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

by Jessamyn Kingley

  “You really think D’Vaire is a good option?” Rafferty asked, excitement making his heart beat erratically. Maybe he could even find the guts to give Aleksander those apologies he deserved. There was no way he would renew their friendship—it would only make things more difficult for them both, but it wasn’t like he could completely avoid him either. Was he seriously considering opening that painful can of worms of being faced with him? The answer was a resounding yes. Could he handle Aleksander looking at him with none of the warmth that had once existed between them? Rafferty hoped so but assured himself it could only hurt for a little bit. There was simply not enough time left for him to linger anywhere.

  “You’ve visited before, you said. Did you like it?” Chander asked.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I definitely did.” The smile came from nowhere, and Rafferty was suddenly itching to fill out the application. If he should ever get to walk through Aleksander’s doors, he would do it as Rafe, not as Duke Rafferty. With the end so near, he had to do things on his terms. A chance to see his mate was wonderful, but Rafe had to remember that their relationship could never be rekindled. Rafe owed Aleksander overdue explanations and apologies, and he hoped he had the guts to see it through.

  Chapter 29

  While it was rare for anyone outside of the immediate D’Vaire family to attend their weekly meetings, Aleksander had been asked if some of their extended members could join in the past. So he took no issue with the Reverent Knights, Arch Lich, and Lich Sentinel sitting in his living room as he walked in to get started. Aware that they had worked with an applicant to the sanctuary, unlike every other one they’d received, the contact information and most everything else was missing from his form. The four men were here in the guy’s stead, and it was odd to Aleksander that someone would want into his protected home without even allowing him to chat with him first.

  “I want to thank everybody here tonight, including Drystan, Conley, Alaric, and Chander for being a part of our meeting. I’m going to turn things over to the Grand Warlock so he can get you guys up to speed on what’s going on,” Aleksander said.

  “We have a new applicant to our sanctuary, but I’m not going to give you copies of it because there’s not much on it to read. His name is Dermot Draconis, and he’s our second ever dragon to apply. I understand he would not be coming alone. There’s apparently a pet named Mortis?”

  “He’s not a pet,” Alaric stated. “He is a wolf sentinel.”

  “What is a wolf sentinel?” Gavrael asked his leader.

  “Let’s start at the beginning,” Chander suggested. “Six months ago, I got a call from a hospital in Nashville. They had a patient there in critical condition who needed surgery immediately, and they couldn’t get near him because of an agitated wolf spirit. I’ve never seen a ghost on this side of the veil before, but he was impossible to miss. We later found out that the wolf aided Dermot in getting to safety, and that the animal died in the process. Alaric suggested we resurrect him as a wolf sentinel. Essentially the only thing he doesn’t have is the daggers, since he’s on all fours.”

  “Okay, that’s awesome,” Brexton enthused. The warlock familiar avidly trained with his daggers and worshiped at the altar of the Sentinel Brotherhood.

  “Dermot Draconis? So he wants sanctuary from Their Majesties’ court?” Noirin asked.

  “I don’t want you guys to freak out, but there are going to be things we can’t tell you about him. Dermot Draconis is not his real name. If he should get sanctuary, we will reveal his identity when he arrives,” Drystan stated.

  “Why does he need an alias?” Brogan asked. Aleksander could tell by the hard set of his best friend’s jaw that he was already lining up the reasons why it wouldn’t be a good idea to let anyone who had to have their identity concealed under their roof.

  “Because he was attacked, and the case is still open,” Conley confided.

  “That certainly poses a danger to D’Vaire,” Brogan argued.

  “Sanctuary records are sealed. No one will know he’s here, plus even if someone found his application somehow, his real name isn’t on it,” Drystan reminded the Grand Duke.

  “So, he’s being sent here to hide from whoever hurt him?” Kendrick asked.

  “No,” Conley said. “We suggested he apply because we think this would be a good place for him.”

  “We need to talk about his condition,” Alaric stated.

  “His condition?” Dra’Kaedan asked.

