Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“No,” came Maxen’s instant response. “You have a head wound. No drink. And no sleeping for the next few hours.”
“Maxen is right, frère, you should use this time to reflect on why you chased your little flame-haired flower away.”
He directed a vicious glare at Reaper.
“You chased Violet away?” Calliope asked, wide-eyed.
“No, of course not,” Drake denied, guilt bludgeoning him at the same tempo as the throb in his head. Could he honestly claim he hadn’t?
Reaper hummed. “Ah. Then my memory must be playing tricks on me.” He flicked his coin into the air and caught it again. “I could’ve sworn you told her she doesn’t belong—”
“Reaper,” Drake snarled. “She didn’t belong there.”
His brother lifted his hands in mock surrender. “If I only had a coin for all the times my name has been dripped with such a fond tone.”
“Perhaps you should stop spouting nonsense.”
“I was merely pointing out that when you draw a line that firmly, you shouldn’t look so affected when someone stays on the other side of it. But good to know ‘doesn’t belong there’ turned to ‘didn’t belong there,’ frère.”
Drake wanted to throttle him. Bloody arse.
Calliope sighed, scratching the tip of her nose. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Maxen enveloped her hand in response, sending them both glares.
Drake sighed, resigned to this restless fate. “Where is Deveraux?”
“Left with Serpent,” Reaper muttered. “Refused to go along with me.”
“Can you blame him?” Drake shot back. The two bickered like whelps. He should be grateful for that reprieve.
“I do blame him,” Reaper snapped.
“Bloody hell,” Maxen muttered. “Were you two always like this? Go punch that dog Saint is collaring in the dungeon if you want to vent, Drake. We’ll send for you when your woman returns.”
“No.” He refused. If it were up to him, he would already be gone in search of her, but he knew he would not make it as far as the door.
His brothers would bind him to a chair without a second thought.
“Something feels off. We still don’t know who let our prisoner out of the dungeon and caused this whole damn mess. ”
“You caused this whole damn mess,” Maxen pointed out. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“Your love is touching,” Drake muttered, his annoyance mounting with vengeance. “But, my part in this aside, that damn bloody Sirius was behind this from the very start.”
Sharp eyes snapped to him.
“What?” Maxen asked softly.
Ah, shite. He hadn’t imparted this little truth to his brothers yet. Wanted to wait until they all were together. There was nothing for it now. “Sirius,” Drake said, jaw hardening. “He is behind the Bulldog approaching me for a fight back when I took a trip to London to reclaim my mother’s deed.”
Reaper cursed.
“You should also know, Violet is that dog’s sister, though her presence in Brighton is entirely coincidental.”
“Are you sure?” Maxen asked with a scowl.
“I’m sure.” He’d wager his life on her.
Maxen gave a curt nod, though his brother’s face remained tight.
“I saw him, too,” Drake admitted. “He approached me before the fight.”
Reaper scowled. “He was there?” He slapped a hand on the bar counter. “Why the hell didn’t you say so sooner?”
“Forgive me if my mind was a bit addled,” Drake gritted out.
Maxen sighed. “What did Sirius want?”
“To taunt me.” Christ, the memory made him livid all over again. “That’s his aim. To prolong our torment.”
“Perhaps Deveraux can provide some insight when he returns?” Calliope suggested, her concerned gaze darting between them.
“Not a bad idea, petite souris,” Reaper drawled darkly. “But if this began in London, it was well before we even knew he existed. Which means our dear uncle saw him as nothing more than a pawn and didn’t trust him with the larger schemes. I knew he was bloody useless.”
“If I recall,” Drake said to his brother, “you were the voice of the family when we caught him. Always eager to reunite with family. I still don’t see Crane visiting his dear brothers.”
“Crane just needs some love,” Reaper said. “He’ll come around. As for Deveraux, that shite, that was before I knew the arrogant bastard.”
“Language,” Maxen snapped.
“As if you don’t curse in front of your wife,” Reaper countered sourly.
“That’s me. I’m allowed.”
“We need to reinforce our vigilance,” Drake brought the topic back to their uncle. This was the most pressing danger. “We have women to protect. He knows that.”
Maxen clenched his jaw.
“We might need outside help,” Drake made clear.
His brother’s face darkened.
“Who did you have in mind? Your cousin, Dare?”
“Anyone and everyone. Crane. Mortimer. His connections in Brighton.”
Maxen cursed. “We’ll talk about it—”
The tavern door burst open on a gust of rain and cold, slamming against the door. Drake went utterly still as Knight stepped inside, rainwater streaming from his coat, boots tracking mud into the tavern, dragging a limp body behind him.
The breath he’d been holding rushed out when the most beautiful sodden sight he’d ever seen followed in his brother’s wake.
Her gaze found his instantly. He would have bloody bolted to her in a heartbeat if his legs could move.
The only limbs that obeyed him were his arms, so he opened them wide.
That was all the invitation she seemed to need.
She launched herself forward like a cannon blast, straight into his arms.
Drake caught her with a grunt, the impact driving him back a step as he wrapped her tight against him and lifted her clear of the floor. “Are you hurt, little flame?” he demanded, voice rough against her hair.
“No,” she said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to scowl up at him. “But you are.”
“I’m fine.”
Her gaze flicked to his bandage wrapped around his head, concerned knitting her brow. “Do not say those words to me. You always faint when you do.”
A short laugh broke free of him. He pressed his brow to hers.
“Then let me put it this way. I’ve never been steadier than I am with you in my arms.” So just stay there forever.
His body might not collapse tonight, but his heart and his soul?
It seemed where Violet Sharpe was concerned, he’d be collapsing all his life.