Chapter 7

A fter 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.

The clash of metal no longer filled the air as the men surrounding Roman were suddenly more invested in their conversation than training.

"Even a human must know the difference between cheesecake and actual brains," Albrecht stated.

"Relax, guys, I hardly know Grant. At this point, I have no clue if he'll be at the party," Roman said, re-holstering his weapons. Maybe he needed to talk as much as he needed to vent his frustration with some physical activity.

"Yeah, it's barely spring," remarked Cassius's other half, Skeleton-mate Teverild Daray, as he adjusted his baseball cap. It was barely holding back a plethora of blond hairs that were trying to escape his long braid. "I doubt Roman is worried about parties in October."

"Right now, I just want to have another conversation with the man," Roman replied.

"Hey, the whole mate thing freaked me out, and I had more than a millennium of hearing about how Fate pairs our souls," Teverild said, reaching up and letting his fingers drift across Cassius's lips. "I had the most tempting man on the planet eager to make a life with me, and it took me a while to get my shit together. Give the man a little opportunity to absorb the stuff he's reading."

"I agree," Alaric added. "But we cannot discount Roman's feelings either. I was sorry to learn Grant has a boyfriend. It cannot be easy for you to know that he has feelings for someone else."

"Honestly? It sucks," Roman said, his lip curling in disgust at the thought. There were so many obstacles standing between him and Grant, but the one he was most ill-prepared to deal with was Grant's heart belonging to another. "It's little consolation to know that they can't be together physically. Feelings don't have off switches. Meeting me didn't suddenly change everything in Grant's life."

"I'm really glad his dick doesn't work except with his mate's," Baxter commented.

Benton glared at his other half. "Missing the point as usual, Bax."

"No, I understand that's not the most important thing," Baxter responded. "But I can't fix this for Roman. I wish I could."

"Thanks, guys, it helps to know I have a great big family of people I can turn to," Roman said.

"I hope you remember that and don't internalize everything," Arvandus remarked. "Whenever you have a case that troubles you, the first thing you do is crawl into a corner and grumble. You pick apart each thread…every damn tiny detail. The last thing you do is pull in resources to help you when you can't figure something out."

Roman's eyes narrowed at his best friend. "It's annoying to have people that know you too well."

"Communication is vital in every situation," Alaric stated firmly, his glowing green gaze resolute.

"I'm not sure your relationship is the best example of that," Baxter replied.

Alaric lifted a dark brow. "Excuse me?"

"Look at your mate," Baxter said, pointing to the corner of the gym where the Arch Lich was sitting on a fat pillow. Someone else had undoubtedly brought it for the imp-necromancer hybrid who never thought of his own comfort. Chander's pewter gaze was focused on the thick book resting on his lap, and he was ignoring everyone. "He's oblivious to the world."

"Your point?" Alaric asked.

"If my memory is correct, I recall the two of you broke up because you had communication issues," Baxter said. "If Chand had a conversation with you instead of jumping to conclusions, you wouldn't have spent months apart."

The room went deadly silent, and an unwelcome chill raced down Roman's spine as Chander's head popped up.

Benton wrapped his arms around Baxter and tugged him close.

"Are you out of your mind?" Benton hissed. "Why did you bring that up?"

Chander closed his book with a heavy thud and planted his sneakers on the wooden floor. There was no expression on his face as he rose to his feet. Without a word, he marched up to the sentinel who'd been guarding him since he was a teenager and crossed his arms.

"Why are you bringing up ancient history?" Chander asked calmly.

"I'm trying to help Roman out," Baxter insisted weakly.

"Do it without reminding Alaric of a time best forgotten," Chander said. "You don't have to hurt my mate to make your point."

"Chand, I'm fine," Alaric commented softly.

