Page 127 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

“Sunday,” he growls, my name low and vibrating through me. It’s thick with warning, edged with something raw. Almost pleading.

“You don’t understand what you’re inviting.”

One hand braces against the wall by my head, the other grips my hip—firm but careful. His fingers press tightly enough to hold me in place without hurting me.

My heart pounds like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, but the thrill of falling is stronger than the fear. The tension crackling in the air is almost unbearable, and I suddenly realize how far I’ve pushed him without even meaning to. But I want to see it. I want to see the moment the wolf takes over. I need to see him break for me. I want him desperate, dangerous, and out of control. I want to see the part of him no one else gets to see—the part that’s just for me.

“Alpha…” I whisper.

His breath hitches, like the word has burned its way through him. His head dips lower, the heat of his breath brushing my skin—a warning and a promise.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice rough, edged with desperation. “Please, please, Love. Stop me.”

Love. The tenderness in his voice is a blade, sharper and more dangerous than any growl or bite. It’s the kind of emotion that could devour me whole if I let it.

I swallow hard, my hands trembling as I lift them to his chest. “Don’t stop,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can think better of them.

He stumbles back, his eyes squeezing shut. It feels like something precious has been stolen from me. I clench my fists to keep from reaching for him, pulling him back, begging for more.

His chest heaves, breath ragged, his body trembling with the effort of keeping himself in check. I see it—every muscle wound tight, his control fraying at the edges. I don’t know if I want to help him hold it together or rip it all away.

“What happens now?” I whisper, my voice softer but no less desperate. The pack bed, the plan, everything else fades. All Iwant is for him to take me here, now, against the wall. Every other thought, need, and consideration feels unimportant.

His grip on my hip tightens, and I feel the faintest prick of claws.

“I’ll bite you,” he admits. “Shifted. My wolf… he won’t hold back. And the mating venom—” He pauses, jaw tight, his voice dropping lower, darker. “I don’t know how it will affect you.”

His eyes lock onto mine, unblinking. “I know what it does to shifters. Our animals take control. It brings our primal selves to the surface. We shift and run beneath the moon, hunt, and mate. It’s not something we can resist or direct.”

His gaze dips to my hand, where the engagement ring glitters in the lamplight. For a moment, his fingers hover near mine, brushing the cool metal before retreating. The ring is mine—a symbol of the love and commitment I understand.

But this—this raw, primal act beneath the moon—is his. It’s what his wolf needs. What he needs. To feel the same certainty I do when I look at the band on my finger.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “But you’re no shifter. I don’t know what it will latch onto—your magic, your instincts, or something else entirely.” His lips press into a thin line, and his voice dips lower. “What I do know is that it will change us both in ways we can’t anticipate.”

“Mating venom,” I murmur, my brain scrambling to categorize werewolf biochemistry in a way that makes sense. I file it beside vampire venom—because, honestly, what else comes close? For a brief moment, I examine the life choices that brought me here.

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “It merges our magic—ties you to me in a way nothing else can.” His voice lowers, almost a growl. “Once it’s done, there’s no going back. It’s potent, Sunday—an intoxicant, primal, and all-consuming. It doesn’t just bindour magic; it lays everything bare, throws us into a rut, and changes us fundamentally.”

The word hangs between us. Rut.

Ben’s mentioned it before—never in a good way, always something to avoid. Will it be like that time Shadow took me in the bathroom, leaving claw marks in the marble? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it—not the destruction, but the heat. I was a little out of my mind.

My pulse thrums in response, a steady drumbeat of anticipation and nerves. “And this won’t…” I struggle to find the right words, to step lightly around topics that might make him pull away. But in the end, I just say it—the last thing I need to know. “This won’t stop you and Grayson from bonding, will it?”

His expression flickers, like a gray cloud sliding in front of the sun—there, then gone. “I’m not sure that’s in the cards for us, Trouble. The bond between Gray and Xavier is already improbable. Shifters and vampires aren’t meant to form connections like that.” His voice is soft, tinged with something I can’t quite name. Not jealousy—nothing so simple or predictable. It’s quieter, like bittersweet reverence.

Sehnsucht. The word drifts into my mind unbidden, a fragment of memory from one of Professor Thorne’s many lessons. A longing for something untouchable—too beautiful to give up, too distant to feel truly yours. That word is Tomas, I think—this quiet ache he carries. I can’t understand it fully. Not yet. But maybe soon.

He meets my gaze again, quiet conviction in his eyes. “But I promise you, whatever happens between us tonight, it won’t change anything between me and your vampire.” He ends with a small, kind smile—fragile but sincere.

I let my empathy slip free, trailing its invisible fingers over him. His emotions brush against me like ripples on water. He’s okay. A little sad, yes. Patience fraying, but not desperate. Hiswolf isn’t heartbroken. He’s not giving up on Grayson, and he’s not using me as a substitute.

He exhales a sharp breath that shudders faintly, then straightens. The melancholy slips away, replaced by something sharper. Hungrier. His pupils expand, swallowing the gold in his irises. For a moment, I swear the air around him shifts, his form blurring at the edges—as though his wolf is just beneath the surface.

“Frankly, I don’t want to think about anyone but you tonight,” he says, his voice rough and layered with something deeper. Wilder. His claws glint faintly under the lamplight before he flexes his hands, the tips receding—but the reminder lingers.

“We can’t stay here,” he murmurs. “The bond needs the moon. My wolf…” He shakes his head, his voice dipping lower. “He won’t allow it any other way. We need to be outside, under her light.”

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