Page 6 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Grayson holds out a short silk robe. I turn, letting him slide it over my shoulders. His fingers knot the sash loosely around my waist before guiding me through the darkened suite. His hand rests lightly on my back, and instinctively, my arm slips around his waist.

The door closes softly behind us, and we step into the empty hallway. It feels natural—like we’ve been walking like this for years. A familiarity we haven’t earned. A closeness we shouldn’t share. And yet, it’s there—with all of them. Too fast, yet undeniably right.

He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. “Rurik was out here… very recently.”

“Probably just checkin’ on us.”

Grayson’s eyes narrow, his expression darkening. “Well, I do hope he comes back… in twenty minutes or so.”

“Why?” The moment the word leaves my lips, I realize Grayson Marchese is making a sex joke.

I shake my head, but a small knot forms in my chest. Does he think…? The urge to explain rises, though I’m not sure why.

“Nothing happened between me and Rurik. I just want you to know that.”

“It wouldn’t change anything if it had.” His voice is steady—too steady—but I feel the tension coiling beneath it.

I think it would change things quite a lot, but I keep that thought to myself.

“Good.”

We stop in front of another door, and I hesitate, biting my lip. “Because I should probably tell you… if anything happens to me, I gave him permission to turn me.”

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He doesn’t respond. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, so I rush to fill it. “I’d prefer Valentine, but she’s too young, and so is Stefan. Aiden offered, but he’s such a dick…”

What I don’t say is that I’d really prefer him.But rules are rules.

Grayson nods, his expression unreadable, his emotions flattened, and turns the knob sharply. The lock snaps with a soft crack as he pushes the door open, holding it for me without a word.

“Whose suite is this?” I ask, peering into the darkness. Before I can make out much, Grayson turns on a floor lamp, the light pooling softly into the corners of the room. He slides the chain lock into place behind us, the metal clicking quietly.

I step further in, taking in the details. It’s smaller, a bit outdated, with dust gathering in the nooks and crannies. Nothing like the suite we’re in now—this one is less luxurious, almost forgotten.

“Xavier and I stayed here once.” His voice carries a wistful edge. “The bed is easy to make light-tight, and…” He moves to a pile of odd-looking cushions on the floor. “These fit over the windows.” He picks up a rectangular piece of black foam and demonstrates, pressing it neatly into the closest window. “Iwanted to spend some time with you before dawn, and I’m done sleeping in borrowed pods or Roxana’s quarters.”

I nod. Can’t say I blame him.

The bed is tucked into an alcove, heavy curtains flanking the opening. The pale blue plastered walls and ceiling lend it a quiet, cocooned feel—secluded and serene, like a retreat from the rest of the world.

“So,” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows. “Is this where the magic happened?”

Grayson arches a brow, his mismatched eyes—one hazel-brown, the other a startling aquamarine—glinting with amusement.

“There, and the couch… that chair…” He points to every piece of furniture he’s defiled with my jaguar—our jaguar. His smirk deepens, full lips curving at one corner. Dim light catches in his hair, blond threaded with reddish gold, subtle curls brushing the nape of his neck. He’s six-foot-four of solid, sculpted arrogance—high cheekbones, Roman nose, the kind of features that belong on a marble bustorat the head of an empire.

“Are you jealous, Sunday?” His voice dips low. “Or maybe feeling a bit possessive?”

“I’m not jealous or possessive about Shadow. When they showed up in Hibernia, it was obvious something had happened between you, and I was—I am—delighted.”

He’s standing mere inches away now, smirking in that infuriatingly sexy way that only he can, looking down at me so that I have to crane my neck just to meet his gaze. “Is that right, Lover? Were you delighted by the thought of being shared between us, or were you imagining yourself more of a voyeur?”

“Uh,” I respond intelligently, wiping the drool from my bottom lip. “I wasn’tnotimagining watching.”

He nods, his lips quirking upward, and runs his hands down my arms before intertwining our fingers. His gaze holdsthat same expression—somewhere between patient indulgence and overwhelming affection. It’s the unguarded softness, the vulnerability beneath the surface, that takes my breath away. The same gaze Alexander used to have. I can’t help but see it now.

I hesitate, catching a glimmer of something else in his eyes—uncertainty, as though he’s waiting for reassurance. And then it hits me; maybe he needs more than just the physical connection.

“I bet you have a lot of questions,” I say softly.

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