STOLEN MAGIC (EBOOK)

Pale fingers teased the back of Evander Ravenwood’s eyelids and warmed his skin. He stirred and blinked slowly, sleep gradually relinquishing its hold over his body.

Sunlight filtered through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains of his bedroom, the dust motes dancing in the golden stream sparkling as they moved languorously in the morning air.

For a moment, he simply lay there and listened to the sounds of Mayfair coming to life in the distance while he savoured the pleasant weight of the muscular arm draped possessively across his waist and the solid body pressed against his back beneath the plush goose-down comforter.

Having had his fill of this rare moment of peace, Evander turned carefully to face his bedmate.

Viggo Stonewall slumbered beside him, his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks and his handsome face relaxed in sleep. The usually daunting countenance that inspired respect and dread in all those who met the Brute for the first time had softened into something almost boyish as he lay defenceless in Evander’s bed.

The sight made Evander’s pulse flutter in a way that still surprised him, even after two weeks of waking up beside the man who had laid claim to his heart.

He reached out, unable to resist grazing the line of Viggo’s jaw with his fingertips. He danced his hand down his lover’s throat to his chest, tracing the dark ink of the tattoos marking his sun-kissed skin in captivating patterns.

Evander’s chest grew heavy at the sight of the puckered scar beneath Viggo’s left clavicle. The letter A could be made out amidst the wrinkles. He brushed it gently, his heart clenching as he recalled the horrific circumstances under which the Brute had earned the wound.

Viggo’s eyes opened at the touch, dark and immediately alert. His features eased as he focused on Evander. A slow smile spread across his face.

“Good morning, your Grace,” he rumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

His gravelly tone made Evander’s manhood twitch.

“I’ve told you not to call me that in bed,” he admonished without real reproach.

“And I’ve told you I enjoy the way you squirm when I do.” Viggo’s smile turned wicked as he tightened his arm around Evander’s waist, drawing him closer for a kiss. “Besides, old habits are not so easily broken.”

“Two weeks is hardly enough time to form a habit,” Evander murmured before surrendering to his lover’s lips.

What began as a gentle press of mouths quickly deepened, Viggo’s hand sliding up to cradle the back of Evander’s head as he rolled them over, pinning the mage beneath him.

Evander sighed into the kiss, the sensuous movements of Viggo’s tongue against his momentarily banishing all thoughts of the day ahead.

Though his body was a little sore still from last night’s passionate lovemaking, it responded eagerly to Viggo’s touch as he worked a hand down his chest to his hip, the evidence of the Brute’s arousal where it dug insistently into his stomach making his own cock swell with a delicious hunger that would only be quenched by his lover’s ardent possession.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the intimate moment.

“My Lord?” Jasper Hargrove called from the corridor. “I’ve brought your morning tea and paper, and the day’s correspondence.”

Viggo groaned and dropped his forehead to rest against Evander’s. “Your manservant possesses an uncanny talent for interruption.”

“A skill he has cultivated with remarkable dedication,” Evander contributed drily. He raised his voice to address the door. “One moment, please.”

Viggo shifted away, allowing Evander to slip naked from the bed. The mage was conscious of his lover’s burning stare as he donned his dressing gown and secured the sash before crossing to the door.

He opened it just enough to reveal his face, blocking Hargrove’s view of the rumpled bed and its occupant.

“Good morning, my Lord,” Hargrove greeted, his demeanour proper save for a knowing glint in his eyes that spoke silent volumes. “Would your Lordship prefer I return with your breakfast tray at a more convenient hour?”

Heat crept up Evander’s neck. His manservant knew damn well who was in the room with him.

“You may bring it in now, thank you,” he said primly.

He stepped aside, allowing Hargrove to enter with the silver tray. The manservant moved with practiced efficiency as he set it on the small rosewood table by the window before crossing the floor to draw back the curtains. Sunlight flooded the bedroom, illuminating Viggo where he sat propped against the headboard, the sheets pooled around his waist and his impressive bare chest.

“Good morning, Mr. Stonewall,” Hargrove intoned, as if finding a half-naked Brute in his master’s bed was the most ordinary occurrence in the world. “Will you be partaking of breakfast with his Lordship this morning?”

