together, pressed Evander’s hands above his head, and took his lips in a demanding kiss as he finally obliged him.
He set a relentless rhythm from the start, driving into Evander with deep, powerful strokes that punched the air from his lungs.
Evander wrapped his legs around Viggo’s waist and held on for dear life, his heels digging demandingly into the Brute’s back as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in his belly.
Viggo wrenched his mouth from Evander’s and bit down on the angle of his neck.
“Mine,” he growled savagely into Evander’s skin. “You’re mine!”
“Yes!” Evander agreed breathlessly.
Viggo let go of Evander’s hand and closed his fingers around Evander’s neglected cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation set Evander’s body alight and dragged him inexorably toward the edge.
“I can’t!” Evander whimpered. “Viggo! I’m—I’m coming!”
“Then come,” Viggo commanded, his voice rough with his own impending release.
Evander shattered with a cry he barely managed to muffle against Viggo’s shoulder, his release spilling hotly between them as his body convulsed sweetly in his lover’s strong hold. Viggo followed moments later with a hoarse groan, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside.
They collapsed together, sweaty and sated, their hearts pounding in tandem.
Evander swallowed. “That was—”
“Too quick,” Viggo finished. He pulled gently out of Evander, rolled to the side, and gathered him against his chest. “Give me a moment to recover and I shall ravish you all over again.”
Evander groaned. “That’s not what I meant.”
He traced idle patterns on Viggo’s skin in the aftermath of their lovemaking, his body heavy with satisfaction.
“I need you to promise me something,” the Brute murmured in his hair.
Evander tilted his head and gave him a puzzled look. “What?”
“Prague. And whatever comes after.” Viggo’s arms tightened around him. “Whatever we find, whatever danger we face—you don’t throw yourself into it alone. You let me protect you.”
Evander went quiet for a moment, the memory of their argument in Paris lingering in his mind.
“I promise to try,” he said finally. “That’s the best I can offer.”
Viggo studied his face before nodding slowly. “I suppose that will have to do.”
They lay in comfortable silence, the sounds of Brussels at night filtering through the window. The church bells soon chimed the hour.
“You should go,” Evander said reluctantly. “Before anyone notices you’re not in your room.”
“Not yet.” Viggo pulled him closer. “A few more minutes. And maybe another round or two of sex. Besides, Solomon is probably in Ginny’s room.”
Evander laughed against his chest. “You’re terrible.”
Still he didn’t protest when Viggo kissed him and rolled him onto his back.
They made love into the early hours, each touch, each kiss, each thrust fanning their never-ending passion for one another. It was late when Evander fell asleep and later still when he felt Viggo slip out of his bed to return to his room.