Chapter 3

G rant was sick of sitting in his car. It was dirty and smelled weird from all the food wrappers he'd thrown in the backseat. His ass was sore despite it being a relatively expensive vehicle thanks to Reginald's generosity. It was too bad Reginald believed that because he'd purchased it he had a right to keep a tracker on the damn thing. What Reginald didn't know was that Grant had a second vehicle he kept garaged close to his condo.

But if Grant wasn't in front of this poor woman's house trying to use his dashcam to get a video of her with a vampire, Reginald would question him. Grant was sick of being interrogated, so he did what he was told. Unfortunately, he'd been following the woman for several days and had yet to see a vampire. Which was normally fine with Grant—he didn't want shit to do with a blood-sucking vampire or any of the other weird races roaming about.

Since Grant was being paid to do his job as a personal lackey to Reginald, he had no choice but to wait for the right opportunity to present itself. Grant's nose wrinkled, and he wondered if he should garner some energy to clean his car. It was getting funky, but he'd long ago grown immune to most of his messes. He hadn't always been that way.

Once, Grant had taken great pride in his surroundings and his appearance. Glancing down at his stained jeans and faded T-shirt, which was a size too small, Grant couldn't work up enough energy to be embarrassed at how he'd changed. Any spark he'd had to improve himself had died. Grant had sold his soul to Reginald, and the saddest part was he still cared for the asshole.

It wasn't love. Grant didn't believe in that emotion anymore. No one had ever loved him. Sure, Aunt Florrie cared for him in her way, but she was the single bright spot in his life. At thirteen, Grant had convinced himself he adored Reginald and that his affection was returned. It was why he'd so eagerly allowed Reginald to claim his virginity. For years, Grant had floated in a cloud of insufferable ignorance. Reginald had almost granted him a gift by showing his true colors and getting engaged.

That single action had ripped the blinders from Grant's eyes, and the world had changed for him. His illusions had been shattered, and Grant finally understood that people were inherently selfish. Even Grant himself had wanted security and safety after his tumultuous childhood. He'd unconsciously used Reginald for his money and the stability it offered.

Sitting in a car waiting for some poor unsuspecting woman to walk out with someone flashing big fangs was yet another way Grant was exploiting Reginald. The new life Grant was preparing for himself was funded by all the gifts Reginald dumped on him. Grant wanted something different. Once he was rid of Reginald, he'd embrace solitude. He wasn't giving up sex, but he was for damn sure staying far away from any emotional entanglements.

With a scowl, Grant lifted his head and begged the damn woman to walk out with her vampire so he could go home. He had things to do, and each day he sat there kept him tied to Reginald for that much longer.

A smirk crossed Grant's face as the door to her townhouse opened. Grant had spent so much time reflecting on his own chaos he'd missed the black SUV pulling in. It had distracted him from his purpose.

Three men emerged, which gained his attention, but Grant eye's locked on the driver. He wore black, and his pants stretched across an ass that had Grant licking his lips in appreciation. As if the man sensed Grant's staring, he turned to glance at him.

Grant grabbed his camera from the passenger seat to zoom in on the raven-haired man's face. It was perfection. Straight nose. Strong, square jaw. Gorgeous blue eyes. Masculine beauty at its finest. Without thinking, Grant snapped several photos. To his horror, the man said something to his companions, then headed straight for Grant's dirty car.

Panic swept through Grant, though he couldn't understand why. Every person's ideal man walked toward Grant with an innate grace. It was also sexy as hell.

The stranger stepped up to Grant's car and tapped on the car window. Grant gulped. He hit the ignition so he could roll down the window, and a part of his brain screamed at him to run. That feeling increased as his dick grew hard and the intense smell of popcorn hit him. It was odd for such a gorgeous specimen of a man to have the scent of buttery goodness, but who was Grant to judge?

The man's mouth curved, and Grant's heart pounded erratically. It was like being a schoolboy with a crush. Grant didn't understand what was wrong with him. Forcing himself to think, Grant lowered his eyes and realized the man wore a uniform. One he recognized from his stint as a cop.

His lip curled in disgust. The too-handsome man was an undead creature. A fallen knight. Any attraction Grant had to the man disappeared and was replaced by distaste. The man was resurrected—literally a zombie.

His shirt said Calixtus and had a VK on it. Grant didn't know shit about their ranks, and he didn't care.

"Yeah?" Grant asked belligerently.

The man's grin faltered. "Good morning, I'm Roman."

"And? What do you want?"

"Fine, we'll talk business first. Who are you, and why are you sitting outside these townhouses?"

"Last time I checked, this was human property, so that's none of your damn business. In fact, it's illegal for undead freaks like you to be on human land. You should get the hell out of here before someone calls the cops."

Roman narrowed his clear blue eyes, which Grant refused to allow his brain to label as pretty any longer. "Do human cops allow strangers to stalk people? Because that's what I understand you've been doing for the past few days."

"I'm a private investigator doing my damn job. Mind your own business."

"Look, I know you're freaked out. This is overwhelming for me too. But I don't think this situation calls for hostility. Were you hired by the ex-husband accused of nearly killing her? Because that case is going to trial. She deserves justice."

"Not if she's hanging out with zombies like you."

"I haven't even met her, and I'm not a fucking zombie. I'm a fallen knight."

"Same difference." Roman's words finally caught up with Grant's brain. "Wait. What do you mean I'm freaked out? How do you know what's going on in my head?"

Roman smiled, but it was far from the same joyous expression he'd worn at the start of their conversation. "You had an erection, right? One that came from nowhere. Maybe some euphoria. A powerful scent—probably one you really like—also surrounds me."

Grant scowled. "Can you read minds?"

"No, I know, because the same thing happened to me."

"What?"

"I don't understand it either. You're human. Fallen knights don't have human mates."

