Chapter 2

B ecause sitting around the apartment Reginald paid for in Georgetown or Aunt Florrie's modest apartment in Arlington, Virginia didn't appeal to Grant, he sat in his car devouring a bag of popcorn. Although Aunt Florrie's building was surrounded by the ridiculously overpriced housing market of the Washington, DC metro area, she'd moved in many years ago, and thankfully her landlord kept the rates reasonable. If traffic wasn't bad, Grant could get between the apartment Reginald had decorated according to his own taste and Aunt Florrie's dated space in around thirty minutes.

Unfortunately, traffic was often a bitch in the DC metro area, but Grant was used to it. He hadn't lived anywhere else. When he was halfway through the salty treat, his phone rang. Since the device was resting next to him on his car console, he glanced over and wasn't surprised to see Reginald's name on the screen. Grant was torn between being excited that he'd have a task for his day instead of driving around aimlessly and dreading whatever awful thing Reginald would insist he accomplish.

Grant rubbed the butter from his fingers onto his dark jeans and answered the phone.

"Hey," Grant said.

"Are you in a better mood this morning?" Reginald asked in a bored tone.

"What?"

"It was last night; how could you have forgotten?"

His brows knitted together as Grant quickly replayed the events of the previous night. Reginald had demanded he meet him at the Georgetown condo, and he'd willingly obliged. He didn't have to worry that Reginald would notice that some of his personal things were missing. Reginald never stepped foot in Grant's closet—he had one of his own and it was far larger than the one he'd allocated to Grant. They kept their toiletries in separate cabinets in the primary bathroom as well. Reginald preferred everything in perfect order and hated Grant's messiness.

But Grant didn't think he'd left anything too dirty lying around or had been anything but accommodating. He'd picked up some stuff, which sufficed as cleaning to him these days, much to Reginald's disgust.

Reginald hadn't been at the condo long. They'd had sex, then Reginald had showered and gone home. He hadn't slept over in many years—not since he'd married.

"I don't remember," Grant lied. If he was honest and told Reginald he didn't think he'd done anything wrong, it would irritate him. Grant wasn't in the mood to fight.

Reginald sighed loudly. "I told you I'd be there at eight."

"I know. I was home."

"Of course you were, where else would you be? I also told you to be ready."

Grant closed his eyes, and his mouth thinned. A decade ago, Reginald would tell him that and Grant would dress in some of the expensive clothes his boyfriend used to lavish him with. They'd go out to dinner or a club. Grant had loved those days. Reginald had been attentive and—Grant had thought—loving.

Those magical few years while Reginald was working on his undergraduate degree had allowed dreams to spin in Grant's head. He'd imagined them living together and sharing their lives. But Reginald was a Bradley. His parents expected success, and Reginald was an ambitious man. Reginald also liked to show off.

The picture in Reginald's mind was of a perfect wife and children. He'd pursued that aspect of his life without telling Grant until he was engaged. Heartbroken, Grant had believed anything was better than being alone. So, he'd agreed to stay involved with Reginald. With the four-year gap in their ages, Grant hadn't yet turned twenty-one when he'd made that decision. Although he'd started college with dreams of following Reginald into a law practice, the upheaval and emotional mess of his life had distracted Grant. He'd flunked out in his senior year.

Thankfully, he'd had enough hours to get his associate degree and qualify to be a cop in Arlington County. After getting his badge, he'd tried to break things off with Reginald. It'd been a disaster. Reginald had pursued him with a single-minded intensity. Grant wasn't sure what his hapless wife had thought since Reginald was constantly following him.

Reginald had bought Grant everything—a car, a condo, watches, jewelry, and anything else he could think of. It wasn't the riches that had won Grant over. He'd reasoned that Reginald had to love him if he was willing to go to such lengths. But control wasn't love, and that was what Reginald had wanted. Grant belonged to him, and Reginald would not let him go without a fight.

"Are you still there?" Reginald demanded.

Grant's mind had wandered, and he'd nearly forgotten Reginald was on the other end of the phone, growing irritated by his silence. Needing fortification, Grant dug into his popcorn and popped a few kernels into his mouth.

"I didn't have time to get ready," Grant said. What Reginald expected was for Grant to be stretched and naked so they could have sex with minimal fuss from his boyfriend. But Grant had stayed for dinner with Aunt Florrie and barely returned to the condo prior to Reginald's arrival.

"Of course you did. I know what you do all day. I'm the one who pays you. You had nothing to do."

