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Evander’s blood ran cold at these words.

“Is that why you acted the way you did in Rigley’s office this afternoon?” he asked after a protracted pause.

“Yes.”

Dread churned Evander’s stomach. “So Whitley’s research might not be purely theoretical, as Rigley claimed.”

“Not entirely, no,” Leon confirmed grimly. “The group Chevalier belonged to was disbanded nearly a decade ago when their methods became…ethically questionable. Most of their findings were sealed away.”

“But Chevalier continued the work,” Evander surmised.

Leon nodded. “Privately and with a more academic approach. When he met Whitley at an international symposium three years ago, they discovered their shared interest.”

The waiter arrived with their first course—a delicate arrangement of smoked salmon and capers for Evander, escargot for Leon. Neither man seemed particularly interested in the food before them.

“If someone learned of their research and believed it could be put into practice—” Evander began.

“They would need both professors’ expertise,” Leon finished, his expression grave. “Which means they may still be alive.”

“And Thornfield?”

“Perhaps he stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have,” Leon proposed.

Evander absorbed this information in silence, his mind racing. If dark mages had discovered a way to transfer magical abilities, it would explain their recent boldness.

“Leon,” he said at last, “why didn’t you share this information earlier? At Scotland Yard or at the Institute?”

A flicker of discomfort crossed the Frenchman’s handsome features. “The walls have ears, mon cher. And this information is sensitive. To the point where I technically shouldn’t be sharing it with you.”

Evander stiffened and narrowed his eyes. “Please tell me you did not just disclose a state secret to me?”

Leon’s thin smile almost had him groaning.

“There are those in our Ministry who would prefer Chevalier’s past remain buried,” the Frenchman said evasively.

“And yet you’re telling me about it anyway.”

Leon’s gaze softened. “Because I trust you, Evander. I always have.” He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against Evander’s knuckles. “Despite everything that happened between us, that never changed.”

Evander withdrew his hand. “That was a long time ago, Leon.”

“Was it?” Leon’s voice was gentle. “Six years is nothing in the span of a lifetime. And now fate has brought us together again.” He smiled, a hint of his old mischief returning.

“You must admit, we still work well together. The way we handled those shadow creatures was rather impressive, was it not?”

Before Evander could formulate a response that would discourage Leon’s evident desire to rekindle what they had once shared, he caught sight of a familiar broad-shouldered figure being escorted through the dining room by the ma?tre d’h?tel past the screen protecting the alcove.

His eyes widened, his pulse skipping a beat as he stared at the man crossing the restaurant.

Leon followed his gaze.

Viggo struck a magnificent sight in formal evening attire as he strode across the restaurant.

His dark suit emphasised his powerful build, his crisp white shirt showcased the wide expanse of his chest, and his silk cravat highlighted his tanned skin.

Evander recognised the outfit as one he’d chosen himself from Blackthorne & Sons.

Despite the elegant clothing, there was something untamed about the Brute. A raw, elemental power that seemed at odds with the refined setting. It drew the rapt stares of fellow diners and made Evander’s breath catch.

Viggo’s dark eyes scanned the room and settled on him with an intensity that was almost physical. Evander noted the tension in his lover’s jaw and immediately knew something was wrong.

“Who is that man?” Leon asked curiously.

Evander swallowed. “That’s Viggo Stonewall.”

“Ah.” Leon’s expression cooled perceptibly. “The infamous Ironfist Brute.”

Viggo reached their table. He waited until the ma?tre d’h?tel excused himself before addressing Evander.

“Your Grace.” His deep voice betrayed little emotion. His gaze shifted to Leon, assessing the Frenchman with a single sweep of his dark eyes.

Evander rose from his seat, his heart racing a little at this unexpected meeting. “How did you know we were here? I sent a message?—”

“Hargrove told me where to find you,” Viggo explained, his tone clipped. “We need to talk. It’s urgent.” He glanced dismissively at Leon.

The Frenchman stood and extended his hand with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Comte Leon Beaulieu. Special Arcane Investigator for the Paris authorities. A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Stonewall. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Viggo regarded the offered hand for a moment before taking it. Evander could see the barely restrained strength in his lover’s grip.

Leon’s composed expression never faltered.

“Have you?” Viggo’s voice was neutral. “Funny, I’ve heard almost nothing about you.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

The tension between the two men crackled in the air, like static before a storm.

Evander cleared his throat. “Would you care to join us?”

Viggo’s face tightened. He was about to voice what Evander suspected would be a blunt refusal when Leon spoke.

“That’s a splendid idea.” The Frenchman’s smile was edged with steel. “I would like to get to know Monsieur Stonewall better.”

