Page 20 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

“You know, I think I’ll hang out for a few more minutes, just till Volga gets here.”

I give her a shit-eating grin, and she shakes her head and then rolls her eyes. “Want me to fix you some popcorn?”

The door swings open, and Stefan is already talking as he enters. His gift—keen hearing, sharper than most vampires or shifters his age—means he’s always dropping into conversations uninvited.

“I don’t know why you all think Rurik’s going to flip his shit over a kingdom that’s not even his. But, if you expect bad behavior, he might give it to you.”

He looks like a Viking straight out of legend—well over six and a half feet tall, his golden hair glowing as if the sun still had a claim on him, defying the darkness of his vampiric nature. His smile is so open and unguarded, it’s as if he never got the memo that vampires are supposed to brood and suck the joy out of every room.

He crosses the space and scoops Sunday up like she weighs nothing. He spins her around, making her giggle.

“I was hoping you had plans for Elba. Tell me everything,solstråle.”

Is that Swedish?Great. Another damn word to look up because apparently every vampire we know needs to have their own nickname for her.

She giggles again, and two low growls echo in the room. I’m not naming names, but let’s just say I behaved myself. Stefan doesn’t acknowledge the wolf or the jaguar.

“Maybe we should consider not encouraging her to make twenty royals into enemies tonight, brother,” Grayson says, his tone dry.

Stefan ignores the warning. “More like thirty. Hudson’s plane just touched down with half the North American royals, and Clovis is expected any minute.”

I didn’t know Stefan could pull off the bratty little brother act, but I’m kind of a fan.

“Perfect,” Grayson mutters. “We were really missing Clovis’s calm and measured approach in all things.”

Sunday’s eyes narrow, her voice firm. “Grayson, I’m starting to feel insulted by your lack of faith in my abilities.”

Her pocket buzzes. A smile blooms across her face as she pulls out her phone. “It’s Daddy,” she says, her voice softening. She takes a step toward the open doors, then halts. Her gaze lingers on each of us, like she’s mentally taking stock of her pack.

“You let me tell Rurik,” she warns, pointing a finger at each of us in turn. “Don’t go gettin’ him all worked up.”

She steps onto the balcony. I watch her pacing, the glow from her phone lighting up her face. She’s laughing, and I try to peek in on the bond, but her shields are up again. It’s great that she’s not getting headaches anymore, but I miss knowing what she’s feeling without having to ask.

“Anyone else get anxious when Papa Prescott calls?” I glance around. Gray is watching X, X is watching Stefan, and Stefan’s playing with the pull cord on the ceiling fan.

“Just me? Okay.”Liars.

“Is her father in the mob?” Stefan asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. He sinks onto the small sofa with surprising grace for someone his size, kicking his feet up on the glass-topped coffee table like he owns the place.

I grab X as they walk past, and they let me pull them down beside me. No one answers. The silence stretches, and I realize not a single one of us wants to expose Sunday’s family to more scrutiny—not even Stefan, who’s practically an honorary member of our House.

“Really?” He presses, his tone more insistent. “No one’s going to tell me why…?”

This time, there’s no knock. The door flies open, and I instantly regret us breaking the chain last night. Rurik strides in, followed closely by Val and Aiden, crowding the already too-small room. Val zips around them to stand behind us. Rurik scans the room once, then zeroes in on the balcony.

Yep. He ignores his brother and heads straight for Sunday. I was hoping he might tone it down now that Gray’s back in the picture, but no such luck.

Through the open balcony door, the distinctive thrum of a powerful engine cuts through the night. Excited chatter and hurried footsteps echo from the hallway behind us. Rurik quickly closes the balcony door, a frown creasing his brow.

Stefan straightens up, his attention snapping to the distant sounds outside. Recognition flits across his face. “He had to bring the biggest ship he owns?” he mutters, exasperation threading his voice.

On the balcony, Sunday pauses her conversation, observing the spectacle below. A super yacht in matte black glides into the harbor—massive, multi-leveled, and sleek. The kind of thing a Bond villain would own.Of course Clovis would roll up in style.

Stefan sighs, his shoulders slumping just a little. “Duty calls, I guess.” He flashes us a quick smile. “Text me if we need to prepare for any… pushback.”

I pull X into a kiss, surprising them with its intensity, but I need it—to feel anchored, not splintering apart. “I’m walking Stefan out, then heading down to the beach. You’ll call if there’s even a chance I can help.”It’s not a question.

They nod, and I squeeze their hand one last time before stepping away. The second I let go, I feel the distance, like I’m already starting to fray.

---