Page 95 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Off to the side, half-hidden behind a flowerpot—a box.

My jaguar goes deathly still, all the lazy contentment of the morning draining away in an instant.

No address. No postage. The wrongness hums like a discordant note, low and sharp.

Unease crackles across the bond like static. Sunday tilts her head, catching my shift in mood, her gaze following mine.

“Everything okay?”

I nod once, short and clipped, my eyes never leaving the box. “Can you go inside, Amor?”

“Why?” The word is cautious, but she’s already moving—standing, stepping back, her hand on the screen door. Her gaze flicks to Ben before she slips inside, tension bleeding into her movements. “I’m gettin’ Tomas.”

Ben moves closer, solid and steady at my side. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. This is what we do—shifting from laughter to the edge of a blade.

I crouch, fingertips brushing the edges of the box. Not just searching for something physical, but feeling for the buzz ofmagic, the heat of a rune under the cardboard, anything out of place.

I tilt my head, inhaling slow and deliberate, my jaguar keyed up, ready.

Gunpowder. Poison. C4. Silver.

I’m listening, scenting—waiting for the first whisper of danger.

But there’s nothing.

The absence of scent makes my jaguar’s growl go from a low rumble to a full-on warning. Before I even need to call for backup, Tomas appears. I glance up, and Sunday’s just on the other side of the screen door, brows drawn tight with worry.

“We need to move it away from the house.” Tomas is all business. His eyes move to Sunday. “Stay inside with Mishka.”

She starts to argue, but a brief surge of Alpha command make her lips press together as she retreats into the gloom and safety of the townhouse.

Ben steps closer, reaching for the package. “Let me carry it.”

“No.” I shake my head, keeping my voice even. “I’m the only one here who can dip into a shadow and be across the yard in under a second.” My jaguar thrums beneath my skin, coiled and ready.

Tomas nods, his gaze assessing. “All right. But stay sharp. Just to there.” He points to the shadowed spot beneath the magnolia tree. “If anything feels off, we wait for the vampires to rise. Let one of them handle it.”

I give a quick nod, turning my attention back to the box. My fingers are steady, senses cranked up to eleven. In one fluid movement, I lift the box and step into the shadow of the railing, slipping back out beneath the tree.

The world sharpens. A bird calls overhead, its song a thin thread of normalcy. In the dried leaves at my feet, a beetle continues its tiny odyssey, oblivious to the danger hanging in the air.

I brace myself, breath held tight, as I peel back the plain brown paper and lift the lid.

And that’s when it hits.

The sharp, metallic tang—silver and vampire blood, so strong it burns my throat.

The world tilts, memories crashing in like a tidal wave. Farin’s broken body sliding across the floor, the foul water seeping beneath him. The cold laughter, the sickening scent of being hunted, cornered, violated.

Texas.

My jaguar recoils—backing into a dark corner, small and shaking.

Thank the Moon Goddess for the pack bond.

Tomas’ steady pulse of calm reaches out, wrapping around me like a lifeline. I cling to it unashamedly, sending back a feeling that’s supposed to sayall clear—but his response snaps back, sharp with doubt.That didn’t feel like all clear.

A moment later, they’re both beside me. I don’t know how they got here so fast, but their presence keeps me from spinning off to dark places. We gaze down into the box.

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