Page 39 of Mystique of the Fallen
Grant flashed Roman a saucy smile and headed to his bedroom. “Fine, but I’m kissing you goodnight.”
“Not if I kiss you first.”
Pleased with the man in his apartment and the incredible hours they’d already spent together, and eager for the future, Grant slid down the smooth door. Lifting his head toward the sky, he grinned.
“Thanks, Fate,” Grant whispered. “I don’t know what the fuck I’ve done to deserve the life you’ve given me so far, but I don’t have any complaints. Wish me luck on this matebond thing and my new title.”
Chapter 15
The corner of Roman’s mouth lifted as Grant drifted a hand across the back of his gray velvet couch.
“Your place is gorgeous. I love the colors,” Grant said.
“Thanks, it’s my sanctuary. Our work is hard. I finally have a place where I can fully unwind, and I needed to make a permanent imprint on it.”
Grant tilted his head as he studied Roman’s face. His green eyes shined with excitement, joy, and a healthy dose of disbelief. With so much going on in his head, Roman supposed it was inevitable that he’d take a moment to compare the new Venerable Knight with the human private investigator he’d met months ago.
Roman realized he’d have no issue distinguishing between the past and present. Grant’s resurrection had brought a different man into Roman’s life. One with a positive outlook, a ready smile, and a love for the Order of the Fallen Knights deep enough that he’d worked hard to attain a title only captured once before in history.
Roman hadn’t known the old Grant well, which was now a blessing. He could set aside those few conversations with a relative stranger despite the tenuous matebond and focus solely on his future with the other half of his soul.
“I get it,” Grant replied softly. “That’s how I feel about walking into work on Monday. I want to do more than waltz around with a fancy title. Yeah, I earned it, but I also want to make it matter. For every fallen knight to know I’m there for them and that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect our Council.”
The determination blazing in Grant’s green eyes was an attractive look on the brunet. But Roman ignored his hormones and focused on the Venerable Knight’s words. He recalled vividly how integral it had been to Samson to prove he was worthy of his title. Roman had never had to face that challenge. He was the fourth fallen knight ever resurrected, and the responsibility of aiding Drystan alongside Arvandus had always sat comfortably on his shoulders.
Their population had grown slowly, and those early fallen knights remained trusted colleagues Roman knew well. He made it a point to connect with his subordinates—which was why his weeks of training them following their resurrection was so vital to him.
“I have faith in you,” Roman said. “And I already need your help.”
“You do?” Grant asked in surprise.
“Yeah. It might seem like a small thing, but I don’t know your classmates. I introduced myself earlier, but this is the first training I’ve missed. The lack of connection with them bothers me, so I’m glad you’ve built a relationship with them. Every fallen knight should be able to call up a VK and ask for whatever they need. To me, our most vital job is taking care of our people.”
Grant smiled. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have avoided me for eight weeks. I would’ve had a studying buddy, and at night I’d have had the perfect way to unwind with a bout of hot, sweaty sex.”
“Please. You’re a virgin, what do you know about hot, sweaty sex?” Roman teased.
“You’re a cruel man, Roman Calixtus. But you can count on me. They’re a great group. Meanwhile, are you going to show me your bedroom?”
“Nope.”
“What? I showed you mine.”
“Good for you. What do you want to eat?” Roman asked, heading to the kitchen that opened into the living and dining area to grab beers for them both. He plucked his phone out and pulled up the app for the building, which included the daily menu.
“By the looks of this place, I make a pretty decent salary, so are you going to let me compensate you for my meal?”
Roman laughed. “I already told you I saved up for years to afford this place. Also, hell no. I’m not taking money from you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you should spend it on yourself.”
“How expensive are jeans? I can probably afford them and whatever we’re eating.”
Handing his phone to Grant, Roman leaned against a barstool upholstered in a tonal gray-striped velvet. “Pick something and I’ll order it. I think I’m going with the steak and potatoes option.”
“Sounds good, I’ll take the same thing,” Grant replied, returning the device to Roman. “Answer my question about the jeans.”
