Page 69 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Colt’s eyes sweep the yard,. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he drawls, his grin slow and knowing. “Feels like I just strolled outta hell and right into heaven. Y’all must’ve missed me somethin’fierce.”

Then he turns, flashing that roguish smile at Vivien. “Now, don’t be shy, Crackerjack.”

Chapter Twenty Eight

Noogie

— Xavier —

My eyes stay fixed on the broodiest vampire in existence as I bounce Gemma on one hip, her chatter a bright, insistent buzz in my ears.

“I saw it, Shadow! I did!” she insists, her voice a mix of excitement and conviction. “She had this funny smile, and her hands were all flappy—like this!”

I glance down just enough to catch her wiggling her hands like flippers. Her eyes are wide with certainty, her tiny brows drawn together in serious concentration.

“She was thinkin’ ‘bout eggs, too. Definitely a platypus shifter.” She nods, solemn as a judge, as if this is the most obvious conclusion in the world.

“Sí, mi Amor. You should ask Mishka to shift into one…” My voice trails off as I keep my focus on the swirling orange light. I’m not listening well, and she yanks my chin down with surprising force, making me look at her.

“No! The teller at the Piggle Wiggle!” Her pout is fierce. “And Lily’s been hoggin’ Mishka anyway.” She sniffs, arms folding tight.

Time to redirect. “Are you ready to see your big brother?”

Her face lights up, and she nods so enthusiastically her curls bounce. Her words melt into a comforting background hum as my attention snaps back to the portal—and to Grayson.

He’s barely holding it together. On the surface, he’s the picture of calm, but underneath, I feel it through the bond—a storm, tightly coiled and ready to break.

I’ve been sending him a gentle trickle of chill-the-fuck-out since he rose. Just enough to keep Smoky at bay, to make sure that when the door to Dae opens, the only thing he feels is anticipation—but, not the dangerous kind that tends to go sideways when something unexpected happens.

The portal flashes into existence, shimmering and solidifying, and Gemma’s excitement spikes, her eyes going round as saucers.

“Colt!” she shrieks, her little hands pushing against my shoulder as she tries to launch herself out of my arms.

I tighten my hold, keeping her in place for just a moment longer. “Easy,Bolita,” I murmur, my gaze flicking to Grayson. He’s already moving, his focus razor-sharp. He needs to get to Vivien first, needs that moment with her before distractions—or tiny speed-bumps—get underfoot.

Gemma squirms like a live wire, her eyes glued to the big blond figure stepping through the shimmering orange gateway. Finally, I let her go. Her feet hit the ground, and she’s off like a shot.

She almost beats Lily. Colton barely has time to pull Vivien clear the threshold before they’re both barreling into him, tiny arms locking around his leg. He glances down, surprised for a heartbeat before his face splits into a grin—all teeth and charm.

“Well, hey there, little ladies!”

He scoops them both up with practiced ease, setting Gemma on his hip and moving Lily to his back, her little legs wrapping around him as she giggles. It’s smooth, effortless—like he’s done it a thousand times.

I finally get a good look at him, and huh. Colton Prescott is… kind of hot.

Blond hair, linebacker shoulders, and that shit-eating perma-grin. It’s not what I expected. Maybe a male version of Sunday, with her fire and sharp edges. But Colt? He’s Wade’s spitting image—rugged cowboy charm wrapped up with a smile that probably gets him out of all kinds of trouble.

And while I’d never say, “Gee, Sunday, your brother is quite the snack,” I’m not blind. Colt is…well, he’s something.

Gray is five seconds from Smoky taking over, and I increase that trickle of calm to a stream, feeling his emotions break against it like waves against a seawall. It’s messy, but it works. He steadies, taking half a step back.

And then Colton calls Vivien “Crackerjack.”

The snap of tension down the bond is instant, sharp as a whip crack. I struggle to subdue it, willing him to focus on his chyld, to let it go. And, he does, sort of.

He zips around the Prescotts, blurring Vivien away to a quiet spot in the shadow of the barn. I hover in my bonds, Gray’s emotions rolling through me like distant, choppy waves. Meanwhile, Sunday’s are floating up, buoyant and helium-light, bouncing against the ceiling of my awareness.

Curiosity gets the better of me, as always. I let my jaguar’s night vision take over and watch Grayson. He holds Vivien’s face in his hands, their foreheads pressed together. Relief pours off him in waves so intense it’s almost painful. Her arms wrap around his waist, her fingers digging in, and she swipes at her eyes like she doesn’t want anyone to see her cry.

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