Chapter Forty-two
Eight months after Wonderland
The past two weeks had settled into a weary routine.
Arrive in a new city. Visit whichever restaurant, bar, gallery, hotel, or landmark Arthur Belmont insisted Nico had recently frequented.
Spend two or three days watching, waiting, and growing steadily more convinced I’d been conned.
Then I’d call Arthur and demand he earn the obscene amount I was paying him.
He always had an answer. Tracking someone like Nico took time. Be patient. Trust the process. A few hours later he’d ring back with another lead, another city.
And so it went on.
Madrid. Bordeaux. Geneva. Zurich. Stuttgart. Prague.
Now Berlin.
The only thing running lower than my patience was my bank balance. Hotels and travel weren’t cheap. Neither was paying Arthur. I didn’t have another car to sell. I figured I could last about another week before I had to concede defeat.
By then Nico would probably be in Denmark. Or Poland. If—and it became a bigger if with each passing day—Arthur wasn’t just feeding me bullshit to bleed me dry.
Of course, there was another possibility: that Nico knew I was following him.
The thought kept me awake late into the night in whichever anonymous hotel room I’d holed up in.
I’d been na?ve in Wonderland. Had I really learned anything since then?
Or was I making the same mistakes again—only this time without the drugs and sex?
The bar was comfortably busy for a Tuesday evening.
I did a sweep of the room before taking another step, bracing myself for the familiar disappointment.
I vowed not to get drunk and ring Arthur in a temper, reminding myself that finding myself without a private detective would be worse than dealing with a potentially bad one.
Two dark-haired women who could have been sisters occupied a booth to my right.
A subdued hen party huddled in the opposite corner, the bride looking as though she’d rather be somewhere else.
Hopefully, she’d have more fun at the wedding.
A group that looked like tourists laughed too loudly in the center of the room, while a couple stared into each other’s eyes at the next table.
The remaining patrons were suited office workers enjoying drinks after work.
Only one person sat at the bar.
A man.
My heart skipped a beat.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Which was a ridiculous thought. Finding him was the only reason I’d crossed half of Europe. It was like digging up a grave and expecting not to find a skeleton. Still, that didn’t stop me from staring at the back of the dark head and trying to find evidence I was mistaken.
He shifted slightly on his stool, bringing his profile into view.
Nico fucking Ravenscar, the man, the enigma, and several other adjectives I could come up with as a delaying tactic. Squaring my shoulders, I crossed the room before I lost my nerve.
I took a stool close to him but left one empty seat between us.
He gave no sign of noticing me, yet I knew he had.
During the two weeks I’d spent chasing him across Europe, it probably would have been sensible to think about what I’d say when I finally caught up with him.
Fortunately, I’d come with an alternative to conversation.
I pulled the newspaper from inside my jacket, unfolded it, and laid it on the bar between us with the headline and photograph facing him.
Nico drew it closer, lifting it for a better look. The photograph showed Queenie and Henry being bundled into the back of a police car. She’d glanced over her shoulder at exactly the wrong moment, giving the camera an unobstructed view of her makeup-free face.
“Not her best angle,” Nico observed, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Did you see her mugshots?”
The smirk grew more pronounced. “I did.” He tapped the newspaper. “This is flattering by comparison.”
“I assume you got immunity?”
Only then did he turn to face me. He held my gaze for a few seconds before letting it drift slowly downward.
Everywhere it lingered, my skin prickled.
“You look good, Lysander.”
It was an infuriatingly effective change of subject. It also provided the perfect excuse to return the favor and look my fill. “So do you.”
There was no lie there. He did look good, making black jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a worn brown leather jacket look like high fashion.
The bartender finished serving another customer and wandered over.
“Whiskey,” I said.
Nico glanced at me. “Whiskey...” he drawled. “Are you sure that’s wise? We both know what you can be like when you’re under the influence.”
“I think I’ve earned it. The last two weeks have been... trying.”
He took an unhurried sip of his own whiskey. By the time he set the glass down, mine had arrived. I reached for my wallet, but Nico gave a small shake of his head.
“Füge es meinem Tab hinzu,” he told the bartender in what sounded like flawless German.
Of course, he spoke German. He probably spoke another dozen languages, too.
“I’m hoping you didn’t tell him I’d be paying for it some other way,” I said.
Nico laughed. “You can take the boy out of Wonderland, but...”
“What did you actually say to him?”
“Relax. I told him to put it on my tab.”
I raised my glass in a mock toast before taking a sip. “I couldn’t help noticing you don’t seem remotely surprised to see me. Did you know I was following you?”
He ran a finger along the edge of the newspaper, inspecting the tip afterward as though expecting a paper cut. “Yes.”
I tamped down a flare of annoyance. “And when did you realize that?”
“From the start.”
I stared at him. “So you deliberately led me on a wild goose chase across Europe? Do you have any idea what it cost to find you? Airfare. Trains. Taxis. Hotels. Food.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Not to mention the private detective.”
“Probably less than it cost me to buy you at the slave auction in Wonderland,” Nico said mildly.
It was an irritatingly good point. Good enough that the rest of my indignation evaporated.
He propped an elbow on the bar and rested his head in his hand. “I’d also advise against paying Mr. Belmont another penny.”
“Why?”
He winced. “He’s not very good. Leaving him clues was like organizing an Easter egg hunt for a child who never thinks to look underneath anything. Whatever you’re paying him, it’s too much.”
I snorted. “If you knew I was looking for you, why didn’t you let me catch up sooner?”
“Because I wanted to see whether you’d give up.”
The answer landed harder than I’d expected.
“I didn’t.”
