Page 52 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

“Lover,” Grayson repeats, his voice a velvet thread in the air, this time catching Sunday’s attention as she peaks. She cries out, her body trembling in release, and the sound echoes through the room, a raw and unfiltered surrender.

She collapses forward against Ben’s chest, gasping for air, her hair spilling all around them like a veil. Strands of it catch on his shoulders, his neck, almost as if they’re reaching for him.

Her hair has always liked Ben, wrapping itself around him in his sleep, leaving him presents, claiming him in its own subtle way. Now, it spills over him, tangling in the sweat-slicked lines of his chest, as though it refuses to let go, even after the intensity of her release.

I feel the sharp twist of jealousy bloom in my chest, impossible to ignore. Not because it’s Ben—who’s more worthy than Ben?—but because her hair never does that with me, despite how often I wash and braid it. Maybe her hair knows. Maybe it can sense that I’m not worthy of her, of any of them.

Ben’s hands come up to cup her face, tilting her chin toward him as he kisses her deeply, his lips moving against hers in a way that feels reverent. They share a few whispered words—soft, intimate, their bond humming faintly in the background. Whatever he says makes her smile, a small, blissful curve of her lips that erases the jealousy and replaces it with happiness for them.

Grayson’s smirk deepens. “Come here when you’ve caught your breath. There’s still work to be done.”

She rolls off Ben, her limbs loose and languid, making her way to the end of the bed. She moves in that way she does when she’s drunk on pleasure, her entire vestibular system seemingly revolting, leaving her swaying like she’s navigating a rocking ship. It’s mesmerizing, a mix of gracelessness and confidence that only she can pull off.

I shift my attention back to Grayson as he watches her, his expression unreadable save for the faintest twitch of his lips—a silent acknowledgment of the way she owns the space, owns us all, as if she’s sharpied her name on the soles of our feet.

Then, his eyes narrow—luminous, inhuman, flickering with a hint of scarlet. They cut between Sunday and me with the precision of a predator assessing its prey, as though his inner monster is looking out, calculating, deciding.

His power feels like a weight in the air, pressing down on me and stirring my jaguar into a restless prowl beneath my skin. He doesn’t speak right away, letting the silence stretch taut, filling the room with the heavy thrum of anticipation.

Then, with the smallest gesture—a slight tilt of his head—he commands, “Kneel.”

Sunday moves first, her body still swaying, pleasure-drunk and loose, her knees sinking into the bed at the end. Her hair ripples behind her, catching the light like copper fire, tendrils weaving around her shoulders and brushing her thighs. Shelooks serene, her bond humming with contentment as she glances over her shoulder at me.

I follow, slower, more deliberate. My jaguar feels uneasy under the weight of Grayson’s gaze. As I settle beside Sunday, the tension between us feels electric—her blissful surrender contrasting sharply with the coil of restraint wound tight in my core.

Grayson’s steps forward, his authority filling the room. He stops just short of us. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “So beautiful and both of you, right where you belong.”

The air shifts subtly, cooling as his vampire nature rises to the surface. Smoke curls faintly from his fingertips, his eyes glowing with a dangerous light. My jaguar tenses, restless and wary, its growl rumbling through my chest as I fight the urge to look away.

Grayson circles us slowly, his footsteps deliberate. When he reaches Sunday, he tilts her chin up with two fingers, forcing her to meet his glowing gaze. “So pretty when you’re like this,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “Soft.Sweet. Ready to please.”

Sunday shivers under his touch, our bond thrums with a mix of nerves and anticipation. My jaguar snarls softly, a pang of envy twisting in my gut as I watch her lean into him. His praise is effortless, given without hesitation, and I can’t help but want the same, no matter how much I tell myself I don’t.

He moves to me next, his fingers slipping beneath my chin. He tilts my head up, his glowing eyes locking with mine, and the weight of his power presses against me, suffocating and thrilling all at once. “And you,” he says, his voice dropping to a near growl. “So tense. So afraid to let go.” His fingers tighten slightly, just enough to remind me who’s in control. “Tell me what you want, Little Cat.”

My throat tightens, and the words stick. Sunday’s hand brushes my shoulder, her touch featherlight, and something in me cracks just enough to let the truth slip through.

“I want it back,” I whisper, my voice trembling but clear. “We want it back.”

Grayson’s thumb traces my jawline, a touch so soft it sends a shiver down my spine. “You mean the shifter bond that you bratted into existence?” His words are laced with mockery, but his eyes burn with something else—something sharper, more serious.

“Yes,” I admit, the heat rising in my face. Then I add quickly, “But I can bite you someplace else this time.”

Grayson’s smile widens, his fingers threading through my hair lazily. “I think I should feed from our center first. I think that’s why it was possible last time.” He pauses, his gaze sweeping over me, considering. “But if it doesn’t work, we could still have a blood bond.”

His offer lands with a shockwave, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. A blood bond.With him.The thought sends my jaguar into a frenzy of emotions—desire, fear, and something closer to awe. “That would be okay, too,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.

Grayson hums, his approval unmistakable. His thumb brushes over my lower lip again, his touch both possessive and calculating. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice low, wrapping around me like a velvet noose. “Then let’s begin.”

Chapter Twenty Two

Because I Can

— Xavier —

“Your jaguar wants a bond,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Shall we give them one?”

Sunday nods, her lips curling into a soft, dreamy smile. She doesn’t hesitate, and that certainty makes something beneath my breastbone ache, makes my eyes sting, makes me love her even more.

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