Page 31 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

He drops to his knees, his tears falling onto the damp stone, mingling with the salty sea spray. “You were always there, Lys. Always. Even when I was a newborn with more bloodlust than sense. Even when I made mistakes… you never gave up on me.”

“Fuck.” The word escapes him, barely audible over the whirlpool’s distant roar. “I’ll miss you, Fader.”

With trembling hands, he lifts the jug and pours a handful of ashes. The gray dust floats on the water’s surface for a fleeting moment before the current pulls it under, disappearing into the abyss.

I step away from the onlookers—Val, Leon, Maximo, and Klassja—and move to Stefan’s side. When I offer my hand, he takes it, his grip fierce as I siphon away just a sliver of his pain.

Aiden steps forward, the last of Lysimachus’ chyldren to speak. I’ll be honest: he’s my least favorite. This isn’t the first time I’ve had uncharitable thoughts at a funeral, and I still don’t know what Lys saw in him. But maybe I’m about to find out.

His posture is rigid, his expression a careful mask of control. “You’ve all spoken about the qualities Lys fostered in us—his intellect, his principles, his thirst for knowledge. These are undeniable.” He pauses, his voice softening, a crack forming in his stoic veneer. “But without his belief in the transformative power of love, I wouldn’t be here today to mourn him.”

I straighten, my ears perking up. Love? This is not what I expected from the Hibernian King.

“Twice,” Aiden continues, his gaze distant, “twice Lysimachus loved his chyldren so deeply that, rather than witness their heartbreak, he expanded our family. He didn’t choose me because of a Maker’s call. He chose me because he loved Ricardo, and Ricardo, in all his foolishness, loved me.”

A flicker of emotion crosses his face, quickly masked by his usual composure. “We had almost two hundred years together. As a human, dying of a blood disorder, besotted with my mysterious lover, I could never have imagined such a gift. Nor could I have foreseen the even greater miracle of finding love a second time.”

He pauses and glances toward Val, who stands a short distance away, his eyes clouded with something like remorse. “And when tragedy struck,” Aiden continues, his voice barely above a whisper, “when I lost Ricardo—when we all did—Lys was there. He didn’t judge my actions, my anger, or my… mistakes.”

He swallows hard, his composure wavering. “Even in his grief for his chyld who, in so many ways, was the best of us.” I glance around the circle, catching Gray and Rurik nodding in agreement, and I feel a sharp pang of regret, wishing I’d met this vampire who left such a mark on their lives.

Aiden’s voice softens, a thread of raw emotion threading through it. “He helped me atone for my failures, gave me the chance to find solace, to rebuild my life. And in time, to be open to love again. It took years—decades even—to finally let go. To ‘kill that Buddha’ within me and release the weight of what was, so I could open myself to what might be.”

He takes a breath, steadying himself. “He may not have chosen me for the same reasons he chose the rest of you, but it was the luckiest day of my life. I will miss him more than I can say.”

With slow, deliberate steps, Aiden approaches the whirlpool. He tilts the earthenware jug, his movements careful and reverent. Lys’s ashes cascade into the swirling vortex, the gray dust lingering on the water’s surface for a single breath before vanishing into the depths.

The finality of it settles over us, a blanket of quiet sorrow—and, strangely, peace.

Color me shocked. I wipe away a fresh flood of tears, surprised that Aiden Argyros—of all people—has managed to pull them from me like a divining rod aimed straight at my heart.

Leon breaks the silence, his voice low and gentle. “We should get back to the castle.”

It’s so dark in here it’s easy to forget dawn is almost upon us. But dim light is beginning to resolve out of the shadows, the cave entrance softening to a muted gray. High tide has pushed us onto a narrow walkway along one wall, the water lapping closer with every passing moment.

Yeah, we need to go. Grayson might be able to weather a little sunshine, but the rest of them? Not a chance.

I pull Gray aside, lowering my voice. “Should we… should I offer everyone…” I grimace, struggling for the right words. “A sip? Just to make sure they get back safely.”

His fangs flash briefly, a flicker of instinctual irritation. “Absolutely not. Why would you even consider it?”

I shrug, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “They’re family.”

He rolls his eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Tomas told me you have a ‘thing’ for handing out samples.” Taking my elbow gently, he leans in, his voice a low murmur. “Come on, Lover. Let’s get out of here before you start playing sommelier.”

Chapter Thirteen

Risk Averse

— Xavier —

The jet engines hum steadily, a white noise backdrop to our surreal journey. This is my second ride on Volga’s flying fortress, and, honestly, the novelty is wearing thin. I could practically teach a masterclass on vampire travel logistics by now—travel pods, lightproof rooms, all the glamorous details. If someone had told me pack life came with a side of nocturnal freight expertise… well, I’d still be here complaining.

Volga’s jet, The Overcompensation Express (Ben’s brilliance, not mine), is as ridiculous as ever—shiny black everything, bird’s-eye maple accents, and everything reclines,everything.This time, though, we have the entire second level to ourselves until the vamps rise. I’m trying to appreciate the breathing room, even though we’re headed to Mississippi with sixteen undead passengers.

Sixteen. That’s way too many, in my opinion—not that anyone asked for it, but I’m sharing freely anyway. “Grayson and Val, I understand,” I grumble mostly to myself. “I’ll even give Stefan a pass. But why does Rurik need to be here? Or his whole damn brood?”

“X, I’m not explaining it to you again. You’re being what we like to call ‘willfully obtuse’.” Tomas glances up from the papers he’s been poring over—maps, maybe? Strategy notes? Whatever they are, they’re apparently important enough for him to ignore my theatrics.

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