Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
“Hmm?” Bel murmured, looking as if his brother pulled him from his worried ruminations. “I came to visit Aiden, and River wanted to hang out with Ethan while Wyatt is visiting with the pack.”
“Should we worry about Rafe stopping by as well? Isn’t he busy with his nightclub?” Ronan grumbled.
“Well, he—”
“Since you asked so nicely…” Rafe’s voice rippled out from under the door just before it was opened.
Fuck. Ronan turned and banged his head against the wall. Any other evening, it took nearly an act of God to get all the brothers to the house for a family dinner or meeting. They were all constantly busy with their own lives and problems. Just the one time Ronan wanted a quiet meeting with Winter alone, he got nearly all of them. This was getting out of control.
“Do I even want to know what this secret cabal is about?” Rafe drawled. “A little early to be brainstorming for Aiden’s birthday, right? That’s not for another four months, unless I’m mistaken.”
“It’ll be okay, Ronan,” Ethan comforted. “Rafe might be a pain in the ass, but he’s also super sneaky. He’ll think of something if Winter can’t.”
“Lovely, Little Varik,” Rafe grumbled with a glare.
“Just get your ass in here and close the door. Ronan fucked up and he needs help fixing it or the backlash is going to hurt Aiden,” Ethan snapped.
“What’s going on?” Rafe asked, shutting the door.
“No idea,” Fox replied.
Winter dropped his head on the sofa and added, “If people would just stop walking in here, we could get the story out of Ronan.”
“Preferably before Marcus discovers us,” Ethan mumbled.
“Well, if we’re hiding this from Mr. Stick In The Mud, I’m definitely interested,” Rafe announced.
Ronan lifted his head from the wall and turned to find the other Varik twin leaning on the door with his arms folded over his chest. The office was now significantly more crowded than it needed to be, but he had to hold on to the hope that all these crafty brains would come up with something.
“Okay, Ronan. Please tell us what’s wrong,” Bel prodded.
Sucking in a deep breath, Ronan stepped away from the wall and faced the brothers and the mates that were present. “Ethan informed me that a rare cache of paintings was uncovered in the Netherlands. They’re believed to be painted by a yet-to-be-discovered Old Master, someone who supposedly apprenticed under Rembrandt.”
“I’m guessing you’re responsible for these paintings?” Winter prodded.
“Wait! You studied under Rembrandt? The Rembrandt?” River gasped before he could reply.
“Yes,” Ronan said to Winter and then turned to River. “No. I never apprenticed under Rembrandt. We both apprenticed under Jacob van Swanenburg as well as Pieter Lastman in Amsterdam. I knew Rembrandt—nice kid—but I never studied under him. We developed a somewhat similar style in those early years, but he went on to fine-tune his technique while I moved to France and went in a different direction.”
“So, what was found was a collection of paintings that you left behind in Amsterdam?” Bel inquired.
“Yes. About thirty or so, if I’m remembering correctly.” Ronan huffed angrily at himself and shook his head. “I left them with a friend. I was planning to send for them once I got settled, but then the war broke out, I got distracted, and completely forgot they even existed.”
“What war?” Fox asked.
“Huh?”
“What war broke out?” he repeated.
Ronan shrugged. “Who knows? There was almost always a war happening in Europe while I was there. I just tried to stay out of the way of the fighting.”
Rafe pressed his fingers into his forehead and rubbed. “Forgive my confusion, but who cares? I’m sure they’re lovely paintings, but do they even matter? How are they going to link them back to you?”
“Ronan isn’t the issue here,” Ethan broke in. “It’s Aiden.”
“The paintings are largely landscapes, but I also painted at least a dozen portraits of Aiden from memory,” Ronan admitted softly.
Fox lurched forward on the sofa, leaning toward Ronan. “Seriously?”
Winter’s brow furrowed. “But if we’re talking Rembrandt, that’s like…six hundred years after you last saw Aiden. How accurate could they be?”
Ronan narrowed his eyes on the youngest Varik and tried not to clench his teeth. “Would you forget the details of Fox’s face after a mere six centuries?”
Winter paled and his arm tightened around his mate, pulling him a little closer. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”
An ache went through Ronan’s heart for Winter, and the brief irritation evaporated. Winter lived with the daily fear of losing Fox because he was still largely human. While he respected the witch’s desire to continue to study magic, part of him wished Fox would just decide to become a vampire and save Winter the constant worry. He didn’t want Winter to suffer the pain he had of losing a soulmate too soon.
The ghost of an old ache shuffled across his soul, and he fought back a shiver. A thousand years they’d been separated. After that horrible night, he’d been sure Aiden was gone, but Ronan never forgot about him.