Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 37

The setting sun was painting colourful streaks across the sky as Evander set off towards Mayfair. The streets grew busier, the shadows lengthening as people hurried home from work while others ventured out for evening entertainments.

He almost missed the figure that detached itself from an alley when he passed Piccadilly Circus and entered Regent Street, so engrossed was he in his thoughts.

The man moved with purposeful stealth towards him.

Magic coiled beneath Evander’s skin. Though he was reluctant to showcase his powers in the middle of one of London’s most glamorous shopping districts, he would defend himself if he had to.

A familiar voice reached his ears before he could act.

“Fancy seeing you here, your Grace.”

Evander’s shoulders loosened at the sight of Solomon.

“Mr. Barden,” he acknowledged with a smidgen of caution. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Please, call me Sly. I owe you that much after what you did yesterday.”

“Alright.” Evander met the thrall’s gaze steadily. “And you can address me as Evander.”

Solomon grimaced. “How about we take it one day at a time?”

They fell into step.

“Why are you here?” Evander said curiously. “You can’t have found Millbrook’s family already.”

“Viggo thought it would be prudent to keep an eye on things, given recent events.”

Evander’s eyes widened. “He sent you to guard me?”

Solomon sighed. “I know. You, the Archmage, being protected by me, a thrall. I told him it was ridiculous, but he was having none of it.”

Evander found himself suppressing a foolish smile. He forced himself to focus on the business at hand.

“Has Nightshade uncovered anything about the city’s dark mage problem?”

“Yes.” Solomon tucked his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowing. “The Noctis Bloom business is booming.” He glanced at Evander. “Looks like someone is intending to use a boatload of dark magic soon.”

Evander’s brief reprieve faded as the thrall filled him in on Nightshade ’s most recent findings, including whispers in the underworld hinting at some kind of large-scale sinister plot on the horizon.

The mage sensed there was something else on Solomon’s mind from the brooding looks the thrall occasionally stole at him as they walked.

Solomon finally spoke when they neared Mayfair.

“Your Grace, may I be frank?”

“Of course.”

Solomon hesitated, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“This thing between you and Viggo. I have concerns.”

Evander stiffened, conscious the thrall was overstepping the mark. What he and Viggo chose to do was their personal business. Still, he was curious to know what was troubling the Brute’s right-hand man.

“What sort of concerns?”

Solomon didn’t answer straight away.

“Viggo has been through a lot,” the thrall finally said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “He doesn’t trust people easily, especially not mages. But he trusts you.” Solomon glanced at him. “If that trust ends up being misplaced, I don’t know what it will do to him.”

Understanding dawned on Evander. Solomon’s apprehension wasn’t based on prejudice or disapproval.

“You’re worried I’ll hurt him,” he said quietly.

A muscle twitched in Solomon’s cheek.

“Viggo is more than just my boss. He’s one of my dearest friends. I’ve seen him weather storms that would break most men. But this? If this goes wrong…” The thrall trailed off. “He has never looked at another man or woman the way he looks at you.”

Evander swallowed, thrilled in part by Solomon’s words and equally nervous by their gravity. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had similar worries, particularly in view of the secret he had yet to reveal to Viggo.

“I understand your disquiet. And I appreciate your loyalty to Viggo. But I want you to know that my feelings for him are genuine. I would never intentionally hurt him. I—” Evander stopped and clenched his fists. “Viggo means a lot to me.”

Solomon studied him intently, as if trying to read the truth in his eyes. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, at least for now.

“See to it that you don’t,” he grunted. “Viggo deserves happiness.” He hesitated. “And for what it’s worth, I think you might be good for him.”

Evander’s townhouse came into view.

“See you soon, your Grace.” Solomon slowed and melted into the shadows.

Evander climbed the steps to his front door, his mind full of the exchange he’d just had with Viggo’s right-hand man. He was barely inside when Hargrove appeared, a strange look on his face.

“You have a visitor, my Lord,” the manservant said as Evander gave him his coat. “The Ironfist—I mean, Mr. Stonewall is here to see you. I’ve shown him to your study.”

Evander’s heart skipped a beat. “Thank you, Hargrove. I’ll see to him now.”

He made his way swiftly to the study and paused outside for a moment to collect himself before twisting the doorknob.

Viggo was standing by the fireplace, his broad frame silhouetted against the light of the dancing flames. He turned when Evander entered. His dark eyes scanned the mage from head to toe, as if checking for injuries.

“You’re late.”

Evander registered the concern underlying his gruff note. A mixture of emotions clogged his throat at the sight of the Brute, his composure rattled once more.

“My apologies.” He forced a small smile. “The investigation took longer than any of us expected.”

Viggo relaxed. “As long as you’re safe.”

Evander crossed the floor and indicated the damask sofa opposite the fireplace.

“Did you find anything?” the Brute said, sitting beside him.

