by Karen Kincy
They arrived at the hotel together. The moment Ardis stepped into their hotel room, Wendel tugged her jacket from her shoulders. She suspected he was still being more than polite, but she found his attention sweet.
“I will have a maid tend to the fire,” Wendel said.
Ardis glanced at the log in the fireplace. “I can do it.”
She grabbed a box of matches and a few sheets of hotel stationary. Within a few minutes, she had kindled a crackling fire.
Ardis set down the matches. “Anything else?”
Wendel bent over the bed and yanked back the quilts.
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
She stared at him. “Is this you as a prehistoric necromancer?”
“The snow on your clothes is melting.”
Ardis realized he was right. She kicked away her boots and peeled off her clothes.
Wendel watched her undress. “Get in bed.”
“Yes, little honeybee.”
As she limped to bed, she saw the smirk on his face. She climbed under the covers and snuggled down into the pillow.
When Wendel joined her in bed, he was naked.
“Your feet!” Ardis slid away from him. “They feel like ice.”
“My apologies.” Wendel didn’t sound too apologetic.
He brushed her hair from the nape of her neck and massaged her shoulders. His fingers brought a sigh to her lips. He pressed himself against her back, his body hot and hard along hers. She ran her hand over his buttocks.
“You feel nice,” Ardis murmured.
“Nice?” Wendel laughed. “Is that all?”
He kissed her on the neck, then traced her spine with his lips. She shivered at his touch, his kisses sparking electricity on her skin. The soreness in her muscles melted, but the ache of unspoken words built behind her ribs.
A sigh escaped Ardis. “Wendel.”
He stopped kissing her. She took a breath, just enough air to voice her confession.
“I love you.”
“I wondered when you would say that.” Wendel sounded like he was smiling.
“I already did,” she whispered. “You didn’t hear me.”
Wendel tensed behind her. He must have known she was talking about the night he died, the night she brought him back with borrowed magic. Ardis hated that she had reminded him. She turned to him and kissed him to make him lose sight of his memories. He returned the kiss gently, then fiercely, his fingers weaving in her hair. She closed the distance between them, craving no space between their skin.
She wanted to show him her unsaid feelings, beyond the inadequacy of words.
“You know I love you,” Wendel said, a rasp in his voice.
“I do.” Ardis smiled. “You told me. Many times.”
“I meant it every time.”
Wendel leaned on his elbow and looked into her eyes. She studied the sharp shadows of his cheekbones, the questioning set of his mouth, and the quiet green clarity of his eyes. He was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. Of course, her opinion may have been swayed by the fact that he was lying naked beside her.
Wendel’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you smiling?”
“You are so ridiculously handsome,” Ardis said.
“For a moment,” he said, “I thought you might say pretty.”
Ardis laughed, since she had called him that before. She rested her head in the crook of his arm and breathed in his scent. The spice of pines clung to his skin. He curved his hand down the hollow of her back. She waited for him to do more, but he seemed content to lie there and look at her with a smile shadowing his face.
“Come closer,” Ardis said.
Wendel dragged her against him, his fingertips firm on her spine.
“Closer,” she said.
He flicked his eyebrows upward. “How close?”
She could feel how hard he was against her hip, and she slid her hand down to stroke him. His lips parted. He closed his eyes, tilted back his head, and surrendered to her touch. A groan escaped from deep in his throat.
“Wait,” Wendel said.
He slid off the bed swiftly. He hunted for his coat, found it on the floor, and reached into the pocket. Sprawled on the sheets, Ardis admired the view. Wendel caught her staring at him and gave her a smoldering look.
“Are you ogling me?” he said.
“Absolutely,” she said.
Wendel returned with a preventive. He leaned against the bed and looked her up and down. His jaw taut, he tilted his head. She would have loved to know what he was thinking. Her heartbeat thudded in anticipation.
“I’m still cold,” Ardis said. “Come to bed.”
Wendel sat on the edge and caressed her breast. He rubbed his thumb over her tight nipple, and her breath snagged.
“Cold?” he said, like he didn’t believe her.
Ardis smoothed the sheets. Inviting him. But he stood beside the bed and ran his hand down the hard planes of his chest, along the dark trail of hair, even lower. He touched himself and watched her watching him.
Ardis crossed her ankles and curled her toes. “Don’t be so bad.”
Wendel smiled, devilishly, as he slid on the preventive. Then he climbed into bed and grabbed her by the waist. He dragged her down and held himself over her, his weight denting the mattress, his hands clutching the sheets.
“That’s better,” Ardis said.
Wendel kissed her on the mouth. She licked his lip, then nipped him, just hard enough to make him moan. She couldn’t stop kissing him, her heartbeat thumping as if she had been running and finally caught him.
“I want you,” Ardis said.
Wendel had a wicked glint in his eyes. “Be more specific.”
“I want you inside me.” Her cheeks heated. “Obviously.”
“I’m happy to oblige.”
Ardis wanted to knock the smirk from his face, but Wendel distracted her by nudging her legs apart with his knee. He slid inside in one long stroke. She groaned and gripped his buttocks, her fingernails marking his skin.
