“With Zeporah—or against her?”
Viktor’s eyes fell shut. Storne set down his pen.
The words landed heavy, clattering against the kitchen’s quiet. Even Evander flinched, turning from the window.
Slowly, Storne lifted his gaze, sharp as a drawn bow.
“WithZeporah?”
The name cracked the silence like steel unsheathing.
His eyes narrowed on Gabriel.
“Careful, Captain. I am still your commanding officer. Speak freely if you must—but speak wisely.”
Gabriel jerked his chin. “Then answer me plainly.”
Silence stretched—the kind that begged for a man to ruin it.
Gabriel leaned closer, voice cutting low:
“When was the last time you warmed her bed?”
The air went still, suffocating. Viktor’s jaw clenched—damn it, Gabriel—shame burning hot against his skin. Evander looked to the floor, shoulders taut, as though bracing for the blow. At last, Storne’s voice broke the silence, iron-hard.
“Ah.” His eyes cut to Viktor, then back to Gabriel. “So you finally speak aloud what others only dared assume.”
Gabriel shoved back his chair, fury rising, but Storne only tapped his ring against the wood.
“Outside with it, Captain. We’ll not disgrace Master and Misses Roland’s home with this.”
Boots scraped as they stood. Evander lingered half a breath, then turned away.
Viktor stayed where he was a moment longer, chest tight, watching the room empty as if the air itself were being pulled out through the door.
Chapter Forty
Bold As Flame
Flame does not ask who it scorches—only who is bold enough to touch it.
The door was already wide, Storne striding into the yard with Gabriel at his heels.
Viktor moved to follow—until Amerei caught his arm.
“Where are you going? You shouldn’t be—”
“It’s Gabriel,” he said, voice low and raw. “He’s pushing too far. I don’t know what he’s thinking.”
She shook her head, fingers clutching tighter. “Then let Father handle him.”
Viktor glanced toward the open door, then back at her. For a second, the weight of exhaustion softened his eyes. Then his jaw hardened, and he gave a sharp tilt of his chin.
“Come here.”
She barely had time to breathe before his hand closed around her waist and pulled her in. His mouth claimed hers—hot, fierce, leaving no space for air or argument.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, breath stolen clean away as he devoured her. His palm slid up her back, heat searing through the thin silk of her robe.