  “Yes. You see, he didn’t come out of his attack unscathed. When we can release his records to the public after we get the justice he deserves, everyone will realize the historical first he accomplished and what that means for shifters everywhere,” Conley remarked. “He carries the last name Draconis, but he is not one any longer. His dragon has crossed the veil.”

  “So he’s like Marcus was? Maybe we could help him get better. I mean, if Marcus can survive heartbreak, then surely someone else can too,” Renny said.

  “His dragon is not partially gone; he crossed the veil many months ago,” Drystan responded. “I’m telling you, this guy has survived some serious shit, and I’m still not sure how.”

  “I’m trying to wrap my head around how that’s even possible,” Aleksander confessed. It was impossible to imagine losing the beast that shared his soul. Although his differences had deemed them both cursed, he’d never been sorry for their connection.

  “Unfortunately, what we’ve learned from Dermot is that without a dragon, you’re stuck somewhere between human and shifter. We can’t be sure if his ability to heal was still heightened when he got to the hospital. What he endured left him with too many wounds to count, and the severity of it left him in a bad state. Even after months of dutiful work by doctors, his hips are covered in large open sores. They will not heal now,” Drystan said.

  When he let out a sigh, Conley leaned against him. “In recent weeks, Dermot was finally getting to the point where he could get out of his wheelchair and use a walker. I think we all thought he’d turned a corner and was going to get better, even though we knew he was aging rapidly without his dragon. We were wrong. He has end-stage metastatic pancreatic cancer. Doctors are giving him maybe three to six months as a best-case scenario.”

  “Why didn’t anyone call Sorcery D’Vaire?” Dra’Kaedan demanded. “We can fix him. Dammit, we can do anything if we put our heads together.”

  “One percent of the shifter population is intolerant to magic,” Chander said. “Dermot is in that small category of people who can’t handle spells. They learned this when the druids unloaded their power on him and left him with cataclysmic damage. Those sorcerers unwittingly contributed to his poor state of health.”

  “Shit, that’s terrible,” Killian responded.

  “He just kept swelling and swelling. It was awful,” Chander revealed. “I would’ve certainly gathered Sorcery D’Vaire if I thought we could’ve helped him, but without magic the doctors are the only ones with the tools to help him. He spent some time in Nashville at the hospital. I’m not sure I have the highest opinion of his physician there, but the reality is, with his rapid aging, nothing was going to prevent this outcome.”

  “Just a quick question,” Saura interjected. “Can we determine he’s intolerant to all magic based upon his experience with druidic?”

  “Druidic is derived from warlock; so are necros, wizards, and mages. Every sorcerer in the Council comes from the same set of ancient ancestors. Our magic is related,” Chander argued. “Even the two of you as darkfallen were found to be related to necro, wizard, and warlock.”

  “Has anyone asked him if he’s experienced any symptoms with other types of sorcery?” T’Eirick asked.

  “No, he admitted to his doctor that he did have issues when being teleported by Dérive in the past, but he didn’t correlate that into an intolerance since he was unaware that such a thing existed. He didn’t volunteer any information that would make me believe he’s been in contact with other forms of magic and
that they left him symptom-free,” Chander replied.

  “We know that dark magic reacts to the body differently than light. As a dark healer, I would want to explore the idea that there’s some way we could help. At the very least, make him more comfortable or even tackle the illness that is shortening his life expectancy,” Saura said.

  “Nothing is going to reverse the quick aging, which will lead him to his demise one way or another,” Alaric stated.

  “If he had a mate, it might stretch his lifespan, but even that wouldn’t cure the fact that he’s literally covered in scars and has irreversible damage throughout,” Chander added.

  “Guys, we’re getting off topic here. If Sorcery D’Vaire decides they want to take on the project of seeing what they can or cannot do to assist this guy, then by all means go ahead, but we need to be discussing his application and the very real implications it has for our family,” Brogan interjected. “You said he was attacked, but it’s unsolved. He lost his dragon months ago, so what’s the holdup? Justice works swiftly, thanks to you guys. Why should we bring him in and invite trouble?”

