Page 26 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Noura nods sagely, and Sunday’s eyes bounce between us.

“Well, you and Ben—”

“No, no.” I cut her off. “Ben almost ate Maximo. My wolf is keeping a list of anyone who stares at you too long or smells a little funny. It’s not just X—it’s being a supe.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I can call them back, but I think Grayson’s handling their bruised pride.” Her gaze scans the room. “Can we get the otters to help with the table setup?”

Noura clears her throat. “May I help?”

Ah, Sunday’s got a new fan.

“Yes, please,” she says, pointing to a nearly hidden door. “There’s a heavy table through there that we need to drag up on stage. I think between the three of us…”

I interrupt before she starts hauling furniture herself. “Tell Gray and X to finish…” I glance over and see them glaring daggers at an unfriendly vampire—probably the Khan. “…socializing, and we’ll get you set up.”

Chapter Eleven

“The Justice You Deserve”

— Tomas —

The table is canted so that the wall supports our backs, and each candidate can address both us and the audience easily. Val materializes with pens, notepads, and a pitcher of water before melting back into the crowd.

Sunday decided the order should alternate: Dae, vampire, then shifter. Sixteen candidates, five minutes each, plus at least two minutes between… that’s a solid two hours. I check the time. It’s almost two. Maybe we’ll be in bed by five.

As if sensing my thoughts, I hear the unmistakable crack of an Ogre energy drink being opened, followed by the cloying scent of artificial mango and cherry. I have no idea where she conjured it from, but I won’t give her a hard time.

Weeks of disturbed sleep and nightmares have taken their toll. She needs to be sharp for the next few hours. Still, when we’re back in Greenbriar, things will change. She’ll have to let me take care of her—regular sleep, proper meals.The basics.

The first contender steps forward, a vampire with centuries etched into the lines of his face. Egyptian, I think. I brace myself for the inevitable resistance.

He launches into a polished monologue, singing the praises of the old ways—the vampire-dominated hierarchy that has ruled the Western Roman Empire for millennia. Some nod along, murmuring agreement, but I feel the impatience building among the younger vampires and the non-vampire factions.

He finishes with a condescending nod to Sunday, praising her “wide-eyed enthusiasm” before outlining his grievances with Roxana’s regime.

The next speaker is a powerful demon lord. I don’t recognize him, but Xavier clearly does. They lean forward, whispering something quick and clipped into Sunday’s ear.

The demon barely gets a sentence out before Sunday cuts him off. “Thank you, Minos. Next.”

Minos freezes, flustered outrage twisting his features. “We were told we had three minutes.”

Sunday’s smile is sweet, her words anything but. “Darlin’, you do have three minutes—to leave, before I let my mate dispense the justice you deserve.” She lays a hand on Grayson’s arm, a calm gesture masking a lethal promise.

Minos’s face contorts. “This is outrageous. Are we really allowing this? I will not be cowed by a human with delusions of grandeur or her shifter pets.”

His eyes flick to Xavier—and that’s his mistake.

Grayson is already moving, a blur of smoke solidifying into a deadly force. He materializes in front of the demon, hand plunging into Minos’s chest. The wet rip of flesh is followed by the grotesque sight of a still-beating heart in Grayson’s grip.

Viscera splatters the stage. Minos crumples with a sickening thud.

A collective gasp shudders through the hall. Some recoil in horror; others stare in wide-eyed fascination. The demons shift uneasily in their seats. The shifters, ever attuned to power, exchange knowing glances.

Sunday’s strength lies in her connections and her ability to inspire loyalty. Though she preaches peace and cooperation, she understands the language of power. The swift, decisive execution of Minos sends a clear message to the crowd: Cross her at your own peril.

It’s brutal, but effective. In this world, respect often grows from fear, and Sunday has just shown she doesn’t have an infamously powerful vampire as a pet—but as a partner and perhaps, an enforcer.

Sunday wrinkles her nose at the mess. Before I can stand, Val and Stefan are already hauling the corpse off the dais, and Grayson produces a handkerchief. He settles on the table, casually cleaning his claws, looking far too pleased with himself. Xavier, practically purring at his back, is clearly enjoying the show.

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