Page 49 of Mystique of the Fallen
Roman caressed Grant’s chin and brushed their lips together. “I can’t imagine anyone disliking you.”
“Tell that to the fallen knight who dared to send me a case without using the checklist provided by the Master Juris Knights. It had big gaps where necessary information was missing. Oh, and he didn’t even send it to a Juris Knight. Thought he’d skip right over that part too by providing his own idea of what the sentence should be. For some reason, he thought he could get the new guy to sign off on it. Fool must’ve thought I paid zero attention in training and had no working brain cells.”
“He deserved the dressing down I’m sure you gave him,” Roman replied with a chuckle.
“Yep, his face was as red as a tomato, and he cried a little. I still recommended he face the RKs and explain to them why he shouldn’t lose a rank for such a complete disregard of procedures.”
Grant hadn’t appreciated being treated as if he were inferior to the other Venerable Knights, so he didn’t think his reaction had been unwarranted. Procedures existed to keep order, and they needed a system. After all, they dealt with crimes across North America, and they were always swimming in case files.
Grant had learned that in some quarters, there remained resistance to treating Juris Knights with respect, but he refused to tolerate it in his presence. Juris Knights were the judicial branch of their race—men and women who had scored so high on tests that they dealt directly with assigning punishments instead of carrying weapons and hunting criminals.
“I would’ve done the same,” Roman said. He glanced at his phone, then there was a knock on the door. “The D’Vaires are here.”
Grant sucked in a deep breath as Roman left to answer the door. Nerves jumped in his belly, and it reminded him of his first morning as a Venerable Knight. It was imperative to Grant that the D’Vaires liked him. They were Roman’s family. If something was important to Roman, it was equally significant to Grant.
A man with a plethora of golden curls stepped into the room wearing jeans and a dark T-shirt. He was at most a couple of inches over five feet with his shoes on, and mischief danced in his navy eyes. The second guest stood more than a foot taller than the first, and his gaze was the same shade of deep blue. He had brown hair a few shades lighter than Grant’s and was dressed casually in denim and cotton.
“Venerable Knight Grant Valerius, this is Grand Warlock Dra’Kaedan D’Vaire and his other half, Grand Duke Brogan D’Vairedraconis,” Roman stated formally.
Grant held out a trembling hand to the sorcerer. “Grand Warlock. Your Grace. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
“Nix the titles, dude, we’re family,” Dra’Kaedan insisted as he enthusiastically returned Grant’s handshake. “And the pleasure is totally ours. Roman deserves to be happy, and he needs his mate to do that. Are you prepared to deal with him for eternity?”
“We met a week ago,” Roman cut in. “Calm down.”
“We did meet a week ago, but yes, Dra’Kaedan, I’m prepared to deal with Roman for eternity,” Grant stated firmly.
“Oh, good, I like you,” Dra’Kaedan said. “Are we ready to go?”
“In a second. We need to warn him,” Brogan insisted.
Dra’Kaedan waved a careless hand in the air. “Oh yeah. You’re a fallen knight, so you’ve been resurrected to deal with anything. You can handle the D’Vaires. But fair warning, we are nuts. But it’s a good crazy, I promise.”
“I expect you to live up to that. If I get to your house and everyone acts normal, we’re going to have words,” Grant warned.
Dra’Kaedan cackled. “You’re awesomesauce, Grant. Get ready to have a flurry of names thrown at you. Keep Roman close in case you forget someone.”
“I’ll take your advice, but I was planning on keeping Roman close anyway.”
“Good man. Let’s roll, people. Close your eyes.”
The ground disappeared beneath Grant’s feet the second his lashes fell, and a few moments later he was standing outside an enormous mansion made of wood with oversized windows. Brogan opened one of the double doors and ushered Grant and Roman inside. Dra’Kaedan led them down a short hallway which opened on the left to a gorgeous great room.
A stone fireplace stretched a full two stories and anchored the space, which was littered with oversized couches in a neutral grayish beige. Throw pillows were everywhere in a broad smattering of colors that somehow blended harmoniously with each other and the area rug covering much of the wooden floors.
“Wow, this place is incredible,” Grant remarked.
“Thank you, we think so too,” said a tall man with navy-and-black hair that brushed his shoulders.
“Don’t talk before I introduce you, Lankenstein,” Dra’Kaedan admonished. “Anywho, Grant, this is High King Aleksander D’Vairedraconis, and the gorgeous man at his side is his other half, High King Rafe. The wolves at their feet are Nox and Mortis.”
Rafe of the dark curls smiled. “Nice to meet you, Grant.”
“Same goes, thanks for inviting me to your house.”
A swarm of men in gray uniforms charged into the room.
“Grant, good to see you again,” the Arch Lich said, squeezing his way past a bunch of sentinels to hug Dra’Kaedan.