"I made mistakes. That's no secret," Chander replied, turning to face Roman. "It's inevitable. There is nothing more important than a matebond. You've been told that since the day you were resurrected. But as you now know, that statement doesn't become real until you meet your other half. The road may be rocky. Mine was. But I would trade none of it for what I have today. Keep that in mind, Roman. Sometimes it's going to hurt. It does now. No one is perfect. Be there for Grant. But take of yourself too. Sweat it out in this gym. Talk to your family. And wait for him. He's your other half. It'll be worth it in the end."

Roman held out his arms, and Chander walked into them. "Thanks, I needed to hear that."

"We were helping with advice," Cassius muttered. "But Chand is the one who gets the hug."

With a chuckle, Roman tugged Cassius close the second Chander stepped away. "If anyone ever figures out how much sentinels want hugs, criminals are going to start using them to manipulate you."

"As if any sentinel could be manipulated," Alaric stated arrogantly as he pushed Cassius out of the way to hug Roman. "Come to the condo tomorrow and eat with us. You need your family."

Roman smiled as gratitude swelled in his heart. Things were tough right now with his mate, but his relationship hadn't even started. He'd need patience, understanding, and the solid support of the people he loved to build the kind of matebond he wanted.

"Okay, I'll be there."

∞∞∞

A few days had passed since Grant had drunkenly called Roman. As inebriated as he'd been that night, it surprised Grant that he had full recall of every word they'd spoken. In fact, as his life was spiraling further out of control, Grant had dedicated far too many hours to thinking about the fallen knight.

Although Grant's lie about being ill had held Reginald off for a couple of days, he'd started calling again, demanding to know if he was better. He didn't ask about symptoms or encourage him to take care of himself. The lone thing Reginald was preoccupied with was how quickly he could come over to have sex.

If the blinders hadn't been lifted before Grant faked sickness, he would've figured out by now how much Reginald was using him. Grant sank into the sofa cushions as he wondered if Reginald had ever cared for him. At thirteen, Grant hadn't been worldly, nor had he known he was gay. Reginald had told him he was, and Grant hadn't been able to deny he was attracted to the seventeen-year-old.

Had Reginald felt anything beyond horniness when they were teenagers? For Grant, it'd be far easier to handle if Reginald had loved him and those feelings had slipped away than to believe he'd been nothing more than a gullible conquest. Was Reginald's obsession with him so strong because Grant had so easily accommodated his every request for years?

Grant wanted none of that to matter, but he needed someone to have genuinely loved him—every aspect of him and his personality—instead of cherry-picking what they'd ignore, as Aunt Florrie did. Shaking his head, Grant forced himself to focus on reality. It was tempting to sit around and examine his relationship for the millionth time, but he had far bigger problems than a damaged, aching heart.

How was he going to face Reginald again? According to the information Roman had given him, the affliction of vomiting if he was touched in any intimate way wouldn't fade. Reginald would lose his shit if Grant puked on him again.

Closing his eyes and hugging himself as a wave of fear washed over him, Grant realized he had no choice. He had to expedite his plans to disappear. He'd have far fewer resources, but he wasn't afraid to fight for a fresh start.

But what if the information Roman had provided was wrong? Grant wondered if it was foolish to trust a stranger. The book asserted that fallen knights were incorruptible, but what did that mean? Where was the line drawn? Grant had been a cop and had sworn to serve and protect. In the end, he'd done what was best for himself, and that was pleasing Reginald.

If Roman was set on this matebond business, perhaps he'd crafted the books and pamphlets to convince Grant of the truth he wanted him to believe. Grant fished his phone out of his sweatpants and barely noted it was three in the morning as he tapped the screen. Without the fear of Reginald showing up at any moment, Grant had taken to carrying around both his normal phone and the one whose number Roman had. He refused to think about why that was important.

"Hello?"

Grant slunk off to the kitchen to grab another beer. "Hey."

"Do you ever sleep?"

"Sure. I'm like your vampire friends, I guess. I like to stay up all night and hide from the sun during the day."

"Grant, most vampires keep the same day hours I do. While they are sensitive to the sun, they can drink more blood to recover from exposure."