  “Look, he’s been through a lot, and it took him a long time to confess what he endured,” Conley replied. “The problem is, we don’t have a location for the attack, giving us little to go on, and that makes moving forward difficult. We’ve spoken to his attackers, and they gave us the impression that they had no idea what we were talking about.”

  “Is he lying?”

  Alaric tilted his head and stared at Brogan. “I was sitting in the room. No. I assure you; he was not.”

  “I didn’t know you were in the room,” Brogan defended. “And let’s deal with the entire situation too. We’re going to bring a man in here who is going to die within a few months. Are we psychologically prepared to handle that?”

  “We’re a damn sanctuary; we better be,” Dra’Kaedan snapped.

  “What about the physical ramifications? He can’t teleport. How’s he going to handle doctor’s appointments?” Brogan asked. “I mean, I assume he’s going to have a lot of them.”

  “At this point, if he’s careful to keep it minimal, he can teleport. Long-term damage, which would keep most intolerant shifters from doing it, isn’t an issue for him. He’ll be dead before it can accumulate. He goes to the doctor weekly, but there are no treatment options for a man straddling the line between human and dragon. Either the palliative treatments are weak and perhaps useless, or they give him too much, killing him instantly. All they can do at this point is keep him comfortable. They wanted to transfer him to hospice, and that’s when we suggested D’Vaire. This place is beautiful and full of caring people that can give him some bright spots as he suffers through what time he has left,” Conley remarked.

  “Yes, but he also comes with danger. The man was already attacked. We can’t say for certain that they won’t come after him again,” Brogan said.

  “You live in a fucking bubble that has been perfected by Sorcery D’Vaire. It’s impenetrable. It would be offering Dermot not only some peace but safety,” Conley argued.

  “We have to think of the people who already live here first and make our decisions accordingly.”

  Conley got to his feet and his golden eyes were wet with unshed tears. “What you don’t get is that he has survived the impossible…more than once. All I wanted for him was to have a place where he could be surrounded by people who would give a shit about him. And if you aren’t going to do what’s right and let him in the damn doors, then I’m going to call Chrys and Elf. You think you have the power to stop people with your fancy rules? I will get a judge to declare that this is his only option since the man has no actual race. Are you here to help people or not?”

  The Grand Warlock stood and faced Brogan. “This is exactly the kind of situation we exist for, and Aleksander has always stated that this sanctuary belongs to me. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but we are going to accept Dermot.”

  Brogan’s navy eyes were turbulent but when he went to reply, Aleksander raised a hand. His best friend snapped his mouth shut, and Aleksander met Dra’Kaedan’s gaze. “We will not have a vote tonight,” Aleksander said quietly. Dra’Kaedan’s forehead creased, but he held his silence. “Dermot has asked us to give him a last bit of peace before he crosses the veil. We will honor his request.”

  Brogan’s jaw clenched. “All I was going to say was that it’s my job to keep everyone safe. I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t err on the side of caution, but I want you to know I do get it. I wasn’t going to object again.”

  Dra’Kaedan framed his mate’s face in his hands and kissed him. “Finally,” he muttered.

  Brogan pulled Dra’Kaedan onto his lap. “I’m sorry. I know I’m stubborn, but someone has to ask the tough questions, and this is not an easy situation.”

  “It’s going to be okay. Drys and I would never let anything happen to any D’Vaire, including your two new ones,” Conley responded with a smile. “And I get it, you don’t have to apologize.”

  “Just so you know, we’re not going to leave you indefinitely with a wolf to take care of,” Alaric stated. “When Dermot crosses, Mortis will come and live with us.”

  “How’s that fair?” Renny demanded. “Who wouldn’t want to keep a wolf?”

  “He’s not going to like, eat anyone is he?” Kendrick asked.

  “I would suggest you don’t attack Dermot if you would prefer not being eaten by Mortis,” Alaric countered. “And I’m the Lich Sentinel. He’s a wolf but also a sentinel, so too bad for you, Renny.”

  Renny shook his head. “You’re mean.”

  “Come on guys, let’s all chill with some beers, and I’ll get Dermot’s room ready,” Noirin said as she too got to her feet.

