Page 17 of Mystique of the Fallen
But the vomiting and nausea were real.
According to what he was reading, there was no way out except through some demonic spell that came with a two-year process—and for the first twelve months, they’d have to live together. The idea of a demon made Grant shudder. He wasn’t sure where a demon ranked between a bloodsucker and an undead, and he didn’t want to find out.
If Grant couldn’t fix his visceral reaction to Reginald, he was fucked. Grant slammed the book shut and laid his head against the back of his seat. Squeezing his eyes shut, Grant wondered what he’d done in some past life to go from one impossible scenario to the next. Although Grant had been planning for months to leave Reginald, he wasn’t ready.
He needed to quietly sell more things to have cash so he could get a roof over his head. But if too much in his apartment disappeared, Reginald would notice despite his innate self-absorption. Grant also hadn’t decided where to go yet. That required research, and Grant wasn’t sure what his requirements should be, other than it being far from Reginald’s domineering ass.
The book casually spoke of immortal love, which amused and saddened Grant. While it would be wonderful if such a thing existed, it was a fantasy. An entire government based their laws around the concept. They were fools.
It wasn’t a terrible dream though. Too bad they were wrong. A younger Grant would’ve jumped at the chance to give his heart to another and have it cherished. Once, he’d believed Reginald was the other half of him. Roman believed Grant was that person to him.
Grant’s eyes popped open as it occurred to him that he now had to hide from two different people. One obsessed with control who’d stalk Grant until he agreed to climb back into his bed to be a ready hole whenever Reginald needed to fuck. As for the other, Roman wanted eternity. Would he really live forever?
Did fallen knights have tracking abilities? Would there be any spot on the planet Grant could live without Roman finding him? Grant laid his head on the steering wheel and wished he’d moved faster to rid himself of Reginald. If he wasn’t such a spineless wimp who’d procrastinated for months after years of believing the best of a complete jerk, he would have never been in the parking lot and met Roman.
His problems were mounting, and Grant realized he had no choice. While it’d be nice to have additional funds, he needed to get away. Reginald would have to be told it was over soon. An icy chill of dread slid down his spine.
Maybe I should disappear without a trace instead.
Grant immediately decided that wasn’t the route for him. Reginald was no longer kind, but he’d supported Grant and stuck by him for the past two decades. The least Grant owed him was to be honest about his departure. Right after that horrible conversation, Grant would walk out of his life and never look back.
As for Roman, that was a problem without a solution yet. Grant would have to be far cleverer if he wished to hide from a man who could teleport and had an entire army of fallen knights at his disposal. Telling himself he needed more information to aid in his plans, but knowing it was a lie to hide his fascination with Roman’s world, Grant picked up the book again and wished his younger self had laid eyes on the Venerable Knight.
Thankfully, Grant required further study of the man, and the best way to learn about Roman was to call him. It was probably unwise, but Grant would do it anyway.
Chapter 7
After a long day at work, Roman headed straight to the Daray Sentinel Complex. It was a gorgeous facility that housed most of the sentinels, and because the elite assassins were fond of training, gyms were plentiful. Many years before, Roman had been told that learning to wield daggers was part of his job. The Reverent Knights had been determined to integrate expertise with blades into their curriculum at the Ascension Center, where freshly resurrected recruits prepared for their lives as immortal soldiers.
As a Venerable Knight, Roman was expected to have experience with blades too. Thankfully, it was something Roman had learned from the start that he enjoyed. No matter how frustrated a case made him or how many irritating people he encountered during a day, he could sweat in a gym to relieve his tension.
Since Roman had both personal and professional stresses, he’d practically inhaled his dinner and teleported to hang out with whatever sentinels were available. In the first gym he’d peeked into, he found most of the Daray family crossing blades, including Arvandus. As Arvandus was a former sentinel, his ability exceeded Roman’s, but he was one of his favorite sparring partners.
Arvandus had greeted him with a ready smile, and Roman had gratefully plucked his daggers from their holster to spar. They had been expertly made for him by Madeline D’Vairedraconis, a renowned weaponsmith who refused to take a dime for her work. It was typical of everyone at High Court D’Vaire to be overzealous with their generosity. Roman did his best to pay them back with friendship, love, and kindness.
“Hey, are you paying attention?” Arvandus asked. His blue gaze was concerned, and his arms dropped to his sides.
Mirroring his pose, Roman sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Look around you. If you aren’t focused on what we’re doing, you’ll wind up with a sentinel smashing into you. I know we’ll mend, but it’ll hurt like hell.”
“Sorry, I promise I’m doing my best. I need to burn off some stress.”
“No more calls from Grant?”
Roman shook his head. “Nope. One weird call in the middle of the night and complete silence.”
“It’s only been two days since he called. Give him some time. At least he’s reading what you gave him.”
“Yeah, let’s hope he’s figured out I’m not a zombie.”
“Just tell him you don’t eat brains,” Skeleton Lord Cassius Daray called out. “In the movies and on television, don’t they eat brains?”
“I saw a cooking show for All Hallows’ Eve where they had used a plastic mold to make brains out of cheesecake and stuff,” Brynnius supplied.
“I gotta admit, it looked tasty,” Samson added, wrapping an arm around Brynnius and kissing his cheek. “Maybe you should do that for our All Hallows’ Eve party this year.”
“How are we going to convince Roman’s mate he is not a zombie if you feed him brains at our party?” Skeleton Lord Ducarius Daray asked.
