Heart of the High King (D'Vaire, Book 19)

by Jessamyn Kingley

  “Reverent Knight, I can’t have a wolf running around a hospital. He scares the other patients and their visitors, not to mention my staff.”

  “We’ll see if we can get him to leave with us.”

  “I wish you luck; that wolf is fiercely protective of this man, whoever he is.”

  “Thanks for everything, Doc,” Drystan commented. They passed him and walked into the room, where a man with black curls streaked with the same silver as his wolf lay covered in blankets. There were tubes and other medical wires attached to him, and when they got close to the bed, his incredibly thick lashes lifted to reveal a set of vivid blue eyes that were swimming with pain.

  “Hi, I’m Conley and this is Drystan. We’re fallen knights. What’s your name?”

  “Reverent Knights,” the man murmured.

  “That’s right, we’re the Reverent Knights, and we’re here to help you. But it’d be nice to call you something besides ‘guy’ or ‘dude,’ ” Conley remarked, petting the wolf that was stirring at the side of the man’s bed.

  “This is an awesome wolf you have. Did the doctor explain that he’s tied to your soul?” Drystan asked. The man made a tiny motion with his head that Conley guessed passed as a nod for a man who had just come out of a coma and was still in shit shape. “Thought of a name for him yet?”

  “No,” came the raspy response.

  “Do you know your name?” Conley asked.

  “No,” he replied in a whisper, but Conley knew it was a lie.

  “It’s okay, no one can hurt you here. We keep a fallen knight in the hospital to make sure you’re safe. Whatever happened to you will never be repeated. I hope you know you can trust us. We’re incorruptible except for Con here. He can’t drive for shit and doesn’t obey a single law when he’s behind the wheel.”

  “Not true, Drys. I wear my seat belt.”

  The man in the bed gave a ghost of a smile but said nothing.

  “So, you knew we were the Reverent Knights. Do you know we’re capable of detecting outright lies? I mean, any sentinel will tell you they can do a much better job and they’re right, but we never admit that when any of them are around. Are you too scared to tell me your name right now?” Conley asked.

  The man shrugged, which had him wincing and he moaned.

  “Okay, you know what? I’m going to go find that deer and tell him you need more medication. We’ll come back in a few days and we can talk,” Conley said. Kneeling so he was eye-level with the wolf with the same blue eyes as the man whose soul was attached to his, Conley petted his head. “Hey, wolf sentinel, I hope you can understand me. I have to either tranquilize you or take you home with me. What do you say? You want to go to sleep or come home and party in my living room in Vegas?”

  As stubborn, it seemed, as the man who refused to give his name, the wolf lay down and closed his eyes.

  “Shit,” Conley said, pulling out the special tranquilizer he’d asked Chander to dilute so the wolf was only out for a couple of days. Designed for shifters and magickind, for an animal the full dose put him out for up to a week and a half. It was longer than Conley felt comfortable putting the poor guy under. The wolf was given a few more pats, then Conley quickly shot the tranq into him. Within seconds, the wolf was out.

  Standing up, he grinned at the man with the terribly scarred face. “Get better, okay? We’ll see you soon.”

  Chapter 25

  “Wait until I’m finished,” Kitchi said, snipping his scissors. “It’s going to look great. You’ve got such fabulous, thick hair.”

  “I really appreciate you doing this,” Aleksander told him. While Aleksander sat there patiently, the raccoon moved like lightning as he flitted around his chair.

  “Not as much as I do,” Noirin drawled. “I had no idea that when I volunteered centuries ago to trim the hair of the D’Vaire men that I’d wind up doing it for so long. And a bigger bunch of whining babies about my work you’ve never met.”

  “I never complained,” Aleksander argued with a glare.

  “Okay, it was mostly Dray, and before that I had to deal with Brogan’s attitude. No one was happier than me when he decided to find someone professional to do it,” Noirin retorted.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take much off the length,” Kitchi commented. “But it’s just screaming for layers and you know, I really think it’s going to make the blue stand out even more.”

