Page 36 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

To the north, a faint glow marks Memphis—a scattered constellation of lights on the horizon, distant but recognizable. Below us, the Yazoo River branches off, cutting through fields and forests like a glimmering vein. The closer we get, the more the land flattens, the dense trees giving way to farmland and winding backroads. We’re almost there.

The familiar bong, bong, bong that precedes a message from the pilot catches our attention. Tomas’ arms tighten slightly around me, and I lean back against his chest as the voice crackles over the speaker. “We’re beginning our descent into Holmes County Regional Airport. The local time is 8:35, and the temperature is a balmy 23 degrees Celsius.”

I frown, the numbers spinning in my head as I try to convert it to Fahrenheit. Okay, multiply by two, add thirty… no, wait—carry the two…

“Seventy-three degrees,” Tomas murmurs near my ear, his voice low and amused.

I twist slightly to glance up at him. “You’re kind of adorable when you do mental math,” he teases, his dark eyes warm with affection.

I huff, but a smile sneaks through. “I had it.”

“Of course you did,” he replies, his lips brushing my temple before he pulls me a fraction closer. “I just couldn’t resist.”

The pilot doesn’t bother reminding us to buckle our seatbelts, and Tomas makes no move to transfer me to my own seat. His hold is possessive and unapologetic.

I reach out to grab a stray wrapper from the table, shifting carefully to avoid disrupting his grip. We’ve been on this plane for ten hours, and even with Tomas’ constant tidying, it’s still a mess. Living together is going to take some serious adjustment. I mentally add “hiring a cleaning service” to our ever-growing list of expenses. Without one, Tomas and I will end up doing everything by default—and that’s how resentment takes root and thrives.

Ben sprawls across most of the long sofa along the wall, watching his son and his lover as they debate colored pencil choices. His hair is down, curling softly around his face, giving him an almost boyish look despite his imposing presence. When he senses my attention, he flashes me a full, double-dimpled smile that makes my heart squeeze just a little.

Tomas and Gray, on the other hand, are doing their best to studiously ignore each other—or at least pretend to. In reality, they’re constantly sneaking glances, only to look away the moment their eyes might meet. It’s anything but subtle.

Curious, I let my gift brush against them, and their auras lean toward each other, practically vibrating with awareness. The tension is almost tangible, a tangled mess of emotions neither of them seems willing to confront. Desire, frustration, uncertainty—it’s all there, swirling in a volatile mix that makes the air feel heavy around them.

I keep hoping they’ll figure it out, but the distance between them seems to be growing. Each unspoken word, each avertedglance, stretches the space further, and I’m starting to wonder if they’ll ever bridge the gap.

The closeness they once had is gone, replaced by a thick tension that clings to the air. Tomas used to be Grayson’s confidant, his go-to. Now, they barely speak. I wonder if I should sit them down and force them to face this tangled mess of desire, jealousy, pride, and fear.

I don’t want to overstep, but it feels like we’re standing on the edge of something precarious—a thin sheet of ice ready to crack beneath us.

The cabin door slides open, cutting through my thoughts. Rurik steps inside, Leon close behind him. I glance into the hallway, but before I can spot anything, Rurik pulls the door shut again.

“Where the heck is Val?” I ask—not demand.

Rurik arches a brow, his expression calm as he settles into a seat across from Grayson. It’s Leon who answers. “She and Stefan will be along in a few moments.”

Feeding, I presume. The flight crew is mostly shifters, and I guess they double as donors. I just hope they don’t leave the pilot too drained to land this thing safely.

I wonder why Val isn’t taking her mug o’ blood in here with us. It would be so much easier if I could just use a blood tie to get a read on how she’s feeling. It’s so much faster than tracking people down, having to talk to them, and waiting for something more than polite, expected answers—not that Val is particularly guilty of that. Honestly, I’m just getting spoiled. Bonds are too damned convenient.

Shadow gives me an exaggerated shrug, like they’re reading my mind. They aren’t, of course, but they have a knack for this sort of thing. They’ve already picked up on how certain people feel when I think about them. It probably comes from being anomega—keeping tabs on shifting emotions is second nature to them, so bond-reading isn’t much of a stretch.

Their shadow cat slips back out of my head with hardly a ripple, and just like that, visiting time is over. For a moment or two, I feel profoundly alone. Then I remind myself: I was born alone, and I’ll likely die that way too.Every moment of feeling otherwise is a gift.

I take a seat next to Gray, and he wraps a hand around my denim-clad thigh without a word. I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. His eyes flick toward Rurik, a subtle movement, but I catch it—a hint of something deeper beneath his usual stoicism. Tension, maybe, or something else he’s trying to mask. I could prod a little, the triple bond is powerful, but I like it better when he just tells me things.

And if I’ve learned one thing: it’s that Gray likes me close when his brother is around. Why? Now, that’s a lot harder to untangle.

Rurik finally acknowledges me, his gaze sweeping over my comfy flying clothes with a small frown. Then he begins, “Tell me what you know of supernatural politics in North America,Solnyshko.”

Oh, great. It’s quiz-bowl time. Fantastic.

“Well, Tomas made me a map, and I know the names of all the rulers,” I offer, shrugging like it’s no big deal, even as my brain scrambles to piece together anything useful.

Rurik leans forward, impatience flickering across his face. “Excellent. Who is your regent?”

I blink, tilting my head. “My what-now?”

He sighs, the sound steeped in long-suffering patience. “Who controls the territory you and your lovely family reside in?”

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