"I'm sorry."

"As you should be. You'll make it up to me. Be ready tomorrow night at nine. One of the children has a recital, then I'll be at your condo. Clean it before I get there; you live like a pig."

Grant tried not to think about Reginald's children or how he was hurting them by having an affair with their father.

"Okay," Grant replied because he had no other choice. Until he was prepared to deal with the drama of ending things, he had to keep Reginald appeased.

"What are you eating?"

"Huh?" Grant asked around another handful of his favored snack.

"Is that popcorn? Of course it is. You eat that shit constantly. Why the fuck are you eating popcorn at nine in the morning? This is why you're putting on weight. Stop snacking between meals."

Grant glanced down at the small pooch of his belly and sneered. Reginald insisted Grant work out seven days a week and had furnished the extra bedroom in the condo with gym equipment to ensure he had no excuses. Too bad Grant wasn't interested in sweating with weights or on any other machine. He preferred to veg in front of his television or play a video game.

His body wasn't ripped anymore, but Grant didn't give a shit. If Grant wanted to piss Reginald off, he'd suggest he go find another guy to fuck—one who'd put up with rules and control and was sculpted like a perfect male specimen. But Grant said nothing.

"Did you hear me? What is your problem this morning?"

"Nothing. Yeah, I heard you."

"I don't know what this attitude is about, but I don't call you to deal with this shit. Now, listen, I have a task for you. I have a client who needs you to get evidence to help his case."

"How can I help?"

"The woman he married is claiming he tried to murder her. I'm working to get some of her evidence dismissed, but he was stupid enough to do it in front of the security cameras. But in the months since he was charged, he believes she is hanging around a vampire. If we can prove that, the case will be closed. No judge will allow the case to go to trial if anyone is involved with that Council of Sorcery and Shifters."

A pit formed in Grant's stomach. From the little Reginald had told him, it sounded as if the man was guilty. It shouldn't matter if the wife was living with a hundred people from the Council. If he'd tried to kill her, he deserved to pay. It was too bad Grant was a spineless wimp, and he gave no objection as he jotted down the details Reginald provided. He'd get the necessary evidence, and his conscience would eat him because he'd allow another criminal to stay on the streets, endangering everyone.

Without a goodbye, Reginald hung up. Grant rolled up what was left of his popcorn bag and threw it in the dirty backseat of his car. He'd lost the taste for even his favorite treat.

∞∞∞

Roman was tapping away on his computer when his stomach rumbled. It wasn't yet ten in the morning, but he'd basically inhaled his small breakfast and rushed out the door. Like most fallen knights, Roman was a workaholic, and he'd gone straight from the shower to answering his email. He hadn't glanced at the clock until he was nearly late for work. Thankfully, he wasn't the Venerable Knight assigned to assist the Council leaders entering the legislative building of the Main Assembly Hall that morning, because it was far quicker to slip into a work shirt and pants instead of the required dress uniform he would've had to don.

Leaning back in his chair, Roman glanced across the room. Like him, Arvandus was at his desk and hard at work.

"I'm hungry," Roman announced.

Arvandus grinned, and the clacking of his keyboard ceased. "Want to raid Samson's desk?"

It was tempting. Samson's mate insisted on keeping half or more of the drawers filled with the delicious things he baked. But Roman didn't think Samson would appreciate anyone rifling through his things.

"I wish," Roman replied. "We should chip in and buy a snack machine for our office."

"We'd have to pay someone to keep it filled with snacks too."

"Yeah, my bank account is basically empty these days."

"You spent your money well; your place is awesome."

"It will be. I can't wait to get settled in."

"Oh, that brings up a good point. We were talking about your place last night at dinner," Arvandus said. The Darays were a tight-knit family and rarely missed meals together. Roman had attended his fair share of meals at the Daray condo, and the company and food never disappointed. Mostly made up of sentinels, the Darays were frank and brutally honest, and their chef, Victor Antonov-Daray, was adept at creating fabulous meals.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Victor mentioned you'd probably have a housewarming party at some point."

Roman crossed his arms behind his head as he stretched. "Not a bad idea."

"Right? But things kind of spiraled out of control after that."

"What do you mean?"

"Our sentinels don't know what kind of gift is appropriate. Victor told them to bring wine or something to drink."

"Seems fine."

"Exactly, but then they asked about types of wine and other beverages. Next, we argued about where you'd keep all this shit because if everyone invited brought you a bottle or a case of beer, you'd basically be swimming in it. I think you should make a wish list or something. Only thing that's going to help at this point."