  Less than two decades ago, Aleksander was still seeking out every option to try and disguise his differences, including the blue of his hair. It made the corner of his mouth lift in a smile to think of the way his life had changed. Aleksander was now proud of how he stood out, and it connected him to the wonderful freaks that shared his house. That didn’t mean he was comfortable when he walked out of the bubble Sorcery D’Vaire had created to protect his land, but then, he had no reason to trust that outsiders would understand that diversity should be celebrated.

  “It’s heavy and I’m grateful for your expertise,” Aleksander told Kitchi.

  “You guys are so awesome to give me this little shop. Between making you guys hair-happy and working for Worth, I’ve never been so busy in my life. I’m loving every minute. Have I thanked you yet for letting me become a D’Vaire?”

  Aleksander and Noirin both responded loudly in the affirmative.

  “Seriously, Kitchi, you say it ten times a day,” Noirin added.

  “Can you believe Worth is trusting me to help him?” Kitchi asked, letting out a musical laugh. “I’m so glad my computer classes and those few months working for that accountant are actually useful now, and I’m learning so much. And I do have to say, his hair looks incredible. His is nearly as long as yours, Aleksander.”

  “He starts dyeing part of it blue, and you might want to start worrying that he’s going to secretly dispatch you and take over D’Vaire,” Noirin teased.

  “You need to stop watching those crime shows with Blodwen,” Aleksander decided.

  “I’m kidding. Worth adores you. It just still blows my mind how much you two look alike, and since he started growing his hair out so it’s your length, it is only more obvious.”

  “He needs to put another desk in his office,” Aleksander complained.

  Noirin let out a heartfelt sigh. “He won’t. Worth’s not taking Rafferty’s desertion well. Now that you have the empty desk, Kitchi, he’s adamant that he wants nothing to do with preparing things for his mate to show up.”

  “I know,” Kitchi exclaimed. Running a comb through Aleksander’s locks, hair flew as he put his scissors back in motion. “He’s calling him his phantom mate and says he hopes he never shows up. It’s horribly sad. Aleksander, I hope we aren’t making you uncomfortable talking about it…especially me, since I never even met your other half.”

  “No worries, Kitchi. I don’t want anyone to pretend it didn’t happen. That’s not how our family works, and I also don’t want anyone to think that just because Rafferty left that you’ll struggle with your mate when you meet him. I’ve tried to discuss it with Worth too, but he just clams up and walks away. Hopefully time will get him to calm down about it, or perhaps Fate will send his other half here, so he can see that for some people all they get is happiness. Look at Noir. She and Kendrick have been two wonderful peas in a pod since he showed up.”

  “You guys are so cute together,” Kitchi told her, and she grinned wildly. “And the food—oh my Fate, it’s so good.”

  “We have so much fun cooking together,” Noirin enthused. “We’re so glad everyone loves the food.”

  “Okay, done,” Kitchi announced, peeling off the smock they’d bought him online along with everything else he needed to make a little salon for himself in the building just outside the mansion where they lived.

  Aleksander was handed a small mirror. “This looks great,” he said, dragging a hand through his freshly shorn tresses. As promised, it still hung nearly to his shoulders, but there were long layers that made it feel infinitely less heavy.
With not as much black obscuring it and whatever magic Kitchi had done with his scissors, the blue stood out more boldly than before. “I love it.”

  Kitchi clapped his hands, and his brown eyes were bright with excitement. “Yay, we’ll have to keep to a strict six-week schedule to keep it looking sharp. I’ve got a little appointment app on my phone, want me to put you in?”

  “Sure.”

  Aleksander carefully logged the date and time into his device and thanked Kitchi again as he got to his feet. The exuberant raccoon embraced him tightly, and Aleksander bent to accommodate the eleven inches that separated them in height.

  “Okay, Noir, it’s your turn,” Kitchi told her, and she hopped into the seat Aleksander had just vacated.

  “How short are you going?” Aleksander asked his cousin.

  “You kidding me? I’m not brave enough to do anything bold. All I want is a trim and maybe a few layers.”

