Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 15

The stillness that came over Viggo would have made most men nervous.

Evander Ravenwood’s bewitchingly handsome face remained as calm as his voice, his ice-blue gaze never faltering as he met Viggo’s stare.

“Lady Hartley and I managed to fend them off,” he continued, as if he were describing a tea party where the worst thing that happened was someone broke a cup. “The Brute was taken into custody by the Met. He is currently in one of our holding cells in Scotland Yard.” He paused. “He refuses to speak to anyone unless you’re present.”

Viggo felt a vein throb in his temple. He suspected the only reason the Brute was still in Scotland Yard and not locked up in Coldbath Fields or worse, Irongate Prison, was thanks largely to the man sitting opposite him.

Not that long ago, attacking a mage, let alone one of Evander’s noble status, would have been a crime punishable by death.

“Were you and Lady Hartley injured?” he said brusquely.

The question made Evander’s eyes widen a little. “No.”

“We know how to defend ourselves,” Ginny said curtly.

“I can vouch for that,” Solomon murmured.

Viggo clenched his jaw. “Then, was the Brute injured?”

It seemed a stupid thing to ask. After all, not many people in the world could physically hurt a Brute.

He knew Evander Ravenwood could.

A dual elemental mage able to wield ice and wind magic, he had used his powers to defuse many a potentially explosive situation involving the Met and thralls over the years, all without injuring anyone. So Viggo had read in various reports. Now that he was in the presence of the man, he wondered if he too might struggle to win a fight against the mage.

He’d sensed it all too well a moment ago, when he’d held him up against the wall.

He’d seen the potent magic swirling in the depths of Evander’s arresting blue eyes. Smelled it in the sweet breath that had washed across his fingers. Felt it in the skin his knuckles had brushed. The skin he’d wanted to expose and touch to see if it was as hot and supple everywhere else.

Viggo’s groin swelled as he imagined that sinfully delightful sight. He shifted, lifting his feet off the desk and leaning his elbows upon it to mask his arousal.

Evander Ravenwood was dangerous to him in more ways than one.

He realised the mage hadn’t answered his question. “Well?”

“He has some bruises and cuts,” Evander confessed. “He refuses to see a doctor or healer,” he added at Viggo’s scowl. “He won’t even tell us his name.”

“Describe him,” Viggo said coldly.

“Six foot eight, curly dark hair, brown eyes.”

A name danced immediately through Viggo’s mind.

“He has a scar running from his left eyebrow to his cheek,” Ginny gestured.

Jack froze. So did Solomon and Finn.

Viggo’s stomach knotted on a wave of dread, his suspicion solidifying into certainty.

“Magnus Graveoak.” He exchanged a stunned look with his uncle and his two right-hand men.

Evander straightened. “So, he is an acquaintance of yours?” he said sharply.

“He disappeared two years ago,” Viggo said slowly, frustration underscoring his voice. “Used to work on the docks. His employer turned up one day, looking for him. Owed him a whole month’s wage.” He fisted his hands.

He and Magnus had met shortly after he’d fled to London following the incident that had seen his entire village and his family massacred in a single night of terrifying violence by a group of magic zealots led by an Archmage. It was in the slums that Viggo first befriended Solomon and Finn, the two boys similarly orphaned by the dire circumstances of their birth.

As children growing up in the poorest districts of the capital, they’d had each other’s back and quickly bonded over their shared struggles and their hatred for the magic society that ruled their lives and fates.

Magnus had matured before all of them, his rapid physical growth a sign of the Brute he would become. As such, he was often their protector and used his size and strength to defend Viggo, Solomon, Finn, and other weaker children from bullies and predators. Yet, despite his intimidating size and appearance, Magnus harboured the most gentle of souls.

Viggo closed his eyes briefly.

Thank God he’s alive!

Jack pressed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“ Nightshade has been searching for Magnus,” the older man told Evander and Ginny quietly. “He’s a good friend of Viggo’s from their days growing up in London.”

“We couldn’t find any traces of him.” Viggo rubbed his hands down his face, relief and remorse tightening his throat in equal measure. “Now you’re telling me he’s been working with dark mages?!”

“I find that hard to believe.” Solomon frowned. “The Magnus we know wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“We thought for sure he was at the bottom of the river,” Finn muttered.

Everyone looked at him.

The Irishman shrugged. “What?”

Viggo took a deep breath and finally met Evander’s gaze. Determination hardened his voice when he spoke.

“Take me to him.”

Eight hours later saw Viggo standing across the road from the fortified walls enclosing the grounds and daunting fortress that housed the headquarters of the Met.

A nightmarish construction of black stone and reinforced glass and steel windows said to be resistant to brute force and magic attacks, the Gothic stronghold overlooked Victoria Embankment and the river.

“You sure about this, boss?” Solomon said warily as he gazed at the imposing buildings rising out of the early morning mist.

They were already earning suspicious stares from the constables trickling through the gates for the shift change.

Solomon might have been able to blend in the background, but there was no hiding Viggo’s stature or his true nature.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

They’d left Finn in charge of the guild’s affairs that morning. The Irishman might have a mischievous streak a mile long, but he had a remarkably good head on his shoulders when it came to running the show in Viggo and Solomon’s absence.

Jack had wanted to accompany them. Alas, with fresh ships arrived in the docks that morning, he would be too busy tending to cargo manifests and taking ownership of the wares he’d arranged to distribute. Hidden among them would be secret messages and reports from guild members currently on the continent.

Viggo glanced at the weathered watch hanging off the inside breast pocket of his coat. It was seven, the time they’d arranged to meet Evander. He frowned.

Where is that damn mage?

He was distracted by the sound of an approaching carriage.

A sleek, black four-wheeler drawn by a pair of magnificent horses turned the corner and approached Scotland Yard. The body of the vehicle was made of polished ebony and bore beautiful silver inlays forming the crest of a raven perched on a crescent moon on its doors.

Viggo had no doubt the carriage was heavily warded since it appeared to belong to someone of import. He blinked, a sudden suspicion blasting through his mind.

Wait. Don’t tell me that’s— his carriage?!

As if to confirm his worse fears, the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of where he and Solomon stood. A young lad in livery jumped down from the box seat and opened the door. His curious gaze flitted to Viggo. He froze, eyes rounding and jaw dropping on a shocked inhale.

Viggo’s heart sank when Evander stepped out of the carriage. He was dressed in his formal Met uniform, the silver buttons on his dark blue coat and the aiguillette on his left shoulder gleaming in the insipid sunshine piercing the morning mist, his blue eyes as clear and as cool as they had been when they’d met last night.

Viggo could tell the quality of the mage’s clothing was superior to the other inspectors in the Met. And it confirmed once more the bleak thought he’d had after the Ice Mage had left Nightshade .

He and Evander Ravenwood came from diametrically opposite worlds.

Worlds that were as different from one another as night was from day.

Which meant Viggo could never explore whatever the… feeling was he’d experienced in the presence of the man last night. The same feeling currently quickening his pulse and hastening his breath despite his will. The feeling that was compelling him to touch and kiss this man.

Viggo swallowed, his nails digging into his palms.

Mages were his sworn enemy. And there was no way in the nine Hells he would ever sleep with one.