Page 67 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

More than a few nights, I’ve just driven, feeling her rise and fall under my hands, chasing that elusive sense of clarity Daddy always said was just a long drive away.

Shadow’s arm tightens around me, their jaguar stretching across the bond, tail flicking as they search for the source of my agitation. The steady warmth of their presence is a comfort, their touch grounding me—but even that doesn’t unravel the unease coiling tighter with every mile.

Home.

The word should feel simpler, but the thought of seeing Colt is a strange, tangled thing. Joy and dread wrapped together, like an uninvited passenger lurking in the trunk.

Gray’s presence, however, is another story entirely.

He hasn’t blinked since we left the townhouse, his grip a vise on the wheel, eyes locked straight ahead as though sheer willpower can get us to the farm faster.

He turned down breakfast, claiming there wasn’t time. And while it’s not unusual for him to retreat into himself when he’s focused, there’s something different this time. His vampire side is creeping in, peeling away the human mannerisms he’s spent centuries perfecting. Even the bond between us feels sharper—like the raw edge of metal—as if he’s preparing for battle, not a family reunion.

Tension radiates off him like heat, sharp enough that everyone in the car can feel it, bonded or not.

Shadow notices too, their jaguar prowling the edges of my mind, bristling at Gray’s intensity. They might not fully understand a Maker’s bond with their chyld, but they sense the shift—the irritation and impatience surfacing in Gray’s silence.

The air between us crackles with it, a silent reminder that things are still far from smoothed over after the townhouse debacle. Shadow’s irritation lingers, an unspoken dare to do something—to intervene, to reach over and snap Gray out of this iron-willed silence.

But I don’t. Because this grand misadventure might have started with Colt, but it doesn’t feel like it’s ending just because he’s finally coming home.

I want to see him, to wrap my arms around him and hear about his time in that alternate realm, fomenting rebellion alongside a gorgeous vampire. His journey sounds surreal—maybe even more so than mine.

And yet… a heavy dread settles in my stomach.

I’ve changed. Has he?

Change shouldn’t be scary. Growth shouldn’t feel like a threat.

But somehow, it is.

There are bigger things to worry about—Vivien’s return and the havoc it could wreak on our House and Gray’s fragile relationships with all of us. Texas, scheming to drag Gray and Shadow back under his disgusting thumb. Roxana and the Council, lurking in the shadows like Chekhov’s gun, just waiting to go off.

And then there’s that fucking dragon.

But if I’m being truthful? My main concern is my brother. That he’s going to take one look at my new polycule and give me hell. No one—and I mean no one—can wind me up or cut me to the quick faster than Colt.

The Judge rumbles down the narrow road, and the pecan trees stretch overhead, their branches forming a shifting lattice of shadows in the headlights. Moonlight filters through the leaves, glinting off the Judge’s hood.

The air carries the smell of earth and pecan wood, layered with a subtle note of anticipation—like the farm itself has been waiting, just as long as we have, for its people to find their way home.

It feels strange coming back here at night. The farm is so quiet it seems to hold its breath.

When the house finally comes into view, its white-painted siding gleams under the weak spill of floodlights from the parking area. The red barn looms behind it, doors shut tight, a dark promise. Beside that, Shadow’s oak stands like a sentinel, its branches etched against the night sky.

It’s exactly as we left it. Yet somehow, it feels foreign. Like a dream half-remembered.

Figures move in the shadows around the barn—Daddy with one of the twins perched on his shoulders. Beneath the oak, I spot three silhouettes, their shapes backlit against the gnarled trunk. Sue’s blonde hair stands out, and the other two must be Cady and Val. I crane my neck, scanning for any hint of blood.No crimson stains yet, so it seems like Cady is mindin’ her manners.

The Judge’s engine cuts off, leaving an uncanny quiet. The low rumble of distant conversation mingles with the croak of frogs from the field pond. Tomas nudges me gently, his golden eyes assessing. “Ready, Trouble?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

I’m already reaching out with my gift, mapping the minds around us. I find two in the barn—both familiar. Lily and Mishka. Lily’s mind buzzes with industrious energy, while Mishka feels… unsure, but not unhappy. They’re all here, waiting, expectant. That familiar pang hits—the pressure to be something for each of them.

We pile out of the car, and it doesn’t take long before Gemma’s giggles shatter the stillness. She barrels toward us, launching herself at Shadow, who scoops her up with practiced ease. She clings to them, chattering excitedly. From the barn, Mishka—appearing as a capybara tonight—waddles out, Lily trotting alongside, her grin wide enough to split her face.

Daddy shakes his head. “Lily, we went over this… twice.”

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