“What do you want?” Wendel said, his voice like dark velvet.
“Your cock,” she whispered.
He started slowly, every stroke a delicious torment, then quickened his pace. She hooked her legs behind his and took him even deeper. He kissed her on the collarbone, his breath hot on her skin, and sucked on her nipple.
Ardis ground against him. She ached with unspent desire.
“More,” she said.
Wendel thrust even deeper, filling her completely, but she still felt a hollow ache. She kissed his neck and tasted the salt of his sweat. He reached under her and gripped one of her buttocks. His groan spiked her lust.
“Let me,” Ardis said.
Wendel glanced into her eyes. “What?”
She hooked her leg behind his and flipped him onto his back. He fell against the pillows. Straddling him, she stroked him in her fist. His hardness felt slick in her hand. He sucked in his breath, a shuddering intake of air.
“Ardis—”
“What do you want?” she said.
Wendel narrowed his eyes, but he looked disoriented, his face flushed.
“You,” he said.
She kissed him. “Be more specific,” she whispered.
Wendel glowered halfheartedly. She sank down and took all of him. When he angled his hips upward, she bit back a moan and reached down to touch herself. He watched her through his eyelashes, his gaze scorching, then lifted himself on his elbows. He kissed her on the mouth, his tongue darting between her lips.
Ardis quickened her fingers, the pleasure on the brink of excruciating.
“Come,” she said.
“What?” Wendel sounded drunk with lust.
“I want you to come.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He pounded into her with uninhibited pleasure. She rode him until he clutched her close, every muscle in his body stiffening. He let out a stuttering groan. The sound thrilled her in primal ways.
Her tension spent, she lay in the crook of his arm and closed her eyes. He smoothed her hair from her face. She rested her head on his chest, breathless, his heartbeat thumping against her ear. Her body glowed with joy.
This, she decided, was what love felt like.
“I love you,” Ardis whispered.
Wendel answered her with a kiss.
~
Ardis lay beside Wendel, daydreaming, as the sky darkened to the color of a blackcurrant. A knock on the door startled her.
Wendel sat upright. “Wait here.”
He dragged on his trousers and answered the door. A maid looked him up and down, none too subtly. Ardis clutched the sheet to her chest. Likely the maid thought Ardis was a prostitute, and Wendel was fair game.
“Sir,” the maid said, “you have a guest waiting for you in the lobby.”
“Who?” Wendel said.
“He said his name was Wolfram.”
“Wolfram?” Wendel scowled. “What does he want?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t say, sir.” The maid brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Do you require anything else, sir?”
Ardis thought she might vomit if she heard another sir. God knows what the maid would do if she knew Wendel was once a prince.
“No, thank you,” Wendel said.
He shut the door in the maid’s face, much to Ardis’s satisfaction.
Ardis swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. “Should I come?”
“You already did.” Wendel gave her a thoroughly evil smile.
She rolled her eyes. “Should I go downstairs with you?”
“It’s nearly dinnertime.”
Ardis dressed and braided her hair. She hoped she didn’t look feral, though there wasn’t much she could do without a bath. Wendel raked his fingers through his hair and splashed water from the sink onto his face.
They descended to the lobby together.
Wolfram was waiting in a chair. He leapt to his feet when he saw them.
Wendel arched an eyebrow. “If Mother and Father have invited us to dinner at the castle, you already know my answer.”
A crease appeared between Wolfram’s eyebrows—a look Ardis knew well.
“I’m inviting you both to dine with me,” Wolfram said.
Wendel blinked. “Where?”
“Here.”
Ardis wasn’t sure Wendel would say yes, so she took matters into her own hands.
“I would love to,” she said. “I’m famished.”
Ardis had wanted to sound more ladylike, but her stomach grumbled rather spectacularly. Wolfram hid his smile behind a polite cough. Wendel echoed the smile, but he still had a hard unyielding look around his eyes.
“Very well,” Wendel said.
Wolfram’s smile widened. “Shall we?”
TWENTY
Their footsteps clicked across the marble floor of the lobby. Gaslight burned at a low glow in the restaurant. Ardis chose a corner table, and Wolfram pulled out her chair. Wendel frowned as if he had been usurped.
Which, in a way, he had been.
A waiter arrived with their menus, and Ardis flipped hers open. She was distracted, however, by another waiter delivering a plate of meatballs in white sauce, with a side of boiled potatoes. Her mouth ached fiercely.
“What are those?” Ardis asked Wendel, quietly enough not to be rude.
Wendel followed her gaze. “Königsberger klopse.”
“It’s a traditional dish,” Wolfram said. “Meatballs, cream, capers.”
Wendel wrinkled his nose. “I can’t stand the anchovies in the sauce.”
Ardis wasn’t fond of anchovies herself, but today her stomach disagreed. It looked delicious. She closed her menu decisively.
“That’s what I want,” she said.
Wolfram nodded. “I’ll have the haddock with the mustard butter. Wendel?”
Wendel scanned the menu with apparent disinterest. “The waiter isn’t back yet.”
“He will be,” Ardis said. “Make up your mind.”
Wendel drummed his fingers. “You weren’t joking about being famished?”
