Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 23

It took all of Viggo’s willpower to keep his voice steady as he observed Evander.

He hadn’t meant to spy on the mage.

Having approached the back of the townhouse in Mayfair with a stealth borne of years of experience getting into places where he didn’t belong, it had taken him but a moment to clear the rear fence, its impressive height posing little challenge to his strength as he’d vaulted over it in one deft move.

Viggo had waited to make sure the magic wards that had tickled his skin failed to raise an alarm before moving swiftly across the manicured lawns, the shadows cast by ornamental shrubs and statues aiding his furtive passage to the back of the house.

A quick scan of the rear facade revealed a trellis covered in climbing roses that offered a convenient route to a first floor window. The staff would no doubt be taking turns having their dinner in the kitchen below stairs at this hour, which meant the upper levels of the property would be clear of foot traffic.

He’d climbed the wooden frame with surprising silence for a man his size, his hands and feet finding secure holds among the lattice even in the dark. Viggo had paused and peered through the window to make sure the room beyond was empty before carefully jimmying the lock and slipping inside.

He’d found himself inside a dressing area. The place was meticulously organised, with racks and hanging frames holding an extensive collection of fine clothing, shoes, and accessories for a nobleman, and a couple of dressers and a masculine vanity unit.

The room smelled of Evander.

Viggo had caught a glimpse of his reflection in the full-length mirror next to the window and stilled at the contrast between his humble appearance and the wealth on display around him. His chest had tightened.

Once again, circumstances made it painfully clear how different his and Evander’s worlds were.

The sound of approaching footsteps had jolted him into action before his mood took a complete downturn. Viggo had ducked through a door into the next chamber, only to discover that it was Evander’s private bathroom. He’d cursed silently and sought refuge behind the curtains when the footsteps followed him.

A man in his forties with sharp angular features and a neatly trimmed beard had entered the bathroom. Though dressed in a manservant’s outfit, the way he’d carried himself as he’d prepared the bath and laid out a bathrobe and towels told Viggo he was former military of some sort.

Evander’s attendant had left after getting the place ready, oblivious to his presence to the end. Instead of vacating the room to try to figure out the best place to meet and talk to the mage discreetly in his own home, Viggo had found himself rooted to the spot.

Common sense had told him staying and watching Evander bathe would be the height of foolishness. But his heart hadn’t listened to his head and he’d found himself biding his time for Evander to arrive, his stomach churning with anticipation.

He hadn’t had to wait long.

Keeping still while Evander undressed had been the purest form of mental torture Viggo had ever endured. The intimacy and thrill of the moment had taken his breath away, squashing whatever guilt he felt at this stolen glimpse into the mage’s private world.

He hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away from Evander as he’d revealed every inch of his glorious body.

Viggo was already certain the mage possessed the handsomest face he’d ever laid eyes on. He’d assumed his figure would be slender and soft, like most nobles. But Evander’s physique was graceful and athletic, his muscles defined and his flesh toned to perfection. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist that gave way to svelte hips and firm, round buttocks Viggo itched to sink his fingers into. Bar a few moles, the mage’s skin was free of scars and blemishes, the unexpected golden hue speaking of hours spent in the sun.

Viggo’s groin had swelled uncomfortably at the sight of Evander’s manhood nestled amidst dark curls. His shaft was perfectly formed and ridged with delicate veins. It’d made Viggo wonder what he would taste like.

He’d stood in the shadows and shamelessly drunk in the intoxicating sight of the man he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind for the past day while the latter had showered and climbed inside the opulent copper bathtub, blissfully unaware of Viggo where he’d skulked behind the curtains.

The Brute had realised then that what had guided his steps to Mayfair and Evander’s home that night was something he could no longer fight. Because it wasn’t just attraction he felt for Evander.

It was need. Pure, unadulterated, potent need.

It made no sense. He’d only met the man a day ago.

Yet, he wanted Evander with an urgency that shocked him. He wanted to touch him and kiss him and taste every inch of his bewitching body. He wanted to see what colour his eyes would take in the throes of passion. He wanted to sink inside the mage’s body and experience his heat as he claimed him. He wanted to watch Evander climb the heights of pleasure and shatter beneath him.

He wanted to wreck him. To possess him.

To chain him to his side so he could never leave him.

The wealth of emotions stirring Viggo’s heart and the fire burning in his veins had him unconsciously shifting where he stood.

The movement finally alerted Evander to his presence.

The speed at which the mage cast his magic had Viggo’s stomach clenching as he grasped the icicle winging its way towards his shoulder.

Even naked and vulnerable, the mage possessed a strength of will and a composure few men in his acquaintance could demonstrate under the circumstances.

Viggo stepped out of the shadows, the weapon cooling his hand. “Is this how you greet all your guests?”

Evander’s eyes flared. “What the devil are you doing here?” he spluttered. “And how did you get past my wards?!”

Viggo swallowed a smile.

Not so composed after all.

The colour rising in Evander’s cheeks and the awareness darkening his eyes told the Brute the mage was as conscious of him as he was.

“I came to talk. And I’m a Brute. You of all people should know magic doesn’t work on me.”

He knew he’d said the wrong thing when Evander’s mouth thinned.

“I’m an Archmage,” he said icily. “My magic isn’t exactly ordinary.”

“Then, that must make me a very special Brute.”

This answer seemed to irk Evander even more. The mage scowled.

“Do you make it a habit of spying on the people you wish to talk to when they bathe, Mr. Stonewall?” He rose without waiting for an answer, water cascading off his gleaming body.

Viggo nearly swallowed his tongue, the vision that was Evander in that moment threatening to unravel the last threads of his sanity.

The mage flushed at his hungry stare.

He climbed out and reached hastily for the towel robe hanging on the free standing rack beside the tub, but not before Viggo glimpsed his swelling cock.

His arousal made Viggo conscious the only thing masking his own raging erection was his coat. And it confirmed what he’d suspected all along.

Evander felt the same beguiling pull he did. And he seemed just as helpless in the face of it as Viggo was.

“Not usually,” Viggo finally managed. “I was hiding from your manservant.”

Evander’s hands stilled on the towel he was using to dry his face and hair. “How long have you been here?”

Viggo tried not to fidget at his suspicious tone. “A little while,” he confessed sheepishly.

Evander drew a sharp breath. “So, you were—watching the whole time?! While I got undressed and showered?!” Indignation raised the pitch of his voice.

Viggo sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I should apologise but I don’t want to.”

Evander opened and closed his mouth silently.

“What?” he finally mumbled. “Why?!”

Viggo decided there and then that honesty was going to be the best policy when it came to dealing with this man.

“Because I want you,” he said quietly. “I want you like I’ve never wanted another in my entire life.”