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Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1) Chapter 22 42%
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Chapter 22

The setting sun was casting a golden glow over the Thames when Evander’s carriage turned up to collect him. He climbed inside distractedly and gazed at the grand silhouette and gothic spires of the House of Parliament etched against the vivid purple sky as they pulled away from Scotland Yard.

Magnus had woken up late that afternoon. Though still shaky, he had been in full possession of his faculties and did not appear to have suffered any repercussions from having the cursed gem removed so violently from his body. Viggo and Solomon had taken the Brute home after he was given the all clear by the healer who’d seen to him.

Evander wasn’t sure what to make of Viggo’s attitude. The Brute’s expression had been cryptic when they’d parted ways. Solomon on the other hand hadn’t been able to hide his relief at finally exiting the premises.

The clip-clop of horses' hooves on cobbles and the rattle of carriage wheels soon escalated as Graham manoeuvred the vehicle through the busy thoroughfares of the capital, the din punctuated by the occasional whinny and the shouts of newsboys hawking the evening papers.

Evander leaned his head against the backrest and closed his eyes.

I wonder if reports of me being an Archmage has made the front pages yet.

He knew he should be more upset about the fact that his long-held secret had been revealed. He suspected Ginny would have a few sharp words to say about the matter when he next saw her. Never mind the grief he was going to get from Mrs. Sinclair and Hargrove once they found out.

But the simple fact was he would not have been able to hide his identity as an Archmage forever.

There were dark forces at work in the capital and the country.

People who shared the same views about magical supremacy as the Archmage who had decimated Viggo’s village and destroyed the lives of thousands of thralls. Men and women who believed England would be better off without the magicless and who were hellbent on bringing about a second and more definitive War of Subjugation.

Evander had planned to reveal his true powers to oppose them when the right time came. Having to do so a few years earlier than anticipated was an inconvenience for sure but hardly the end of the world. Or so he was trying to convince himself.

Of course, someone won’t see it that way.

Evander’s shoulders slumped. He wondered when he would be summoned to the palace. His mouth twisted as he recalled Queen Victoria’s stringent expression the last time they’d met.

She won’t let this go. However much she harps on about what a fool I was for letting this happen, I don’t regret what I did. Magnus’s life was more important.

Viggo’s face danced through his mind once more, the way he’d looked back at the lab seared in Evander’s consciousness.

Chances are our paths won’t cross again unless it has to do with Magnus’s involvement in our investigation.

That thought made his chest grow tight. He could no longer deny what he felt towards Viggo.

He was attracted to the Brute. And not just sexually.

There was more to the owner of Nightshade than people realised. A depth to his character that was likely too often overlooked. And it drew Evander like few things could.

In Viggo, Evander felt he had found a kindred spirit. A man who shared the same values as him. Who was bright and quick-witted and just. Someone who would be loyal to those he loved and who would protect and defend them come what may.

The kind of man Evander wished he could spend the rest of his life with.

The fact that he was entertaining such thoughts about someone he’d met a mere day ago was frankly irrational. Yet, his instincts, and his heart, told him Viggo was everything he wanted and more.

A wave of lassitude washed over him, the events of the past three days and his own turbulent emotions finally catching up on him. Evander took a shaky breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

I have to get over these unrealistic feelings. Nothing will ever come of them. He hates mages and he’s made that fact crystal clear.

The distant toll of church bells marked the hour a moment later.

Evander opened his eyes and looked outside. He frowned.

They were passing Covent Garden.

Alastair Millbrook’s atelier was located nearby, on King William Street.

I should visit the place with Rufus tomorrow.

Shaw had already processed the workshop and Millbrook’s lodgings above it with the help of a team from the AFD. Though she hadn’t picked up any clues as to the identity of Millbrook’s murderer, her report indicated that someone had recently broken into the building.

Evander was pondering what Viggo had revealed about Noctis Bloom and its properties and what that said about Nightshade ’s ability to glean information no other guild could, when the bustling sounds of central London faded upon the carriage reaching Mayfair.

Graham soon pulled up in front of the townhouse.

Evander thanked Samuel and the coachman as he stepped outside.

The magical wards he’d erected around his home brushed against his skin when he climbed the stairs leading to the portico of the elegant Georgian residence. The Portland stone and tall, multi-paned sashed windows making up the frontage gleamed in the light of the elegant lanterns flanking the heavy, black door with its brass knocker in the shape of a raven perched on a crescent moon.

Hargrove gave him a quizzical look when he took his coat in the foyer.

“Bad day at the office, my Lord?”

Evander took this as a sign that his recently revealed secret had yet to make it to the manservant’s ears.

