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He shook his head and handed it back to me. When I took it, he didn’t let go right away. For a moment we stood holding the wretched thing between us. “Was it?” He said, finally releasing his grip.

“I don’t know if it could be classified as poetry.” We both chuckled. Then our eyes met again and the humor melted away. “It’s ungentlemanly of me to admit, but I’ve read it many times. Along with all the other volumes.”

“There’s more?” I asked.

“Oh yes.” He nodded. “The author has penned dozens of books about the dastardly Captain Cortez.”

I tried to imagine why Yves might keep such books in his personal collection, or why he’d read them an ungodly number of times. He was so buttoned up, so worried about this and that, but the more I learned about Yves Allard, the more I was sure he had a wild side. A side that had been shelved to grieve his mate and parent Adrien.

A side that would likely put poor Captain Cortez to shame.

When I glanced back up, I found him watching me with the careful stillness of a vampire, and a flash of heat spread down my neck. His attention followed the flush all the way down to my décolletage. I knew I was as bright as a tomato.

I didn’t understand why I was embarrassed about being turned on. Normally, I leaned into these kinds of situations, not out of them. But with Yves, it was different. Wasn’t it? Or maybe I was telling myself it was different.

Now who was the one overthinking things?

“So, you’re going fishing with your brother?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.

“I am. But before I go, there is something I wanted to speak to you about.”

He closed the door to the stillroom and whispered a few words in Old Sang, the old language of witchcraft that had fallen out of use over the centuries.

Gran had taught me some of the nearly extinct language. She always said language tied a witch to her culture as closely as the magick itself.

“Words are their own kind of magick. Certain ones spoken in the Old Tongue carry more magick than they do in the Common Tongue.”

As soon as he was done, Yves turned back around, and I noticed the faint glow of silver light leave his green eyes. I took a step backward, the small of my back flattening against the workbench.

“You still have magick?” I asked.

“A cupful,” he said. “I still charge it under the moon each month, mostly for nostalgia.”

I understood this was the price he’d paid for immortality. He’d given up the beauty of being a witch.

“Neither Adrien nor Severin nor any other of my nephews have any at all. I suppose I should be grateful for what little I possess.” He glanced around the stillroom, adding, “It’s enough to seal a room against ears like mine.”

I was acutely aware of his sensitive hearing. And knew he could hear my heart pounding in my chest. He took a measured step forward, then another, until he was close enough to touch.

I didn’t know what he wanted to speak to me about. Alone. With the door closed and warded. But thoughts of corsairs and duchesses and stays and teeth all swirled in my head. I set the book down and snatched a bolt of linen from the workbench, dabbing at the sweat that had formed along my brow.

“I have an update about our investigation,” Yves said, his voice half a register lower. “I’ve searched through the archives, and there is no record of a Hartley. If that’s his real name, he never sailed a day in his life. At least not for me.”

“You’re sure?”

Blackness crept into his eyes, and his fangs peeked out. “Claiming to be a veteran when you aren’t just for sympathy is called stolen valor, and it’s illegal.” He leaned in, setting his hands on either side of my hips, and a tremor raced up my spine. His lips came close to my ear despite the concealment spell he’d placed on the room. “When we find him, and we will, I’ll add it to his charge sheet.”

That bastard. With his jacket and his crutch. And I’d let him fuck me.

“If he never sailed,” I said slowly, “then the sea wasn’t the reason why he walked with a crutch.”

“No.”

“Then the crutch is a costume. Or…” Or the limp was real and had come from something else.

I ground my teeth. Hartley had lied about his coat, his injury, and his service. How much else had been a performance?

I had invited him upstairs. That choice had been mine, and I refused to let anyone take it from me. I had wanted a warm body, an entertaining distraction, and information about the market for demonic relics.