He held my gaze. “No,” he agreed quietly. “You didn’t.”
I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I wouldn’t have. Not until I ran out of money.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “And here you are.” He nodded toward the newspaper. “Did you come all this way just because you had questions?”
“No.” This was the tough part. I’d chased a man across Europe, who for all I knew, had decided I was better left in his past. He was attractive enough that I doubted celibacy had featured heavily in the time since I’d last seen him. If this went badly, I’d have nobody to blame but myself.
I took a longer swallow of whiskey. “There were some things I needed to say.”
Nico made a small, circling “go on” motion with one hand.
“First, I never had Stockholm syndrome. That was a ridiculous accusation. I’ve read up on it, and our situation didn’t fit. It wasn’t even close.”
“No?” He looked genuinely intrigued. “You experienced trauma. You attached yourself to me because you saw me as your rescuer.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps I used the wrong term. Trauma bonding? Trauma-related attachment?” He gave a slight shrug. “I’m not a psychologist.”
“Whatever it was, it would have worn off by now.” Resenting what felt like a gaping chasm, I shifted onto the stool beside him. “So if I ever had it, I don’t anymore.” Our knees almost touched. “Did you want me to come and find you?”
“Yes.”
The lack of hesitation was reassuring. “You could have come to me.”
“It had to be your decision.” Nico’s answer came without a moment’s pause. “You needed to endure all those dreadful dates that bored you to tears.”
I blinked. “You knew about those?”
A devilish smile spread across his face.
“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” It should have been unsettling. Instead, I searched inside myself for even the smallest flicker of doubt about coming after him and found... nothing. “There weren’t that many dates.”
“Twelve,” Nico said. “None in the first three months. Two in the month after that. The rest spread over the following months. Only three made it to a second date. None reached a third. And you didn’t sleep with any of them.” He raised an eyebrow. “How am I doing?”
“I take it your private detective was better than mine.”
“That wouldn’t have been difficult.”
“It’s like having a long-distance stalker.”
He didn’t deny it.
“What would’ve happened if I’d gotten serious with any of them?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You would’ve shown up.” My certainty surprised me.
A corner of Nico’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing.
“Shit,” I muttered. “I wish I’d known that. I’d have persuaded one of them to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“I thought you didn’t like games.”
“I just prefer to know when I’m playing one.”
He still hadn’t denied it.
Nico turned on his stool until he was facing me fully. “Why didn’t any of your dates work out? Were you thinking about someone else?” His smile was infuriatingly smug. “They do say that comparison is the thief of joy.”
Arrogant git.
Rather than feed his ego, I changed the subject. “What happened to Victor?”
“I gave the police a list of names. Want to guess the order?”
“Queenie Hart. Henry Hart. Kellan Hart.”
“So far, so good.”
“I’m hoping Victor came next.”
“He did. Then Percy and Lola. You’ll be pleased to know they’ll all be spending a very long time in prison. And yes—I made sure I received immunity. I’m not on the run.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Not that it would have made any difference if he was. I knew he wasn’t an angel. Nothing would ever erase the manipulative way he’d engineered our first two sexual encounters, but he’d been right when he’d said it could have been so much worse.
“Was there anyone you left off the list?”
“Dodo. I gave explicit instructions that he was to be escorted safely off the island.”
“Why?” I already knew the answer. I just wanted to hear him say it.
“He helped you when he shouldn’t have, at great personal risk to himself.” Nico shrugged lightly. “That deserved a reward.”
Warmth spread through my chest. I shifted my leg until my knee rested against his.
He didn’t move away.
The contact sent a pleasant shiver through me. Suddenly, getting him alone and naked seemed far more important than anything else we’d discussed. It had been far too long. We weren’t there yet, though. Not unless I was prepared to have sex with him without knowing what came next.
“I suppose if you’ve been stalking me, you already know about the tattoo.”
His brow furrowed. “Tattoo?”
I smiled. “Maybe your private detective wasn’t as good as you thought.”
“Her only task was reporting the basics. Where you were living, who you were spending time with, that sort of thing. I didn’t need to know where you shopped for groceries.”
“Perhaps I was having a torrid affair with a tattoo artist.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“Then tell me about the tattoo.”
It suddenly felt ridiculous. A romantic gesture for a man who’d never shown the slightest interest in romance.
“I didn’t like the scar,” I admitted, stalling. “I wanted to cover it. I thought about getting a quote. Something in Latin or a line from a poem. But nothing felt important enough.”
I’d probably have rambled for another minute if Nico hadn’t already reached across and gently tugged my T-shirt aside.
His gaze settled on the raven.
“I had to lie about how old the scar was,” I said. “You’re supposed to wait at least a year before tattooing over it. And obviously it isn’t the same.”
It wasn’t.
The original had been plain black. This one shimmered with hints of green, blue, and pink beneath the light.
“I just thought...”
The words dried up when I saw the way Nico was looking at it.
Possessive.
Proprietary.
Satisfied.
“Do you like it?” I asked quietly.
His thumb traced the curve of one wing. My skin immediately offered goosebumps as a reward for the touch.
“Very much.” He lifted his gaze to mine, his thumb still stroking over my skin. “You realize what this means.”
“What?”
“That you belong to me again.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t think I ever stopped belonging to you. I just needed time to accept it.”
“You needed me to destroy Wonderland first.”
“Maybe.” I laughed softly. “It certainly helped.”
His thumb drifted lower, brushing lightly across my nipple.
When I sucked in a breath, desire flared in his eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”
I was already off the stool before he’d finished speaking.
We left our unfinished drinks on the bar and walked out into the Berlin night without a backward glance.