  Kitchi whipped the black smock over Noirin after adjusting the chair slightly. “No worries, we can lessen the weight of it without changing the style much. You guys are like me with stick-straight hair. It’s super glossy too but again, crazy thick.”

  “Well, yours looks awesome,” Noirin told him. The raccoon had a trendy cut with the sides shaved close, and the top was several inches long and artfully tousled.

  “I’m so glad I can get teleported to my stylist. I would lose my mind if I had to find someone new.”

  “Meanwhile, I’m grateful I have someone new,” Aleksander told Kitchi and grinned as his cousin narrowed her eyes at him. “And we’re incredibly thrilled that you’re a D’Vaire now, Kitchi.”

  “Oh, me too,” Kitchi exclaimed. The raccoon had been there for nearly a week and was already making himself right at home. So far, he got along with everyone, and Larissa was helping him furnish his room just the way he wanted. Aleksander was thrilled they had the ability to give someone as wonderful as Kitchi a loving family.

  ∞∞∞

  Waking up was a tortuous thing for Rafferty. What he could not figure out was where the druids were that should’ve healed him and why he was still in so much pain. The staff told him there was a wolf sleeping next to his bed, but Rafe could hardly lift his head to see him. It was assuredly the one he’d met as he escaped the cave, but why had anyone let him into the hospital? The Reverent Knights had been to visit him more than once, but he hadn’t answered their questions. At first, he could barely keep his eyes open, but now he was able to stay awake for at least an hour before the pull of slumber forced him to submit. The doctors wouldn’t tell him anything yet, and his mind was so mushy that it was hard to make sense of everything going on around him.

  There was a knock, so he lifted his lashes, and four people walked into his room. Pushing the button to raise himself, he sat up as far as he could. It was time to move forward with his life.

  “Wake,” a gruff voice said inside his head, and Rafferty had no idea how to explain it. Was he losing his sanity in addition to still being in pain?

  “Hey there,” Reverent Knight Conley said, leaning down, and Rafferty supposed he was petting the wolf as he heard a small woof from the beast.

  “This is Arch Lich Chander Daray and Lich Sentinel Alaric Daray,” Reverent Knight Drystan remarked, waving toward the men.

  “I recognize them from the Council book,” Rafferty responded. His voice was still thinner than usual, although he was trying his hardest to project it. “Nice to meet you, Arch Lich and Lich Sentinel.”

  “The pleasure is ours,” the Arch Lich said. The wolf trotted to the Lich Sentinel, and Rafferty finally got the chance to see him. It was apparent that he wasn’t the same wolf—instead of jet-black fur, there were streaks of gray and his eyes were bright blue.

  “Hi,” that voice whispered through his head. Rafferty scowled, wondering about the strangeness of it.

  “Are you okay?” Conley asked.

  Rafferty wasn’t about to tell them he was hearing things. “Yeah.”

  “We thought we’d tell you about the wolf,” the Arch Lich stated. “Do you recognize him?”

  “No.”

  “You were never around a wolf that you remember?”

  Since Rafferty wanted answers about everything, he decided he needed to start telling them about himself and what he experienced. “I do remember a wolf, but he was pure black, and his eyes were a golden brown.” Rafferty squeezed his eyes shut, remembering what happened to the animal. “But he died. He was hit by a car.”

  “Good, you do remember some stuff,” Conley said.

  “Yes, that wolf died, and his spirit followed you, even after you were transported through several hospitals. It’s the first time I’ve seen a ghost on this side of the veil. He was scaring the shit out of the staff, so I resurrected him. He’s now tied to your soul and will protect you, no matter what,” Chander explained and went into details about his abilities. “He’s the first wolf sentinel. You should probably pick out a name for him, because it’s you two for life.”

  Rafferty was relieved. “He’s the voice in my head.”

  “We weren’t sure if that was going to work—you can actually hear him?”

  “I’ve heard him twice today. He said ‘Wake’ and ‘Hi.’ I think I’ll name him Mortis.”

  “That’s Latin for ‘death,’ ” Chander remarked. “Fitting for a dead wolf.”