"Oh."

"I thought you were reading the stuff I left for you. There was no mention of vampires avoiding the sunlight."

Grant pulled a can from his fridge, which he pocketed, then yanked out a second one. Once he was loaded up on beverages, Grant lumbered to the couch and dropped onto it. "I like to imagine them switching to bats and sleeping in coffins."

"And I'm just some brain-eating zombie, right?"

Uncomfortable with the ire in Roman's voice, Grant gulped half his beer as color rose to his cheeks.

"I didn't think you ate brains," Grant mumbled.

"I don't lump every human into the asshole category, although I haven't had many positive encounters with them."

"You don't like humans?" Grant asked, surprised. He didn't know what it said about him that it'd never occurred to him that Roman might be uncomfortable with his race too.

"How much about fallen knights have you learned?"

"I skimmed or skipped the historical stuff, but I learned you're incorruptible. My focus was more on the mates thing because I didn't really know shit about it. The vomiting isn't going away, is it?"

"No, I'm afraid that's a permanent affliction. How's the boyfriend taking it?"

"Reg is pissed," Grant confided. "I needed some space to think, so I told him I had a stomach bug. He hates being sick, so he's been avoiding me. I've got some plans, but yeah, I don't want to talk about that."

"Okay, that's fair. Let's go back to the human stuff. Did you read anything about my bosses? The Reverent Knights?"

Grant's brow creased as he tried to recall anything about Roman's bosses, but his mind was blank. "If I did, I forgot."

"I don't expect you to memorize stuff," Roman replied with a chuckle. "Here's the deal. Unlike me, they remember their lives before they were resurrected. They were dragon shifters. Fate had granted them the highest title among dragons, and they ruled as Emperors for fifty years. Then the man in charge of ensuring they were protected allowed hundreds of humans into their castle. Those humans murdered the now Reverent Knights. My race only exists because humans killed the dragon shifters the Council wanted to create an alliance with to defend them."

If Grant had read that, he would've recalled the gruesome tale. "Wow."

"Yeah, that happened in 1369, and humans are unlikely to care about the trajectory of the Council or the story of the fallen knights, so I'm not surprised you didn't know about my bosses."

"Is it verifiable though? To anyone human?"

"I don't know," Roman said. "Our sources of information are vastly different. All I can suggest is that you Google it."

"You have Google?"

"Yep."

"Can I ask you a question?"

Another one of those sexy chuckles rumbled through Grant's ear. "Of course."

"Why do you have a car if you can teleport?"

"Because our laws state we must teleport to designated Dérive stations or to private residences of friends and family. It prevents us from popping into someone on the street and scaring the shit out of them. So, we typically drive from the closest Dérive station to our destination."

"Yeah, I could see how frightening it would be if people were constantly teleporting everywhere."

"Exactly, our Council does their best to improve the lives of our people in every way they can."

"I'd disappear if I could," Grant whispered.

The confession came out of nowhere, but Grant couldn't take back the words. They were the truth, but the last thing he should be doing was alerting anyone to the fact that he was leaving his life behind. But he'd previously mentioned it to Roman, so it wasn't as if the fallen knight was hearing anything new.

Grant hated the fear building inside him, but staying was perhaps more terrifying. Reginald wouldn't take the news well that Grant was the mate of a fallen knight.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Roman asked kindly.

"No. No, I can't. I should go."

"I'm glad you called."

"Bye," Grant said and quickly disconnected.

What the hell had he been thinking to call Roman again? Grant's world was literally crumbling around his ears, and he needed to be packing instead of giving in to his curiosity about Roman. He probably only had a couple of days left before Reginald would be pounding on his door again. Laying his head on the cushion behind him and staring at the ceiling, Grant knew he should go to bed so he could get an early start on packing the next day.

Instead, he popped open the second can of beer and dug the Council book he was reading out from under his couch to read about Roman's bosses.