Page 29 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Xavier quips, “I’d be careful too if my mate was a demon.”

Sunday frowns thoughtfully. “Gray, are you all in on the lioness?”

“No,” he replies. “In truth, I prefer the otter—Francesca’s brother-in-law.”

“Alrighty, sell it to me.”

“It’s a compromise,” Grayson explains. “Not another Argyros vampire, but a nod to Elba’s history. The Eurasian otters have been here since the Moorish invasion. Now, they number less than two hundred, and their way of life is disappearing. They know the island, the castle. Institutional memory is important.”

“I love the otters, Gray, I do. But they’re not exactly fear-inspiring.”

“They don’t have to be.”

Sunday listens to the debate for a moment longer before raising her hand, silencing the room. Her eyes take us all in, “I value all of your opinions,” she says. “But ultimately, this decision rests with our Alpha. As the highest-ranking shifter present, the choice is yours.”

A flicker of surprise crosses Grayson’s face, mirroring the one I’m feeling. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. Xavier takes his hand, and a wave of soothing Omega energy washes through our bond. X hates it when Grayson and I are at odds—hell, even the threat of conflict between us rattles them.

I wonder, not for the first time, what the story is behind that.

I consider the shifter choice for another moment before affirming my earlier decision. “Niccolo. He’s local but not from this island. He’s a beta, so he’s unlikely to get dragged into dominance fights. I think he’s our wolf.”

***

Sunday says all the right things, though she sounds a bit like a LinkedIn recruiter: “We were truly impressed with your passion and dedication to the WRE.”

Later, she adds, “The competition was fierce, and while we ultimately chose candidates whose experience and vision aligned more closely with our immediate needs, we encourage you to continue pursuing leadership roles within your communities.”

And the final nail: “Your contributions are invaluable, and we hope to see you play an active role in shaping the future of the Empire.”

“After careful deliberation,” she begins, her voice steady and clear, “we have made our selections for the triumvirate leadership.”

A hush falls over the hall, every breath held in anticipation or indignation—hard to say which.

“Representing the vampire community, we have chosen Camilla Leathers.” A wave of murmurs ripples through the crowd, a mix of approval and surprise.

“For the demon representative, we have selected Corvus Sandoval.” A few gasps echo through the hall, followed by a tense silence.

“And finally, representing the shifter community, we have chosen Niccolo of Pack Sardinia.” This gets the biggest reaction by far. Picking a Beta to rule equally with a vampire and demon is shocking and more than one Alpha in the room scoffs in perturbation.

Sunday pauses, allowing the applause to subside. Her expression softens, a touch of sadness clouding her features. “Before we adjourn, I have one more request.”

“Those of you who share Lysimachus’ bloodline, I ask that you remain behind. We will hold a small memorial service in his honor before the day returns.”

Another hush falls, respect intertwining with the lingering tension. As the crowd begins to disperse, a small group of familiar vampires gathers near the dais. I know their faces well—the Argyros vampires stand together, their usual grace muted, the sharp edges of their elegance softened by grief.

Chapter Twelve

An Obol for the Ferryman

— Sunday —

We’re in a massive sea cave, lit only by a ceiling of shimmering, blue-green bioluminescence. Stefan claims they’re just worms, but that thought gives me the bad kind of shivers. Faerie dust sounds far more magical and comforting, and at this point, I think we all need a little magic.

The light from them dances on the surface of a huge pool of water that takes up most of the cave’s center, adding to what is already an otherworldly spectacle. Stefan walks beside me, looking tired—the kind of tired that neither sleep nor death can fix. He’s still grieving, but tonight he’s here, standing tall, and that matters.

I glance at him, letting the pulse of his grief wash over me, mingling with my own tangled emotions. I push a sense of warmth and steadiness toward him, a silent message:I can’t share your grief, but I’m here to help carry the weight.

The youngest Argyros sibling carries a simple earthenware jug we found in a dusty keeping room off the kitchen. Hastily repurposed to hold Lys’s ashes, it feels both too humble and strangely fitting. Grayson gave it a sniff though and chuckled, calling it appropriate—it had once held wine, and apparently Lys was a big fan of the stuff.

---