Page 123 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Her smirk falters for a heartbeat before snapping back, sharper than before. “And there it is. I wondered how long it would take you to bring him up.”

“What can I say? I’ve noticed a pattern,” I reply, my tone as dry as the evening air. “I’m sure you’ll tell me it’s purely coincidental.”

She narrows her eyes, stepping a little closer. “And I’m sure you’ll tell me watching Sunday and Tomas celebrate their future doesn’t bother you in the slightest.”

I raise a brow. “Of course it doesn’t. Why would it? Unlike you, I don’t lose my composure over unrequited interests.”

She barks out a laugh. “Unrequited? Please. If I wanted Colton Prescott, I’d have him.”

“Of course you would,” I reply smoothly, the corner of my mouth lifting into a faint smirk. “Though admitting that would make it harder to pretend you aren’t panting after him.”

Her shoulders tense—a subtle crack in her armor—but she masks it with a dismissive wave. “You’re projecting,” she retorts, light in tone, but her eyes narrow. “I think the wolf’s proposal rattles you more than you admit.”

I glance toward the barn, where warm light spills into the night, Sunday’s laughter rising above the music. “She deserves happiness,” I say simply. “I won’t begrudge her that.”

Vivi studies me for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before her smirk returns. “If you say so. Just remember, Master—your poker face isn’t as good as you think it is.”

She turns on her heel leaving me to take a steadying breath, the bond pressing insistently against my mind, as I follow her toward the celebration and the weight of the evening settles on me.

Tomas’ big moment. My bonded’s happiness. My own conflicted heart. I steel myself, smoothing my expression into one of calm contentment. This is their night, and I won’t let my own selfishness mar it.

Xavier finds me and loops their arm through mine, pulling me back to the present. “Don’t look so grim. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. It’s in the unofficial rules for our house gatherings. Number one: have fun. Number two: don’t pick fights. Number three—”

“Don’t let the vampires sulk,” I finish, earning a grin.

“Exactly. So smart, Rucio.”

The air inside is thick with the hum of voices and the scrape of boots on the dance floor. The Edison bulbs strung like stars overhead lend everything a golden luster. The air is thick with the scents of old hay, wood, and something unmistakablyPrescott—a now-familiar melange of warmth and earth, layered with the heady hormones of joy.

My bond with Sunday pulses in the back of my mind, bright and effusive, a constant reminder that tonight is his night, not mine. My monster doesn’t sulk often, but when he does, he’s an insufferable drama queen, picturing everyone’s gristly deaths.

The crowd parts like a tide as Sunday spots me.

Her skin is flushed from dancing, her breath coming in soft bursts as she weaves her way through the room. A bright smile lights up her face, and the way she moves—effortless and free—draws every eye in the barn. The golden light catches in her hair, turning it to fire, and for a moment, all I can do is stand there, taking her in.

Then she’s in my arms, warm and sweet, as I catch her and spin her around. The edges of my jealousy soften as she beams up at me.

“You look… happy,” I murmur, setting her down but keeping her close.

“I am,” she says, the words bubbling out of her like champagne. “But it’s even better now that you’re here.”

She takes my hand, guiding me effortlessly into the rhythm of the music. The movement feels instinctive, her body aligning with mine as if we’ve danced like this a thousand times before. Her usual scent—a bouquet of salted honey and olive leaf—lingers faintly, now mingled with the broader notes of watermelon, smoked meat, and Tomas’ apples and embers. It fills the space between us, anchoring me even as it ignites that low, ever-present ache of possessiveness.

Then, I see it. The ring. It catches the light as she moves, a flash of deep purple and red that draws my gaze like light pulling shadow. The music fades into the background, leaving only the pulse of the bond—bright and steady, a constant reminder of what she’s given him.

My monster stirs, twisting with jealousy. It doesn’t matter that she’s mine as much as his. Tonight, the proof of his claim rests on her finger, and I have to fight the urge to crush the shimmering stone in my palm.

I take her hand, gently pulling it forward to study the ring. Beneath the golden glow of the Edison bulbs, the Alexandrite shimmers, a shifting fire that feels almost alive. It’s beautiful—perfect, even. And though I’ve heard descriptions of its other form, the blue-green brilliance it takes on in sunlight, I’ve never seen it myself.

A fitting choice for Sunday, I think, my gaze lingering on the stone. Duality. Adaptation. Shining no matter what’s directed at it. I press a kiss to her fingers, my voice soft. “It’s beautiful, Sunday.”

Her smile widens. “He had it engraved,” she says, excitement lighting her features as she starts tugging at the ring. “Here, let me show you the band—wait, it’s stuck. Must be my knuckle.”

She tugs again, harder this time, her brow furrowing in frustration. We’ve come to a stop in the center of the dancefloor, drawing a few curious glances. Before I can comment, Tomas appears at her side, his gaze immediately fixed on her.

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