Page 42 of Mystique of the Fallen
Roman leaned close to Grant, and he had to squash the urge to fondle that denim-clad ass. “Don’t worry, I won’t announce to all these fallen knights that they should congratulate you.”
“Good, because I will get revenge if you do.”
“I believe you,” Roman replied with a chuckle.
Redmilla returned with two tall pilsner glasses, and Grant thanked her as he took his drink. When she walked off to serve another customer without asking for payment, Grant glared at Roman.
“You paid again, didn’t you?”
“You have jeans to buy.”
Grant rolled his eyes. “You can’t pay for everything.”
“Guess what, Grant?”
“What?”
“I kinda do what I want.”
“Wow, you’re annoying.”
Roman laughed and waved at Grant to follow him. “Come on, our table is in the back.”
Once again, Grant was delighted to be behind Roman so he could enjoy the view as they weaved their way through the tables. Unfortunately, Grant’s presence didn’t go unnoticed, and several fallen knights congratulated him as they passed.
They arrived at the table with two VKs and their mates, two RKs, the Lich Sentinel, and the Arch Lich. Then, to Grant’s horror, Arvandus stood and whistled loud enough that every head in the bar swung toward him.
“Get your hands together, folks, you’re in the presence of the newest Venerable Knight,” Arvandus called out.
Not only did people clap, but chairs scraped across the floor as they stood and cheered. Grant set his drink on the table with a solid thunk. Forcing a smile on his face, he bowed gracefully at their tribute.
Roman rested his palm on Grant’s back and pressed his lips to his ear. “Don’t worry. We’ll torture Arvandus somehow for this.”
Delighted with his other half, Grant kissed his cheek. “Damn right we will.”
Unfortunately, that tiny bit of affection thrilled their audience, and the noise in the bar grew exponentially.
“Sit down and drink your beers before Grant decides to defect to the Sentinel Brotherhood,” Roman called out.
“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” Brynnius asked as everyone did as they were told.
Grant could finally take a deep, calming breath.
“Because they lack qualified individuals in their leadership structure and are understandably jealous at how efficiently we work together as a team,” Alaric explained as Grant and Roman took seats with the group.
“Maybe your qualifications are too easy and that’s why you have more Skeleton Lords and Shadow Lords,” Arvandus replied.
Alaric lifted a dark brow. “You appear to have forgotten that we have already raised our standards above your own, as every sentinel would have qualified for Shadow Lord if we used your score scaling.”
“Why do you always give him opportunities to insist that the sentinels are superior to fallen knights?” Chander asked. Like Roman, the Arch Lich was dressed casually in a dark T-shirt. For some reason, it was odd for Grant to see a powerful sorcerer—the man whose spell had given him life—relaxing in jeans with a beer. Which was foolish. Chander was a person like everyone else. He just happened to have a vast amount of power at his disposal and a mark on his chest from Fate declaring him ruler of his people.
“It is not my insistence,” Alaric corrected. “Sentinelsaresuperior to fallen knights. That is not an opinion, Chand, but a fact. Is that not correct, Brynn? Albie?”
Brynnius glared at his ruler. “I do not want to agree with you in front of Sammy.”
At his side, Samson roared with laughter. “That means he believes it but doesn’t want to insult me.”
“I don’t remember being taught that as a fact in my training,” Grant remarked.
