Page 33 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

“If you have fresh fruit or cheese, we like that. Just make a charcuterie board. And, uh, one is a child, so cut everything into appealing shapes.”

His brow furrows slightly, but I’m not done. “Dinosaurs, flowers—he doesn’t like acute angles.”

The wolf blinks, visibly thrown. A bead of sweat forms on his temple as he stammers, “No acute angles… got it.”

“Excellent. Oh, and several energy drinks, too.” I turn on my heel, then pause mid-step. “And milk!” I call over my shoulder before zipping back up the stairs. I briefly consider sneaking back down after him… but he’s probably just protecting the vamps until they wake up.Boring.

Back in the cabin, Sunday is nestled close to Tomas, their heads inclined toward each other, voices low.

He’s saying, “Corvus sent me an update. There’s been no bloodshed. All the other contenders left Elba as expected, and the mage we hired is already working on strengthening the wards.”

“It sounds like we might have pulled this off,” Sunday offers, her tone cautious. “Did you let your contacts know refugees will be welcome in Elba?”

“I did. Francesca is already in contact with a French pack with an abundance of fae.”

Tomas finally notices me lingering. “Food?” His eyebrows draw together in concern.

“The flight crew is sending something up.”

The crinkling of a wrapper grabs my attention, and I turn to see Mishka munching on a granola bar, an apple already half-eaten beside him. I have no idea where he got them.

Sunday bounces back to the settee, her earlier tension replaced with buoyant energy. “So, what are we playing?”

Ben sighs, leaning back in his chair. “We have three choices: Risk, chess, or”—he tosses a yellow, banana-shaped bag onto the table with a lazy flick of his wrist—“Bananagrams.”

“I’m gonna have to pass on chess,” Sunday mutters. “Wade Prescott ruined it for me.”

Tomas’ head shoots up, his curiosity clearly piqued. “Hold on there, Trouble. How did your dad ruin chess?”

She gives him a long-suffering look. “I’ll set you up a game with him. You can experience firsthand what it’s like to play chess with someone who sees the outcome of every potential move.”

Mishka picks up the Bananagrams bag and tosses it into the air, the wooden tiles clinking with each catch. Ben’s smile broadens as he watches him. “Looks like we’re playing Risk, then.”

Sunday pats the cushion beside her, a clear invitation. Does she even need to ask? I’m already moving toward her.

As I settle in, her scent envelops me—a welcome contrast to the stale, recycled air of the cabin. Honey and sunshine, with a hint of something wild and untamed.

“Will you be on my team?” she asks.

“Me? Really?”

“Really. Otherwise, Tomas is gonna wipe the board with me.”

She freezes for a moment, staring off into space, then giggles.

“So, he’s awake?”

“Yup.” She pops the P like a bubble.

Tomas glances at his watch, a frown marring his not unhandsome brow. “Thirty minutes early tonight.”

I nudge Sunday lightly with my elbow. When she turns to me, I lower my voice. “Should one of us…” Goddess, this is awkward. “I mean, is he hungry?”

“I’ll survive.”

Grayson saunters in, wearing a sky-blue henley and distressed jeans, like he just stepped out of aDangerously Unattainablemagazine spread. He sucks the air out of the room, his presence so intense it’s as if gravity itself recalibrates for him.

My first instinct? Roll my eyes. Dismiss the whole walking thirst trap act. But my pulse betrays me—it’s a tell I can’t control.

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