  “We’d like to drive him here tomorrow to save him from being teleported. Is that okay?” Drystan asked Aleksander.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Part 3

  RAFE'S HOMECOMING

  Chapter 30

  Rafe sat in the large back seat of the SVU and couldn’t pinpoint what he was feeling as he headed to Aleksander’s mansion. Unsure if he was doing the right or fair thing by showing up, he was simply incapable of quieting the raging voice in his head that wanted to see his mate one last time. Although it wasn’t easy to come to terms with his imminent demise, Rafe was left with no choice. The reality was, each morning when he got up, his life was dwindling away.

  There was pain—both emotional and physical—as Rafe struggled through his days. It didn’t stop him from working hard to use his walker. Tiring easily, he was mostly in the wheelchair, but at least he’d overcome the low expectations his former doctor had for him. Mortis was sleeping next to Rafe, and the wolf had listened as he’d poured out his entire story last night when he found out that Dra’Kaedan’s Coven had accepted him. Since he refused to rebuild the remnants of his friendship with Aleksander, Mortis had become his confidante.

  The wolf was honest, kind, and, Rafe suspected, more energetic than he let on. The large expanse of land that made up D’Vaire should finally provide Mortis the opportunity to stretch his legs and enjoy himself much as Rafe planned to do—only there would be no jogging in his future. But Rafe would do as he’d dreamed so long ago and walk through the front door of Aleksander’s house.

  As the SUV ate up the miles toward Arizona, the radio played softly in the background as Rafe’s fear started to mount. Although he dearly wanted one last look at the man who owned his heart, he knew his decision did not come without a cost. It was subjecting them both to the reality of his situation, and Rafe was sorry he lacked the guts to call Aleksander to prepare him for his arrival and how he’d changed since they’d last laid eyes on each other.

  Would he yell and kick Rafe right out? There was simply no way to know, and Rafe decided that if that did happen, he would not fight it. If necessary, he would drag his ass to the damn hospice center and escape into his dreams of the life Rafe had thought were waiting for him if he survived his fa
mily’s abuse. His hands shook with nervousness and fright while his mind supplied horrible scenarios of brutal rejection.

  Next to him Mortis stirred, letting out a woof. “Danger?”

  “I’m okay. Just tense.”

  “Relax Rafe, things are going to be fine. We’ll get you inside, and High King Aleksander has promised to have everyone gathered. We can explain your identity, though you’ve visited, so they’ll recognize you,” Conley said from the front seat.

  Rafe let out a smoky laugh. “I don’t know. I look kinda different.”

  “A couple of scars aren’t going to make any difference.”

  Most of his marks were covered under his layers of clothes, but the ones on his face and hands were visible. At least they’d faded to white lines; there were others that were still puffy and angry looking. Desperate to find the bravery everyone believed he had, though Rafe doubted it, he went with humor. “It’s going to be the hair, for sure. I used to wear my head practically shaved.”

  “Really? Shit, if I had curls like that, I’d wear it even longer than you’ve got it.”

  Emperor Ellery had sent his stylist, a nice elf named Vylendri, who’d trimmed Rafe’s hair, but he’d opted to do not much more than that. His loose curls hung to his collar in the back and fell over his forehead in the front. The streaks of gray didn’t even bother him. “My father hated the curls and insisted I cut it. When I was young, I wore it braided all the time to hide them.”

  The crunch of the tires hit Rafe’s ears as Drystan stopped to punch a code in the gate that blocked the wide driveway. When the metal swung open, Rafe shifted in his seat and concentrated on deep breaths.

  “Here we go,” Drystan said.

  The vehicle rolled into motion, and tears threatened as the grand house came into view. Every genuine memory of happiness had happened at D’Vaire. Any joy he’d found at his father’s court was now clouded with betrayal, and Rafe had come to terms with what an idiot he’d been to so blindly trust him. When the SUV stopped, the Reverent Knights were out of their seats before Rafe even had his seat belt off. Conley opened the door to allow Mortis to jump to the ground while Rafe swung his legs to the side.