Chapter Two: Armin

Armin caught his mate before he could hit the ground and lifted him up into his arms. The press of the little man's soft, bouncy flesh against his chest left him breathless and giddy. His entire life, he'd been terrified he'd be saddled to someone thin and bland like his brother's mate, who was oh-so-proper and could disappear in a crowd of three humans.

Fate must have heard his pleas, because here was a sweet-smelling muffin of a man. He was noticeably short in stature—a mere inch or two taller than Viraz—but he had the girth of a young minotaur. His hair was pruned close to his head in the way humans preferred, but Armin had high hopes he could talk him into letting it grow untamed in the way of ogres.

He shifted his mate in his arms so his head tilted back, exposing his face, and his breath caught in his throat. The little man had long lashes, full cheeks, and such plump lips. Armin fought the temptation to plunder those lips until his eyes fluttered open and revealed the color of his soul.

A smack across the back of his head and Viraz's disapproving frown were the only things keeping him from a kidnapping charge. "Fainting isn't normal for anyone," the shaman said. "Get him over to the EMTs and get him checked out."

With a nod, Armin carried his mate to the closest ambulance and growled deep in the back of his throat to get the attention of the waiting EMTs. Both men froze—a common reaction to any sound he made—and abandoned their current patients.

"What happened?" the taller of the two asked. Viraz quietly explained while Armin laid his mate on an empty gurney. He wanted to snarl when he realized neither men rushed to help.

"Warlock Grum?" he heard the second EMT squeak. "We can't treat him."

Armin rose to his full height and chomped his teeth in displeasure. The click of sharp bone gave him their wide-eyed, undivided attention. "I am Ogre Armin, Chief of the Maple Clan and spawn of Horseman Conquest. You will treat my mate or I'll grind your organs into oatmeal and serve you to my father's horse on a ivory platter carved from your skull."

Both men turned green at the mention of the Mayor's true name. Viraz shot him a smirk, knowing how much he disliked abusing his family ties. This was his mate, though. He'd call on the gods themselves if it meant keeping him safe.

"Alright," the shorter man said. As the EMT shuffled forward to the gurney, Armin's attention turned to the other who hadn't moved except to cross his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said regretfully. "I'm fae. My Queen declared Warlock Sorrel Grum to be anathema."

Armin glanced at Viraz in askance. "Shunning," he explained shortly. The shaman's eyebrows furrowed in concern. "It's rare. What did he do?"

The EMT winced. "My Queen's former consort triggered a calamity on the fae people. Warlock Grum came to our aid."

"I don't understand," Viraz admitted. "A calamity is a bad thing—a magical malady with the potential to destroy an entire race. Why would the Queen shun him for helping?"

"Because in stopping the calamity, he killed her consort. The Queen was forced to retaliate or her soul would have been corrupted and she, too, would have died."

"Did Warlock Grum know the price beforehand?" Armin asked. The EMT nodded and Armin felt pride well up in him. "He did the right thing, despite such a cost to himself. My mate is an honorable man."

"Your mate?" the fae repeated as if it was the first he'd heard of it. His expression turned thoughtful, almost hopeful, as his arms dropped loosely at his sides. "Is it true ogres can only mate with people who are already mated?"

"Yes, in a way," Viraz confirmed as the current expert on the subject. "Ogres can sense when a mate bond is damaged and weave the frayed threads into a new bond."

"Guest lecture later," Armin barked. "My mate is still unconscious. Do something. Now."

"One more question," the fae stubbornly replied. "Can any ogre tie to any frayed thread or does it require Fate's blessing?"

"Why does it matter?" Armin snarled. "I swear to the Gods, if he's harmed by your delay, I'll—"

"Peace, Chief," Viraz said gently. "I do not know what is wrong with your mate, but I can sense his condition is stable. If you wish the fae to help, we must answer his questions."

Armin glanced at the fae for confirmation and the slender EMT nodded. With a sigh, Armin waved for them to hurry up and finish.

Viraz gently bowed his head in respect before turning to explain. "I can sense the current state of Warlock Grum's mate-bond. I can tell you it's frayed from rejection—the ends have been stretched and pulled as if it tried to connect with another thread, but was yanked away before they could properly bond. However, the threads don't react to me anymore than yours does. It only reacts when he is near his predestined mate and, now, when he is within range of Chief Armin. Is that an adequate answer?"

The fae's shoulder's sagged and he nodded. "My race believes a man is reborn when he finds his mate and he should be judged anew. If he is truly your mate, I can try to help him."

"Then do it!"

The EMT jumped at the suppressed rage in Armin's voice and raced to his partner's side. The pair huddled in conference for a few seconds, then broke apart. The shorter man—a werewolf, Armin guessed—continued taking Sorrel's vitals while his partner pressed a hand over his forehead to perform a non-invasive scan of his magic.

As they waited for a diagnosis, Viraz laid a hand on Armin's shoulder to offer support. Armin nearly shrugged it off, but he could feel his Shaman projecting calm and he knew it was the only reason he hadn't possessively shoved the two EMTs away from his mate. The shifter EMT glanced at him, then quickly away, as if he could read Armin's mind. As he should. Ogres and werewolves were very similar in how possessively they acted once they recognized their mates.

One minute turned into three as they worked, stretching the limits of Armin's patience. "What's taking so long?"

"He's a Warlock," Viraz answered succinctly.

"And that means what?"

"His magic is complicated. Each individual Warlock creates their own unique school of magic. The EMT has to puzzle out how it works before he can diagnose if anything is wrong with it."

Armin perked up, eager to know anything about his mate. "He created a school of magic?"

"That's what a Warlock is. They're self-taught, either because their magic won't respond to standard practices or they don't agree with the rules of common disciplines. You know this. You took 'Mage Studies for Non-Mages' in college. I was in the class with you!"

"Then you know I slept through most of it," he retorted. "How often do I need to know anything outside of Ogre 101?" That wasn't an actual class, but it sounded good. He smiled at the successful play on words.

Viraz wasn't as entertained. He scowled. "Considering your mate is a Warlock with an apparent history in the magical community, you need to know a lot."

Armin's smile disappeared without a trace.

The elf EMT cleared his throat to get their attention, as if Armin and Viraz hadn't been watching his every move while they talked. "I can't be certain without a more invasive scan, but my initial diagnosis is Thaumaturgical Fever."

Viraz translated before Armin could panic. "It's the magical equivalent of an adrenaline crash. I used to get them all the time before I learned my limits. You mate simply overused his powers."

The elf nodded in agreement. "He'll be fine after a few hours of sleep, followed by a good meal and plenty of fluids. Unfortunately, I can't officially release him into your custody, but there's a lot of people here who still need to be checked out. In chaos like this, people can slip through the cracks." With that, the elf tugged on his partner's shoulder and the pair turned their attention to their previous patients.

Armin glanced down at Viraz, silently asking if the elf meant what he thought. Viraz smirked and gestured for him to grab his mate.

He didn't need to be told twice.