Roman laughed. "We'll figure something out when I'm ready to have a party. I don't want any Daray losing his damn mind."

"That makes two of us. Anyway, are we hitting a snack machine or what? You mentioned food, and now my stomach is ready for something sugary."

The phone on Roman's desk rang, and he shrugged at Arvandus. "I guess that depends on who this is and how complicated my life is about to get."

With a knowing nod, Arvandus returned to his computer screen as Roman scooped up the receiver.

"VK Calixtus," Roman said.

"Yo," replied Kyle Meadowscroft, the fallen knight resurrected exclusively to act as their office manager. Although Kyle was an incredible asset to the Order of the Fallen Knights, he was a menace to machines everywhere. Despite how many times Roman had to have things fixed, he still loved and had the utmost respect for Kyle.

"What's up?"

"Lord James is on the phone. You at your desk for him, or you want me to take a message?"

Lord James Volkov was not only part of Vampyress Irina Volkov's family, but he was also included in the vast extended D'Vaire clan that Roman was lucky enough to be included in.

"Of course I'm in for James, put him through," Roman said, though truth be told even if Roman wasn't family, he'd have no choice but to speak to anyone in the ruler of the Vampyr Clutch's immediate circle.

"Okeydokey," Kyle replied. A few seconds later, Roman greeted the gray-eyed former human who'd mated the eldest son of the Vampyress.

"What's up, James?" Roman asked.

"I wasn't sure who to call about this or what can be done, but Kyle assured me you could handle it," James remarked. "He also mentioned he chose you because you're nicer than Arvandus and Samson is busy this morning."

"I'm definitely not nicer than Arvandus, but he and Kyle have this whole thing," Roman replied with a chuckle. Kyle and Arvandus loved to swap insults for fun. Unfortunately, Kyle was terrible at it and insisted he was improving by having fake grudges against Arvandus. The easy-going Arvandus wasn't offended and kept his complaints about Kyle's terrible comebacks far from their respected office manager.

"I won't ask," James said. "You sure I can bother you?"

"D'Vaire rules: Don't ever ask that. Just tell me, otherwise you're going to get snide remarks."

"Kyle was wrong; you're definitely not nicer than Arvandus," James joked. "As you know, we're doing everything we can to build stronger ties to the human population since vampires regularly find mates among them."

"Right, with you so far."

Roman had little respect for humans. Not only had they killed his bosses in their former lives as dragon Emperors, but they routinely treated any fallen knights or sentinels they encountered with contempt. A human cop would rather muddy a crime scene—including the one where James himself had been shot and nearly died—than allow anything to be processed so the perpetuators could be detected and apprehended.

"Well, we have a human woman who recently discovered her mate is a vampire. The problem is she was assaulted last year by her former husband. It was bad. She nearly died. The case is eventually going to trial."

"So, she is staying in the human world so they'll keep the court date," Roman said. "Smart woman. This fucker deserves to pay."

"Agreed. The problem is she believes someone is watching her. For the last few days, she thinks she's been tailed. I wondered if there was anything we could do to catch this person. I've met with her. She's frightened. I believe her."

"Sounds like a scary situation. Maybe he's hired someone to intimidate her, or it could be a private investigator. One photo of her with a vampire and the case is history."

"Exactly. She's trying to avoid her mate, but that doesn't feel right."

The thought of two mates being separated irritated Roman immediately. "No, it's horrible. She shouldn't have to make that choice. Give me her name and address. I'll figure out what's going on."

"I'd be happy to take you to her place and introduce you."

"Okay, I'll meet you at the Dérive station closest to your office. I assume that's where you are."

Dérive was a company run by the druids, and they offered the service of teleporting anyone where they needed to go within Council boundaries. Roman had the ability to teleport himself to any destination, but James would need a druid. Thankfully, the fallen knights kept vehicles at every office in North America, so Roman could drive them to wherever this woman lived. If someone was harassing her, Roman was happy to use his reputation as an undead soldier to run them off. He didn't give a shit if it was illegal to step on human land. He'd break that law without a second thought. No one was going to mess with someone's mate on his watch.

Roman ended his call with James, shut his computer off, and waved to Arvandus as he sailed out of the office. While it wasn't necessarily usual for a Venerable Knight to tackle something any fallen knight could handle, Roman would do anything for his extended D'Vaire family.