Page 2 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Questions churn inside me, pressing against the dam of my control. If only my monster would stop snarling long enough for me to form even a single coherent thought…

A hand lands on my arm—gentle, almost soothing. My monster explodes, a vicious roar tearing from my throat as he wrests control. Stefan’s laughter cuts through the haze, rich and unbothered. “Whoa there, big guy. Easy now. I know it’s confusing, but you’re not taking a chunk out of me today. Brother, if that muddled mind can hear me, you’re safe.”

Safe.The word means nothing to the beast, his rage flaring hot and blinding.

Injured, disoriented—it’s the perfect moment for an enemy to strike. He won’t allow it. My body jerks in fits of violent desperation, a snarl tearing through the air. But then—a tendril of scent seeps through the fog, faint but unmistakable. It worms into the beast’s awareness, soothing the edges of his anger.

Our head snaps up, nostrils flaring, hunting for the source. The scent is a memory clinging to the air: drying herbs, rich cream, the warmth of bread baked over an open hearth.My Little Cat.

A glimmer of memory stirs—words from a young true shifter teasing at the edge of recollection. The beast within moves us, our gaze sweeping the space for any sign of movement, any shadow that might cloak them. Our eyes land on a solitary lamp in the corner, its long shadow looming. The beast latches on, forcing us into motion, pushing through the weariness with singular focus.They might still be alive.

Rurik is the first obstacle. The beast surges forward, shoving him aside and sending him sprawling. Stefan ducks us, barely avoiding our claws, but he doesn’t expect the smoke curling from the floor, climbing his leg, and pulling the sword from his back.

Xavier steps from the shadows, their grin sharp, eyes glinting with dark amusement as if they orchestrated this.

“Rucio,” they admonish.

My monster gives a jubilant roar while the rational part of me can’t believe this reckless plan worked.

Rurik scrambles to his feet, grabbing Xavier by the shoulders. He pulls them close, whispering something I can’t hear. Stefan steps in front of my jaguar, his hand hovering like a shield over their head. Valentine shifts closer too, murmuring in their ear.

It’s enough to snap the beast’s patience. We—a single, snarling entity of human and vampire—bristle at the way they hover around our Little Cat, as if they need protection. A guttural growl rolls through me, red clouding my vision as possessiveness flares hot. The rational part of me knows Rurik is right—I could hurt Xavier—but the beast doesn’t care. He wants them close.

I can almost feel the eye-roll, their exasperation and stubborn defiance. A heartbeat later, they’re in my lap, and my beastrumbles with satisfaction. I bury my nose in the hollow of their neck, inhaling deeply.

Their scent grounds me—sun-warmed skin, salt, the subtle zing of magic. Relief eclipses the hunger gnawing at the edges of my awareness.

They’re whole. They’re here. No scars I can see, no marks from Roxana’s cruelty. They don’t flinch as my claws slide through their curls.

For just a moment, the beast settles. But the bond—our bond—is severed, a raw, pulsing wound where it should be. All my monster wants is to shield our little mate and fix what’s been broken. He sends me an image: Sunday and our jaguar, one under each arm, as he takes luxurious sips of their blood. At our feet, a warm, shaggy gray blanket.

Xavier’s voice breaks the quiet. “We need to talk. Can you keep Smoky calm long enough for a conversation?”

I nod, and the beast recedes, granting me control. The world tilts, heavy and unsteady, but my Little Cat’s touch anchors me.

“What happened?” I croak.

“There you are,” they murmur, fingers brushing my cheek before their lips meet mine. My grip tightens, fingers trembling as I pull them closer, needing their warmth, needing them whole. “Never,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Never leave again.”

Stefan’s laughter draws my attention. He smirks, eyes glinting with mischief. “Where did you find so many mates in such a short time?” he chides, finger wagging. “Greedy, Grayson. Very greedy.

A growl rumbles through me, my grip on the little shifter tightening. “Enough.” I turn to Stefan, eyes narrowing. “Why are you here? How do you know them? And how does everyone know Sunday? What did she do while I was under Roxana’s control?”

Xavier smacks my chest hard enough to pull my focus. “Rude.”

Rurik counters, his voice dry. “Sunday orchestrated all this.” He gestures to the room. “A small coup d’état, if you will. She pulled us all together—tracked us down, convinced us to join her, the whole nine yards.” He sounds almost bored, as though admitting that my mostly human mate seemingly has my entire line wrapped around her finger is entirely unremarkable.

But, of course, she couldn’t sit idle. “And Roxana?” Her name turns to ash in my mouth, polluting it. “She’s still alive, isn’t she?”

The fog lifts. Images sharpen—the glint of her serpent cuff, demons at her back. Fear coils in my gut. “Tell me she isn’t with Sunday.”

My jaguar sensing my growing unease and likely noticing the smoke pooling on the floor beneath my feet, pulls my chin down so they can look me directly in the eye.“Sunday is with Tomas and Ben. They chased your Maker and the big demon-guard through a side door. He was carrying Roxana.”

I try to stand, the room spinning, my legs buckling. “Half-dragon,” I hiss. “He doesn’t need to shift to use his fire. We have to—”

Rurik’s frown deepens, his gaze shifting to Xavier. “We need to go. Feed him.”

They settle in my lap, pulse fluttering under their skin, warmth seeping into my bones. My fangs slide into place. I glide my tongue across their skin, numbing it—I’m lost in heat and salt. Their pulse throbs against my lips, their taste flooding my mouth, a soft purr vibrating through them.

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