Page 68 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

“But, Daddy, Mishka wants to be a capybara!” she protests, dropping to one knee and clutching Mishka’s head to her, pinky lodged deep in his ear. He just keeps chewing whatever she’s been feeding him.

Ben chuckles and gives the aquatic rodent housing his son’s soul a quick scratch behind the ears before greeting the girls.

Tomas, meanwhile, scans the yard like he’s sizing up a battlefield, muttering instructions and snapping at our heels, herding everyone closer to the house. His eyes dart, calculating distances, clearly wary of where the magic might flare to life.

Grayson’s patience frays. “Tomas, let them be.”

“You didn’t see where they opened it last time…”

I leave the men to their territorial standoff and turn to my favorite emo-vamp. Val lingers on the outskirts, looking a bit lost in the swirl of chaos. I catch her gaze and soften my voice.

“Val, I feel like I haven’t seen you since we got off the plane.” I pause, my tone gentle. “Are you doing all right? There’s a room for you at the townhouse. And did you… eat?” The last word is barely a whisper, but she hears it.

Her lips curl into a small, grateful smile. “I’m well, Sunday. And yes, Sue has been… a most accommodating host.”

She glances toward the house, where Sue stands with her arms folded, bemusement in her eyes.

“Oh…oh.”

“There was a cooler of blood waiting when I rose, thanks to Rurik.”

Relief loosens the tightness in my chest. I nod. “Well, that was mighty nice of him.”

Valentine’s eyes flash with a glint of humor. “Yes, my uncle has been uncharacteristically thoughtful of late.Yourinfluence, I think.”

Cady shifts, clearly listening in. Her gaze catches mine for just a moment before darting back to Grayson and Val, her mouth tightening almost imperceptibly. A flash of memory hits me—Arcadia’s face, intent as she offered me that apple to save Tomas.

Sue steps in with a light laugh, a note of diplomacy smoothing over the tension. “Cady’s still… adjusting to our houseguests,” she says, her gaze flitting between Cady and Val. “Not the biggest fan of our vamps, I’m afraid. But she’s agreed to be civil, haven’t ya’,Shug?”

“Cady.” My voice carries a growing edge of wariness, the memory of Gray’s travel pod—smoking and mangled—fresh in my mind. “I will not be happy if you make anyone in my family uncomfortable. And that includes the vampires.”

Her lip curls slightly, the word “family” escaping on a derisive sniff.

“Yes. Family,” I reply, holding my ground. “My fully bonded mate, his chyld, and my dear friend.”

I glance at Val as I say it. She meets my eyes with a flash of gratitude, a small nod that softens her usual reserve.

Cady’s arms remain stubbornly crossed, her gaze drifting into the dark distance. I realize this might be the closest thing to reassurance I’ll get. But for now, it’ll have to do.

Tomas throws his hands up, exasperation sharp in his movements. “See! Right here!”

He gestures toward the center of the yard. I squint, trying to see what he’s pointing at. There’s a subtle shimmer—a patch of space just a shade brighter than the rest.

“They’re made of plasma,” he mutters. “Keep the kids back.”

As if on cue, a faint hum fills the air, low and vibrating through the ground. It builds, the pressure swelling until it feels like a physical force. A swirling column of orange light coalesces right where Tomas pointed, sending jagged shadows dancing across the yard.

The glow intensifies—pulsing orange veined with red, its edges twisting and writhing as if barely holding itself together. The air crackles with electric energy, thick and charged, raising the hairs on my arms.

Grayson shifts forward, every muscle drawn taut. His hand flexes—a minor tell, but enough for me to pin it to the surge of raw, unfiltered relief through the bond.He feels her approach.His eyes find mine for the briefest moment before snapping back to the swirling orange light. His focus sharpens to a lethal point.

Then, with a final surge, the cross-realm portal stabilizes. The orange glow solidifies, framing two emerging shapes.

Colt steps through first, turning to offer his hand to the diminutive figure behind him.

I drink him in—the longer hair, the short beard—scanning for injuries, my heart hammering. I know Gray’s doing the same.

They’re fine. They both seem fine.

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