"Mates? What the hell are you talking about?"

"At least tell me your name."

Shaking his head, Grant set his camera aside before he dropped it. His hands were inexplicably sweaty, and his heart pounded erratically. "Why?"

"Please?"

"Fine. It's Grant. Happy?"

"No. I have a feeling this is going to be far more difficult than I ever imagined. Tell me how I can convince you to leave this woman alone."

"You aren't my boss, and the fallen knights have no jurisdiction over humans. I'm doing my damn job. Go away." And there was no way Grant was putting up with one of Reginald's fits to please a stranger.

"Let me give you my phone number."

"Why?"

"Because we have a lot to discuss, Grant."

"I'm not calling you."

Roman's mouth thinned, which some part of Grant's mind noted did nothing to take away from his beauty. Grant shook his head. Zombies weren't beautiful. They were undead creatures, and he needed to get away from this one because he was scrambling Grant's brain.

"Take it anyway."

Grant stared at Roman and crossed his arms. After several seconds of staring at one another, Roman sighed heavily.

"Stop being such a hardass and put my number in your phone," Roman said.

With a roll of his eyes, Grant opened his glove box, tugged out the phone Reginald didn't pay for, and added Roman as a contact.

"I don't suppose you're going to make things easy on me and give me your number?" Roman asked.

"I'll do anything to get you to leave me alone," Grant replied, surprising himself as he relayed his digits to the fallen knight. What in the fuck was wrong with him? And what had Roman been talking about when he'd told Grant they were mates? What did that mean?

"Think about what you're doing," Roman stated as he pocketed his phone. "This woman nearly died, and her ex-husband was the culprit. There's a video of the crime. His guilt is not in dispute. If he stays on the street, he could do this again. Do you want someone's blood on your hands?"

"It's not my job to decide who is guilty and who isn't," Grant remarked, though his conscience had been eating at him since Reginald first called him with this horrible assignment. "I'm just doing my job."

"Fine."

A second later, Roman shimmered out of sight, giving Grant no opportunity to photograph him with the woman. Frightened of Roman's ability to disappear, Grant started his car. Fuck Reginald and his fits; Grant needed a drink.

∞∞∞

Roman teleported to the porch of the woman's house he'd agreed to visit at James's request and breathed in deeply. Closing his eyes, Roman tried to settle his thoughts and emotions. Meeting his mate had not been on his radar that morning. He should've been thanking Fate, but Roman was assailed by nerves.

How the hell did a fallen knight get a human mate?

More importantly, why was he paired with a man who believed Roman was a zombie and had only offered his number under duress? With short brown hair expertly highlighted heavily with blond and extraordinary green eyes, Grant was gorgeous—except for the hostility and belligerence in that remarkable gaze. Roman had stood there with his erection wilting and his senses flooded with the scent of fresh limes while Grant scowled at him.

It was not the meeting of Roman's dreams, but he couldn't allow fear of the path ahead to cloud his judgment. Or his innate dislike of humans to be a barrier to his happiness. Humans had murdered his bosses, and every day, they worked hard to make the lives of fallen knights and sentinels working on cases as difficult as possible. But that wasn't Grant's fault.

Roman wasn't crazy about Grant's job either. Private investigators were rare in the Council, but Roman wasn't against the profession. What worried him was Grant's choice to work for someone unscrupulous enough to get evidence to throw out a case of a man clearly intent on hurting people. The woman inside the house had barely escaped with her life. Roman had seen much in his six-hundred-fifty-four years of life.

The horrible man who'd hurt her would do the same thing to another person if he was pushed. Roman wanted to do what he could to prevent crime, including keeping the mate he'd just met from getting the evidence he wanted. Irritated that the day he'd eagerly awaited for so long wasn't overwhelmingly happy, Roman knocked on the door and set aside his misgivings for the moment.

Sir Sebastian Morozov, the vampire charged with keeping James safe, opened the door, and there was concern in his light blue gaze.

"You okay?" Sebastian asked.

Roman let out an uneasy chuckle. "You won't believe it when I tell you, but let's figure this situation out first."

"Get in here," Sebastian said, stepping aside to allow Roman to walk into the well-appointed townhouse with dark wooden floors and soft gray walls. "I take it you found the guy following her?"

"He's a private investigator."

"Okay, well, at least we know he's not a goon with a weapon intent on hurting her," Sebastian replied.

"True."

Roman wasn't ready to reveal the truth yet, so he ventured inside to meet the scared woman Grant was tailing and assured her she was in no immediate danger. However, it would be tricky for her and her mate to see each other if Grant was any good at his job. It would have to be worked out. Roman didn't want any part of two mates being separated.

Without a clue how to handle the recent developments in his own life, Roman walked out of the townhouse once everything was settled. He was relieved to find Grant's car gone as he waited for James and Sebastian to climb into his vehicle. Roman paused before starting the engine.

"James, is Nikolai busy now?"

"He had a meeting, but it should be done by now. Everything okay?"

"I can't comfortably answer that question. I'd like to explain. Can I take you guys out to dinner?"

James scoffed as he pulled his phone out and his fingers flew over the screen. "Like Nik is going to let you pay for anything."

"Whatever. Sebastian, pick your favorite place and make it expensive if Nikolai insists on paying," Roman replied.

"I can get us a private room if you want," Sebastian said.

"Do that. I'll invite some friends," Roman responded, digging out his own phone and texting the five couples he was closest with—all of them undead except for the man who'd given Roman life.

He shuddered as he recalled the revulsion on Grant's face and the sneer in his voice as he'd called Roman a zombie. That wasn't the matebond meeting he'd envisioned, but it was what Fate had planned for him. Roman finally remembered his gratefulness and thanked the goddess—not just for Grant, but also for the air he was breathing.