Page 110 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

He glances at me, his eyes steady and knowing. “And you, Xavier? You’re bound up in this too. You and your jaguar have a part to play, whether you like it or not.”

He steps back, his presence solid and grounding. I slide in beside her, the tension in my chest easing just a fraction.

“Ready to go home?” I ask, my voice softer now. “We can order some pizza.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh no, your stew!”

I wave it off. “I turned it off before I left. Besides, I think we need pizza.”

She exhales shakily, her shoulders slumping. “I’m so sorry, Shadow. I was really stupid.”

I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “No. You were optimistic and caring… okay, maybe a little naive. But mostly, caring.” I pause, my gaze gentle. “You wanted to help his dragon, didn’t you?”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks almost embarrassed. “I guess I did. Seeing Tomas struggle… I have a thing for rejected mates, alright?”

I chuckle, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “See? Not stupid at all.”

Chapter Fourty One

Crushin’ Candy

— Sunday —

The day is hot, the kind of humid stickiness that makes the air feel like soup and everything moves at half-speed. I’m in the packhouse kitchen, arranging a tray of sandwiches and setting out pitchers of sweet tea and lemonade. Granny always said you should greet guests with food, no matter who they were. Coven of witches or not, these folks drove a long way to get here, and hospitality’s a hard habit to break.

The crunch of gravel under tires pulls my attention to the window over the sink. A line of cars rolls up the driveway—more than I expected. Four cars and one van that looks like it survived the apocalypse by sheer stubbornness. The roof’s rusted, the door panels don’t match, and the muffler’s hanging on by a prayer and a twist of wire. Louisiana plates flash past, and I mutter, “The witches have arrived.”

Outside, Tomas and Shadow are already circling the vehicles, looking like they’re ready to bust a smuggling ring. I sigh, wiping my hands on a towel. Silas’ bullshit has really been raining on my independent-woman parade. It’s bad enough I’ve got one mate whose shadow I can’t escape—literally—but now Tomas is playing bodyguard at every turn.

Do I sound ungrateful? I’m not, I swear. But between you and me, losing my independence has been harder than I ever imagined.

Balancing the tray on one hand, I push open the kitchen door and step onto the wraparound porch. The heat hits me like a wall of wet bricks. I set the tray on a small table near the railing, my makeshift refreshment station.

Out in the driveway, the witches gather under the wide shade of the oak tree, their movements deliberate, like they’re measuring the place up for size. There are five of them, each one distinct, like characters stepping out of a storybook.

A tall woman with long braids leans against the tree, a cigarette dangling between her fingers, the smoke curling lazily in the heat. A lanky guy with a shaved head wrestles a bag out of one of the cars. The others linger near the van, their voices a low murmur, just out of earshot.

The woman with the braids crushes her cigarette under her heel and straightens up. Her gaze locks onto me, sharp and assessing, but her mouth curves into a lazy half-smile. She raises a hand in a half-wave. “You must be Sunday,” she calls, her voice smooth and easy, like she’s been here a hundred times before.

“Sure am,” I reply, pasting on a polite smile. I nod toward the drinks on the porch. “There’s tea and lemonade if y’all are thirsty.”

Jinx introduces herself with a sharp smile and an easy handshake. There’s something undeniably spellbinding about her—mid-thirties, maybe early forties, but with a perpetuity that doesn’t quite fit. Her presence hums with a subtle intensity, like a wire strung too tight.

I let my gift flare, and her bubble blooms into view—massive and pulsing with a faint, shifting green. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Not the steady hum of mages, the layered complexity of demons, or the raw, primal energy of shifters. If I had to pin her down, she’s got an edge of Cady’s strange, unnameable magic.

I wish Colt were here to compare notes. But with things the way they are, I’m not counting on seeing him anytime soon. My mates’ anger isn’t something you just walk off, and Colt? He’s neck-deep in it for letting Silas get to me. As for me, well… I’m treading water in the deepest end of that pool.

Before I can sink any further into that thought, Jinx’s raspy voice snaps me back. “Hospitality. Haven’t seen much of that lately.” She saunters forward, her boots kicking up lazy puffs of dust. “Thanks, but let’s get started before this heat makes us all stupid.”

Behind her, Tomas finishes his not-so-subtle inspection of the vehicles, their passengers, and every bag in sight. Jinx watches with an amused smirk, her eyes glinting when he sneezes—more from irritation than dust. His movements are a little stiff, and a quick sweep of my gift confirms it: Tomas’ wolf is bristling, on edge.

He steps in front of me, a wall of contained power, herding me behind him like an overeager sheepdog.

Shadow glides up beside him, silent as dusk. Where Tomas radiates solid, unyielding strength, Shadow’s presence shivers with something sharper, fluid and coiled tight under their skin.

Jinx’s grin widens as she watches them, eyes flicking over Tomas with the faintest tilt of her head, as if she’s amused by his protective stance. Then her gaze shifts to Shadow, and her brow raises just a little—curiosity, maybe recognition.

“Well, ain’t this a picture,” she drawls, her voice lazy but threaded with steel. “The big bad wolf and his shadow. Guess you don’t trust little ol’ me, huh?”

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