Ardis smiled and kicked his shin under the table. To his credit, he only barely flinched.
The waiter returned on cue. “Have you decided?”
“The haddock, please,” Wolfram said.
“Meatballs,” Ardis said, “with cream and capers.”
“The Königsberger klopse? Very good, madam.” The waiter looked expectantly to Wendel. “And you, sir?”
“Roast duck,” Wendel said. “You do have roast duck, don’t you?”
“Certainly, sir.”
As the waiter whisked away their menus, Ardis glared at Wendel. He arched his eyebrows, but didn’t look so innocent.
Wolfram put on a polite face. “How have you been, Wendel?”
Wendel slid his thumbnail along a faded scar on his arm. He thinned his lips slightly.
“When?” he said. “Since Vienna? Since Constantinople?”
Wolfram didn’t blink, his eyes blue like the sea on a sunny day.
“Since you left,” he said.
“That was twelve years ago.” A thin smile bent Wendel’s mouth. “Would you like the abridged version of events?”
“I would.”
Ardis drank a long swig of water. This might take awhile. But she was curious how Wendel would tell his story.
“They said you died,” Wolfram said. “That you drowned in the lagoon and your body wasn’t fit for an open casket.”
“Damn,” Ardis said softly.
Wolfram glanced at her. “I apologize for the details. That was coarse of me.”
She shrugged.
Wendel laughed. “That’s how I died? Drowning? I’m a better swimmer than that.”
“I know,” Wolfram said. “But whenever I asked questions, Father said nothing. Mother… Mother had such sadness in her eyes, and it made me hate myself for ever mentioning it. Eventually, I stopped asking.”
“Sadness?” Wendel’s face looked emotionless. “And you believed her?”
“We all mourned you, Wendel.”
Wendel lowered his head and stared into his glass. He hadn’t drunk a drop.
“I’m sorry,” he said huskily. “I didn’t want to leave.”
Ardis wanted to reach across the table and touch his hand, but she wasn’t sure she should.
“What happened to you?” Wolfram said.
The waiter returned at that inopportune moment. He gave Wolfram his haddock, Wendel his roast duck, and—finally—Ardis her meatballs and potatoes. She spread her napkin in her lap and speared a meatball on her fork. She devoured the meatball in a single bite and resisted the urge to wolf down the rest like a wild woman.
“I take it you like them?” Wendel said dryly.
“Is it that obvious?” Ardis said. “And keep talking.”
Wendel sighed and leaned back in his chair. Steam wafted from the roast duck on his plate, but he neglected his knife and fork.
“Do you remember Maus?” Wendel said. “The cat?”
Wolfram frowned and chewed a mouthful of fish. “No.”
“He died, and that’s how I first discovered my necromancy.”
Wolfram leaned away. “You revived Maus?”
Wendel’s eyes glimmered a cool green. “I never intended to do that. I only wished Maus wasn’t dead, and then he wasn’t.”
Wolfram said nothing, but he wouldn’t look away from his brother’s face.
“I mistakenly brought him to Mother and Father,” Wendel said.
“What did they do?”
“Nothing. Not that night. But a man came for me a month later. At the time, I didn’t know he was an assassin.”
Wolfram held his knife and fork suspended in midair. “They hired a hit man?”
Wendel laughed entirely without humor. “No, Wolfie, the assassin brought me to Constantinople. Where I was trained.”
“Are you an assassin?” Wolfram asked, as if questioning his preference in tea.
Wendel dipped his head. “One of the very best.”
Ardis glanced at Wendel. His face betrayed none of the pain she knew he had endured, none of the scars still marking his skin.
“Not by choice,” Ardis said. “You tried to escape the Order.”
“I did escape them.” Wendel sipped his water. “With your help.”
“How many—” Wolfram coughed. “How many men have you killed?”
“Honestly? I can’t remember.”
Wolfram’s nostrils flared. “And your necromancy?”
“What about it?”
“How many men have you brought back?”
“Similar quantities.”
Wolfram dabbed his mouth with his napkin. He stared at the food left on his plate and didn’t look his brother in the eye.
“Should I be horrified by you?” he said.
Wendel sawed at his duck with more vehemence than necessary.
“Wolfie,” he said, “I have done horrifying things.”
“You sound as if you don’t care.”
Wendel shrugged and ate a forkful of duck.
Ardis pushed away her empty plate. “Of course Wendel cares. He doesn’t like to talk about what happened to him.”
Wolfram’s face tightened. “I meant no offense.”
“I’m not offended.” Wendel cut another slice of duck. “My mere presence offends most.”
“Why?”
Wendel stared at his brother. “People don’t consider raising corpses a parlor trick.”
Wolfram frowned. “Someone has to touch the dead. Morticians and gravediggers do. And doctors, they learn from cadavers.”
Wendel shook his head. “Constantinople wasn’t medical school.”
Wolfram let out an impatient breath, picked up his glass, and set it down again.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
Wendel tapped his fingernail on his glass. “Clearly.”
“Why did Mother and Father send you away? They could have helped you. They—”
“Helped?” Wendel’s eyes flashed. “I’m hardly an invalid. Spare me the asylum.”