The challenge filled the space between the two men.

Evander couldn’t think of anything worse and was about to suggest they leave when Viggo spoke.

“Why not?” the Brute said, arching a haughty eyebrow.

Evander stifled a groan. Having his former lover and his current lover sitting at the same table was his definition of Hell. Neither of the two obtuse men in his life appeared to notice his discomfort as Leon signalled to a waiter to bring a third chair.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Viggo said when the waiter presented him the menu. He indicated Evander with a tilt of his head.

A muscle twitched in Leon’s cheek at the familiarity of Viggo’s movement and words.

The waiter poured Viggo a glass of champagne and left hastily.

A fraught hush fell over them.

Leon broke the silence, his French charm on display in his relaxed manner as he leaned back in his chair. “Evander tells me you and your guild are assisting the Met in their investigations.”

“We are,” Viggo confirmed curtly. He took a sip of his drink. Surprise flashed across his face. He glanced at the bottle in the silver bucket. “This is nice,” he said grudgingly.

Leon smiled. “Merci. Call it the excellent taste of a Frenchman.” He glanced pointedly at Evander.

Viggo did not miss his look. He lowered his brows.

“What’s a French Special Arcane Investigator doing in London?”

Evander attempted to smooth things over. “I intended to talk to you about that tonight. Something happened at the?—”

“Do you really think it wise to share the details of our current investigation with this man?” Leon interrupted.

The Frenchman’s tone had grown so cold Evander wouldn’t have been surprised to see their breaths mist in front of their faces. Irritation prickled his skin.

“I already made it clear that I intended to inform Viggo and Nightshade about this case,” Evander said tersely. “It is relevant to our mutual interest in dark mages.”

Surprise flared on Viggo’s face. “Wait. So the reason Winterbourne sent you that missive yesterday morning was because something happened that involved dark mages?”

His words hung starkly over them, the intimate meaning behind them instantly clear to Leon judging by the way he stiffened.

The Frenchman fixed Evander with a loaded stare. “So your new lover is the Ironfist Brute?” His voice was full of accusation.

It was Viggo’s turn to grow deathly still. His eyes shrank to slits.

“ New lover? That somehow implies that you two were intimate in the past.”

His suspicious gaze swung between Leon and Evander.

Evander clenched his jaw, now equally annoyed with both men. “This is not the place to be having this conversation.”

He might as well have been speaking Mandarin for all the difference this made.

“We were indeed,” Leon ascertained silkily. “Evander and I used to be in a relationship.” He raised an arrogant eyebrow. “For several years, at that. And it is one I very much wish to rekindle.”

Evander drew a sharp breath at the sheer audacity of the Frenchman. He threw his napkin on the table. “Who the devil do you think you are to presume that I would agree to?—?!”

A thunk froze his words.

Evander and Leon’s gazes found the dining fork Viggo had stabbed into the table.

“Over my dead body!” the Brute growled.

The possessiveness in his voice and expression sent an illicit thrill through Evander, briefly dampening his vexation.

“That can be arranged,” Leon parried smoothly.

The ma?tre d’h?tel approached, evidently sensing the discord chilling the air.

“Is everything to your satisfaction, gentlemen?” he inquired delicately.

“The meal is positively lovely,” Leon replied with a pleasant smile that did not reach his eyes. “The company less so.” His gaze found Viggo.

Viggo pushed his chair back and rose, his body vibrating with anger. “How about you and I take this outside?!”

Leon stood up, magic charging the air around him.

“What a wonderful idea,” he ground out.

Evander’s voice cracked the air. “Both of you, stop this right now !”

The temperature in the restaurant dropped under the pulse of ice magic he involuntarily released. Frost crawled across the windows and chandeliers, dimming the light. Shocked murmurs rose across the dining room.

Leon and Viggo studied Evander with contrite expressions.

The ma?tre d’h?tel looked like he was contemplating turning in his resignation.

“Sirs, I must ask you to calm down,” he pleaded.

Evander took a deep breath and dampened the magic bubbling through his veins. He climbed stiffly to his feet. “I apologise on behalf of myself and my companions,” he told the man with a curt dip of his head. “If you could please prepare the bill, we will leave immediately.”

“Evander—” Leon protested, his grey eyes dark with guilt and regret.

“Not now, Leon,” Evander said coldly. “We shall speak tomorrow, at Scotland Yard.”

He felt his former lover’s forlorn gaze on his back as he left the restaurant with Viggo. Though the Brute remained silent as Graham brought the carriage round, Evander could feel the tension radiating off him.

It wasn’t until they were safely ensconced inside that Evander finally spoke.