Evander filled him in on the discoveries at Millbrook's workshop; the hidden cylinder, the key, and the mysterious Rosa .

“The Met has no leads as to the whereabouts of Millbrook’s family,” the mage finished. “I hope your guild can help us track them down. I’m certain they’re pivotal to unravelling this mystery.”

“We’ll do what we can. Nightshade has contacts all over the country.”

“Thank you,” Evander said softly. He hesitated. “And thank you for sending Solomon to keep an eye on me. It wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate the thought."

Something flickered in Viggo’s gaze, an emotion Evander couldn’t quite name. The Brute shifted closer, close enough that his knee brushed Evander’s leg and his intoxicating heat wrapped around him.

“I’m aware you’re a powerful Archmage, but I can’t stop worrying about you.” He took Evander’s chin in a gentle hold and traced his lips with his thumb, his gaze so intense Evander’s toes almost curled. “I doubt this fear of mine will ever go away, however long this lasts.” Viggo paused, his eyes glittering with heat. “I, for one, hope it lasts a long, long time.”

The admission, so plainly stated, sent a shiver down Evander’s spine and roused his heart. The air between them ignited with an attraction that threatened to rob him of his senses.

“Viggo—”

Whatever Evander had been about to say was lost in the Brute’s searing kiss. He melted into his embrace with a soft groan, his hands rising to tangle in Viggo's hair.

The kiss was everything Evander had imagined and more. Passionate, savage, with an underlying tenderness that made his heart ache. He lost himself in the sensation. In the feel of Viggo's strong arms around him. In the heady taste of him on his tongue.

They broke apart only when the need for air became too great, both of them panting and trembling. Evander tugged Viggo down for another hungry kiss, only to freeze when a strangled sound came from the doorway.

Mrs. Sinclair stood there, a tea tray in her hands and an expression of utter shock on her face.

Hargrove popped his head around the door.

“I knew it!” the manservant hissed with undisguised glee. “He’s shagging the Ironfist Brute!”

Viggo’s jaw dropped open. He snorted in the next instant.

Mrs. Sinclair’s face turned an unhealthy hue as she cut her eyes to Hargrove.

The manservant sobered.

“I beg your pardon, my Lord,” the housekeeper said stiffly, her gaze flitting to Viggo. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Evander flushed, wishing a hole would appear in the floor and swallow him whole.

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Sinclair,” he managed. “You can leave the tea and go.”

Mrs. Sinclair came in and set the tray down next to the sofa. She dipped her head courteously at Viggo.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stonewall. Our young Samuel is very much enamoured with your achievements.” Her expression grew cautious. “I hope you and his Grace continue to get along.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” Viggo smiled faintly. “And yes, I fully intend to do so.”

Whatever the housekeeper saw in the Brute’s face made relief gleam in her eyes. She exited the study with Hargrove, but not before the manservant released a parting shot under his breath.

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to blow off steam. Ride the biggest one-eyed snake in London.”

“Mr. Hargrove!” Mrs. Sinclair snapped.

The door closed on the housekeeper berating the manservant in a low voice full of ire.

Evander groaned.

“I like them,” Viggo said with a chuckle.

His laughter vibrated under Evander’s hand.

Evander spread his fingers unconsciously, marvelling at the hardness of the Brute’s chest, only to freeze when Viggo’s breath caught.

He snatched his hand away, his cheeks burning. “I’m sorry.”

Viggo captured his fingers and pressed them to his heart.

“Don’t be,” the Brute said gruffly. “I like it when you touch me.” He hesitated, a hint of vulnerability swirling in the depths of his eyes. “To be honest, I was concerned about how your servants might receive me.”

Evander felt a sudden rush of affection for Viggo. That this fierce, strong Brute could face down dark mages without flinching but worried about the opinion of his household staff humbled him. It made him grateful once more to whatever Fate had made their paths cross.

“They’ll accept you wholeheartedly,” he assured Viggo, reaching up to cup his cheek. “They’re loyal to me and they want me to be happy. And you,” Evander’s voice dropped to a near whisper, “you make me very happy.”

Viggo’s face softened. He leaned in for another kiss, this one sweeter than the ones they’d already shared.

It turned heated all too soon.

Viggo wrenched their mouths apart a moment later, his fingers digging possessively in Evander’s back and his face hard with desire.

“Evander?”

“Yes?” Evander panted, his cock throbbing between his thighs.

“I want to see you ride the biggest one-eyed snake in London.” Viggo’s gaze darted feverishly to the Persian rug in front of the fire.

Evander’s stomach clenched at that illicit vision. He narrowed his eyes.

“We talked about this.”

“But—” Viggo protested.

Evander pressed a finger to his mouth, his tone firm. “No buts. We can’t do anything more than kiss until this case is over.”

Viggo frowned. “Mark my words, mage. We’re going to fornicate over this entire room when that happens.”

Evander looked at him blankly before chortling, much to Viggo’s annoyance.