Page 84 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

“Tomas, this isn’t the time. I’ll memorize it when it doesn’t feel like Gray’s about to come through a wall.”

The mechanism lets out a metallic click as it finally disengages, but the door doesn’t slide open. I swear under my breath. Thenew system has bugs—another damn complication we don’t need.

Tomas grunts, forcing the door up, the metal groaning in protest. I slip my fingers beneath the edge, helping from my side, and together we finally lock it into position.

Sunday is a blur of movement, and then she’s in my arms.

I catch her, holding her tight as she presses against me, her hands running over my chest as if checking to make sure I’m still here. She tilts her head up, eyes searching mine—a mix of concern and relief.

“You okay, baby?”

I let out a slow breath, her warmth seeping into me, easing the tightness in my chest. “I’ve had better risings,” I admit, “but things are improving.”

For a moment, I just hold her, letting the world outside this room fall away. I find myself drawn to the bridge of her nose, where new freckles scatter like stars across her skin. I tip her chin up and brush my lips against hers.

She parts her lips, her tongue tracing the seam of mine. I let her in, tasting golden honey mellowed by sea spray and green leaves.

I pull back, my fingers tangling in the curls escaping her braids. “I expected you to be angry with me this evening.”

“And I expected to wake up mad, but I didn’t.” She sighs, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Damn blood bond. It’s your get-out-of-jail-free card.”

The mention of the blood bond slices deeper than I want to admit. It is a cheat, and part of me hates myself for taking the easy road when I should be on my knees, begging for her forgiveness.

Tomas shifts back a step, his eyes lingering on me a beat too long. He glances at the floor. “I’ll give you two some space. I have a few calls to return.”

He turns to go, and a strange pang hits me. I don’t want him to leave. The thought unsettles me—my hand tightens on Sunday’s waist, needing her familiar solid presence to anchor me against the pull I don’t want to acknowledge.

“Wait.”

The word slips out before I can think it through. Sunday twists to look up at me, eyes questioning, mirroring the uncertainty thrumming through our bond.

I don’t know what it would look like—sharing Sunday between us, sharing him too—but the idea stirs something deep and restless.Intoxicating.

My monster approves, thrumming with anticipation, urging me to let go. Tomas waits, his presence like gravity, pulling me in. That raw desire coils tighter inside me, demanding release.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to step back from the edge. “Never mind.” The words scrape out. “Go ahead. We’ll talk about Louisiana later.”

His eyes narrow, a flicker of gold flashing between us. Something unreadable passes through his expression before his usual calm reserve settles into place like armor.

“Alright.” He nods and turns to Sunday. “Trouble, don’t forget we have business when you’re done here.” Without another word, he ascends the stairs.

The moment stretches like a rubber band pulled too tight—then snaps back. Sunday’s feelings tangle with embarrassment and desire before resolving the second the door clicks shut behind Tomas.

She watches him go, then turns to me, one brow raised in question. “Well, I suppose there’s no rush. You’ve been ignoring the man and his wolf’s needs for what—five years now? What’s another night?”

Her words land precisely as she means them to, and I flinch. She pats my chest gently, eyes sparkling. “I’m not trying to guiltyou into anything,” she teases, though her gaze stays earnest. “I’m just very aware of how badly you want each other, and how easily it could all be solved with a bit of courage and communication.”

“I’ll take that… under advisement.”

“Be sure you do,” she says, mock seriousness shading her tone before her expression softens, “Hungry, darlin?”

The tension eases, but it doesn’t disappear entirely. I’m still aware of Tomas moving above us—the dull creak of floorboards, the distant sense of him waiting, wondering.

Sunday pulls me down beside her on the couch with the effortless grace of someone who knows exactly what they want. She climbs into my lap, straddling my thighs, and sweeps her braid off her shoulder, baring her long, lovely neck. She tilts her head.

I’m not terribly hungry, but how could I resist such an enticing offer? Her scent, the promise of her blood—all of it makes my fangs ache. I dip my head, brushing my lips over her skin, and she shivers beneath me. A low growl rumbles in my chest, vibrating through us both as I sink my fangs into her, her taste flooding my senses.

As always, I want to push it further. Nothing feels as good as Sunday clenching around me while her blood slips down my throat in a slow, lazy trickle. Nothing sounds as good as her breathy moans or her angry little curses as I edge her for an eternity.

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