Evander narrowed his eyes a little at the manservant’s saccharine smile.

“I believe I shall,” Viggo drawled, amused. “Your master was particular vigorous last night. I am practically faint from hunger.”

Heat warmed Evander’s cheeks at his lover’s blunt admission. Viggo wasn’t exactly wrong. He’d initiated their lovemaking the previous evening and had worked the Brute to his very limits.

Judging from Viggo’s heated gaze, food wasn’t the only thing he was hungry for.

“Very good, sir,” Hargrove said brightly. “I shall add an additional table setting.”

Viggo and Hargrove exchanged a smile.

“You two are getting along mighty well,” Evander noted sharply.

“I’m not sure what you mean, my Lord.” Hargrove’s expression turned suspiciously innocent. “As someone in charge of your physical well-being, may I express how pleased I am that you no longer have a need for your…toy.”

Evander drew a horrified breath at this blatant betrayal of trust.

“What toy?” Viggo’s gaze swung from Evander’s accusing glare to Hargrove’s unrepentant grin.

The manservant glanced pointedly at the bedside table.

Viggo frowned and leaned over to open the drawer.

A violent burst of wind slammed it closed, startling the Brute.

“Silence is an underestimated virtue, Jasper,” Evander fairly growled as he retracted his magic. “I’m sorry, Viggo,” he added briskly, not quite meeting his lover’s eyes. “There are certain matters I would prefer to keep private.”

Suspicion wrinkled Viggo’s brow at his evasive behaviour. He studied the drawer as if he intended to make it his mission to find out what was inside.

Hargrove rocked back on his heels, eyes fairly twinkling.

Evander had little inclination to reveal to his lover that he’d once procured an enchanted device from the exclusive sex club he occasionally attended in Bloomsbury so as to satisfy his libido on those lonely nights when his needs could not be satisfied with his hands. He had no doubt he would forever be teased for it if he did.

“Incidentally, Mrs. Sinclair would like to know if Mr. Stonewall will be present for luncheon,” Hargrove continued, as if he hadn’t just thrown the cat among the pigeons. “She is finalising the menus for the week.”

Evander and Viggo traded a glance, the question highlighting the still-uncertain nature of their arrangement. They had fallen into a pattern of sorts since they became lovers, Viggo spending several nights a week at the Mayfair townhouse. But neither had broached the subject of more permanent plans.

It was a topic Evander was aware they were both carefully avoiding while they navigated a burgeoning relationship neither of them could have anticipated a few weeks ago.

“I’m afraid I have matters to attend to at Nightshade this afternoon,” Viggo said lightly, sparing Evander from having to answer. “Please convey my regrets to Mrs. Sinclair.”

“As you wish, sir.” Hargrove dipped his head graciously. He turned his attention back to Evander, his face growing serious. “There is a message from Scotland Yard among your correspondence, my Lord. The constable who relayed it pressed upon me the urgency of the matter.”

Evander’s brow furrowed as he lifted the sealed envelope from the tray. The familiar insignia of the Arcane Division was stamped in the wax.

“Thank you, Jasper. That will be all for now.”

The manservant bowed and departed, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Evander sat on the edge of the bed and broke the seal.

“Trouble?” Viggo inquired. He looped his arms around Evander’s waist from behind and kissed the side of his neck.

Evander unfolded the message and scanned the contents. “Potentially. Commander Winterbourne wants to meet urgently.” He frowned. “Something must have happened.”

Viggo’s fingers flexed involuntarily on his belly. “Isn’t today your first rest day in over a week?”

“It is,” Evander admitted guilty.

Unease swirled through him as he studied Winterbourne’s missive.

It was rare for his commander to demand his presence so pressingly, especially on his long overdue day off. As one of the most formidable magical duelists in the history of the Metropolitan Police, Reginald Winterbourne was not a man who could be easily rattled.

Viggo let go of him, swung his legs over the other side of the bed, and reached for his trousers where Evander had discarded them on the floor the night before.

“Surely, you’re not the only Arcane Investigator Winterbourne can call upon for grave matters?” the Brute grumbled as he slipped into the garment.

THE MAGE AND HIS BRUTE
Arcane Entanglement
Stolen Magic

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