“You could say that. Please tell Cook to prepare a light supper and bring it to my private study. I shall retire early tonight.”

The office adjacent to his bedchamber was a more intimate and functional space than the formal one downstairs. The walls were covered in a rich, forest green, textured paper with a subtle pattern of leaves and vines, and lined with bookshelves holding an extensive collection of arcane tomes and spell books. An enchanted map of London highlighting the current crime scenes in the capital took pride of place above the marble fireplace, the orange glow of the dots warm beneath the glass case protecting them.

It was a smaller replica of the one in Winterbourne’s office, in Scotland Yard, and had cost Evander a pretty penny to commission.

Tucked in front of the window was an oakwood desk carved with magical symbols and runes to protect the private contents of its drawers. The desk was perfectly organised, with neat stacks of parchment and quills, and inkwells that Hargrove regularly topped up.

A door at the back led to a small laboratory equipped with a workbench, various alchemical tools, and shelves stocked with magical ingredients and components.

Evander was enjoying a drink in one of the velvet armchairs by the fire when Hargrove entered the room with a serving cart laden with a carefully curated selection of dishes. He set out a rich, steaming broth and an accompaniment of fine cheeses and sandwiches on the table beside Evander’s chair.

Hargrove returned an hour later to clear the dishes.

“Would you like some tea, my Lord?”

“No, thank you. I prefer something stronger tonight.”

Hargrove eyed the Scotch glass in Evander’s hand. “Isn’t that your third drink already?”

“It is.” Evander narrowed his eyes slightly at the manservant’s disapproving tone. “Why?”

Hargrove pursed his lips. “You have a day off this Sunday, do you not?”

“I do,” Evander replied warily. “Where is this going, Jasper?”

Hargrove took on an aggrieved air. “Just go visit that poncy club, my Lord. That toy of yours is not doing you any good. You will feel much better after spending the night under a rugged, hairy-chested stud who will make you forget all your troubles.”

Evander did his best to ignore the vision of one particular rugged, hairy-chested stud he would love to be under and pinned the manservant with a scowl.

“How about you mind your own private affairs and let me worry about mine?”

“But your private affairs are my concern, my Lord,” Hargrove fairly whined. “Including your sexual gratifica?—”

Evander threw a cushion at him. Hargrove caught it deftly, much to the mage’s irritation.

“Shall I prepare your bath, my Lord?” Hargrove said sullenly as he finished clearing the table.

“Please do.” Evander sniffed. “And stop looking inside my bedside drawer.”

Hargrove hesitated by the door.

“What is it now?” Evander grunted.

The manservant’s eyes gleamed with the spirit of curiosity.

“Is it true that you and the Ironfist Brute are working together, my Lord?”

Evander stiffened. “Who told you that?”

“A little bird I shall not name,” Hargrove replied nonchalantly.

Evander scowled. “Is this little bird five foot three, with brown hair and eyes?”

Hargrove maintained a poker expression at Samuel’s description. “I cannot say, my Lord.”

“Jasper?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Get out.”

Steam carrying the smell of herbs and rejuvenating potions greeted Evander when he entered his bathroom moments later. It was a luxurious space, with walls panelled in dark polished wood and a floor tiled in black and white mosaic marble. Tall windows made of frosted glass graced one wall of the chamber, the heavy velvet curtains framing them adding another layer of opulence.

The centrepiece of the room was the giant, freestanding copper bathtub, its burnished surface gleaming in the soft glow of the crystal chandelier suspended from the coffered ceiling and the enchanted ornate sconces.

Evander laid his enchanted cufflinks and folding cane on the marble-topped vanity and stripped out of his clothes. He turned and walked inside the magnificent, open shower opposite. Hot sprays burst from the multiple heads in the ceiling and walls as he twisted an array of taps.

Evander ran his fingers through his hair and lifted his face, his skin prickling pleasantly as the powerful jets cleansed the sweat and grime from his flesh. He washed up with a lavish, vetiver scented soap, rinsed himself off, and padded out to the copper tub.

Water sloshed as he climbed inside, stirring the concoctions Hargrove had poured. A sigh left him as he sank in the hot, fragrant vapour. Evander submerged himself to his neck and propped his elbows and head on the edge of the tub.

He closed his eyes and was just beginning to relax when the hairs lifted on the back of his neck. Magic flooded his bloodstream in a heartbeat. He twisted and cast the weapon in his fingers at the curtains behind him.

A figure caught the ice spear in his bare hand.

Evander’s heart stuttered.

Viggo stepped out of the shadows and raised an eyebrow. “Is this how you greet all your guests?”

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