Page 9 of Mystique of the Fallen
“That is your fault. You’re the one who lied and broke the law. You’re damn lucky I had enough connections to keep your ass out of jail.”
“The only reason I did those things was because you asked me to,” Grant argued.
Being a cop hadn’t been his first choice, but once he’d taken on the role, he’d treated it with honor. For a while anyway. Then Reginald had realized what a boon it was to have a boyfriend in law enforcement and talked Grant into making decisions he regretted. Grant had snuck around, destroyed evidence, planted some, and helped Reginald become a sensation around town.
When the consequences of his actions had caught up with Grant, there were questions about how much Reginald had known about the suddenly missing evidence and the helpful data that had fallen into his lap which impacted his cases. Reginald had freely admitted that he’d met Grant in his teens—and he’d used his terrible childhood to paint him as a troubled soul. Reginald had stood in front of the press and convinced them Grant was obsessed with his friendship and would have done anything to move in his circle.
And Grant had been stupid enough to back up his statements.
Reginald was lauded for the dignified way he’d handled the situation. As for Grant, he’d scuttled off in disgrace.
“Did I force you? Were you threatened with violence if you chose not to go along with what I wanted? No. Stop blaming me for your decisions. You wanted to make me happy. You’d still do any fucking thing I asked of you because you like my dick that much. We both know it, so don’t try playing the victim. It won’t work.”
Grant wanted to tell Reginald that the sex wasn’t good anymore, but he said nothing. His gaze dropped to his hands, and he wished he’d drunk enough to fall asleep so he wouldn’t have to deal with Reginald’s shit.
“Get up,” Reginald demanded.
“Huh?”
“Come on, I have to be home in an hour. I’m here. The least you can do to placate me is get naked. But not in here. This room is filthy. I’m not kidding, you need to clean this tonight. Right after I leave.”
The last thing Grant wanted at that moment was to get naked with Reginald, but he dragged his sorry ass off the couch.
“You’re probably too drunk to get hard,” Reginald taunted.
Reginald reached out and roughly grabbed Grant’s cock. Shocking them both, Grant immediately puked all over Reginald’s pin-striped suit.
“What the fuck?” Reginald shrieked.
Grant stood there shell-shocked as Reginald raced out of the room to clean himself up. Although Grant had had plenty to drink that night—he often did—he wasn’t nauseous. Revulsion had swept through him the second Reginald touched him.
While Grant wasn’t in love with him anymore, Reginald was a handsome guy with a nice body. Sex with Reginald wasn’t fantastic, but that was because it was fast and Reginald only cared about himself. It made no difference to him if Grant finished or not. When Reginald came, he climbed off him and went about his business. Grant would jerk himself to completion and wonder how much longer he had to put up with Reginald’s crap.
But not once had Grant become physically ill. Was it just the alcohol? Some voice in his head told him there was far more to it than that. But what the fuck did he know? His life was a disaster of his own making.
∞∞∞
It wasn’t long before Roman was sitting in an elegant vampire-owned restaurant as the men around him hugged and greeted one another. They were quite the crowd—Council leaders, assassins, fallen knights, vampires, and a lone man who’d been human like Grant.
“So, why is Nikolai buying us all a fancy dinner?” Conley asked.
“Because it is my pleasure to offer you a delicious meal, and the establishment is mine,” Nikolai said, a smile lighting up his pale blue eyes. “It would be distasteful of me to expect you to pay me.”
“How long has this one been open?” Drystan asked.
“A few months,” Nikolai replied. “The food is incredible. I talked Henry into allowing me to pay him a consultation fee, and he hired the head chef. It has been wildly successful thus far.”
Henry Gennevios was a renowned chef and, like everyone at the table, was part of the extended D’Vaire clan Roman called his family.
“How did you get him to agree to take a fee?” Arvandus asked. “Aleksander and Rafe tried to compensate him for the many months he ran the kitchen at their house while Noirin and Kendrick were spending time with the new baby, and Henry refused.”
Seneschal Duchess Noirin D’Vairedraconis was High King Aleksander’s cousin, and her tiny son was the first baby born to the illustrious D’Vaire name. Her other half, Seneschal Duchess-mate Kendrick, had insisted on naming their child Rafe Jaylen in honor of his brother, High King Rafe. It was difficult to get a chance to hold the latest addition to the D’Vaire clan because everyone wanted a turn with little RJ, but Roman had squeezed out a few minutes on his last visit. The baby was adorable and had every D’Vaire wrapped around his finger.
“By explaining that my restaurant would be in direct competition with his own empire and that I was taking money from his pocket,” Nikolai responded. “Also, he called mefrustratingly persistentwhen he gave in.”
James laughed. “If not for your frustrating persistence, I’d probably still be single and miserable.”
“You didn’t want to be with a vampire, did you?” Roman asked.