  “Like,” Mortis told him.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Rafferty told Mortis with a smile. Still in awe that he now had a wolf tied to his soul and that they could communicate, Rafferty was grateful too. “Why does he look different? With the gray streaks and the blue eyes?”

  “I asked Fate to choose his appearance. She obviously decided to make him resemble you.”

  “I know I lost my dragon and that my eyes are blue, but where’s the gray coming from?”

  “No one has given you a mirror?”

  Rafferty shook his head. “Why does my hair have gray in it?”

  “I can’t answer that. Your doctor might be able to tell you,” Drystan said. “So, we’ve established you have some memory. What’s your name?”

  Rafferty still wasn’t sure what was going on, or if it was a good idea to reveal everything, so he wasn’t comfortable telling the truth. “Dermot.”

  “Lie,” Mortis said.

  “I’m a sentinel. I can tell when you’re lying to me,” Alaric drawled.

  “But we’ll call you Dermot for now, if you aren’t comfortable with the truth yet. Will you share anything about what happened to you? We want to find out who hurt you, so they can pay for their crimes,” Conley responded, his voice gentle.

  The betrayal cut deep, and Rafferty had endured who knew how many weeks or months of torture, but his fury was still fresh. “Tell me what day it is.”

  “No one has told you yet?” Chander asked.

  “No.” The four men shared concerned glances, and it irritated Rafferty. “Why is telling me that such a big deal?” Rafferty had to know how long he’d been away from Aleksander, and as soon as the doctor came into his room again, he was going to demand answers, so he could get healed and return to D’Vaire.

  When Alaric told him the date, all the fury in Rafferty simply blew away as he did the math and realized it was nearly eight months since he’d spoken to Aleksander. “Are you sure?” he asked stupidly.

  “Give us something, Dermot. Who hurt you?”

  Despair filled him as he thought about how hurt Aleksander had to be, and he could only wonder what lies had been fed to him by Sullivan and his father. “My family,” he whispered.

  “I think you’ve had enough for one day. We’ll come visit you again soon, okay?” Conley said. “I have to tranq Mortis.”

  “Hate it,” Mortis complained; then he collapsed into Drystan’s waiting arms as he was knocked out. Like Mortis, Rafferty hated everything about where he was and what had happened. Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes and gave in to the torrent of weeping, which only added to the ex
treme pain in his entire body.

  Chapter 26

  “Well, Dermot, we’ve got you scheduled for another surgery in the morning so, unfortunately, that means no dinner for you tonight,” Dr. Odocoileus said, sailing into Rafferty’s room. It’d been several days since he’d first learned about Mortis and how long he’d been gone from D’Vaire, but thus far the doctor had been very evasive about telling Rafferty anything regarding his condition, and he’d already signed a consent form for one trip to the operating room. “We just need to get your signature on the consent form.”

  “I’m not signing anything until you tell me about my condition. Why am I having surgery again, and why the hell am I still such a mess?”

  The doctor’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You’re still very weak and while you might think we’re being cruel to you, it’s imperative that you aren’t given any stress.”

  “It’s stressing me out not knowing.”

  “You need more time.”

  “Fuck your form and your surgery. I’ve cooperated and done your daily tests and gone under the knife. I’ve been poked and prodded as well as hooked up to all this shit,” Rafferty said and had to stop to catch his breath.

  “You need this surgery. You’ve got open wounds on your hips, and you need another skin graft.”

  “Why haven’t you used druids? I know hospitals are staffed with them.”

  The doctor stared at him strangely. “Because you are intolerant to druidic magic. It’s one of the reasons you are in such poor condition. You weren’t wearing anything to alert people to that, and we pulled every druid we had in to try and heal you. The damage was pervasive.”

  “How can I be intolerant to druidic magic?”

  “Have you ever been teleported through Dérive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you experience any strange symptoms? Although less than one percent of shifters have this rare intolerance, the literature has a list of common complaints—dry mouth, sometimes itchy eyes, upset stomach, bloating, gas. If they have more than one or two spells cast on them per day, they can cause internal bleeding as the organs swell or grow irritated. It’s quite serious.”