Page 18 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

I try to reconstruct it in my head. I remember the feel of her around me, and I’m instantly hard again. I was feeding, pushing her from peak to sublime peak, and then—

“Did I die while…” I search for the right words, but our Little Cat fills in the blanks like the nosiest wizard behind the curtain.

“With multiple parts of you buried inside her? Why yes, you did.”

“Shadow, stop it. You’re making it sound worse than it was.”

I’m horrified. “You were trapped under my corpse? For how long?”

She rolls her eyes. “I was stuck under you while you were… not animated, and it was maybe ten minutes, max. I called Shadow through our bond. Not a big deal. Don’t let them guilt you.”

She dismisses my worry with a pat on my chest and a kiss on my cheek. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry tonight, and I could use some food, too.” She slips through the curtains.

Almost immediately, my favorite Little Cat replaces her, appearing on top of me, clad in jeans and a brightly patterned shirt.

“Hello, Rucio. Did you miss me?”

They straddle my chest, pressing my head back against the pillow, then slide down my body, trapping my cock between us. I’m hard and still hungry after my abbreviated breakfast, but they don’t seem to mind. My monster obliges, sending a relentless stream of images—fucking the little jaguar, letting them claim us again.

“I did.”

Before I can think past the need, I’ve rolled them beneath me and claimed their mouth. The kiss stretches long and deep, aconnection I can’t bring myself to break. I pull back, panting. “May I?”

I drag my tongue along their neck and suck, hard enough to leave a bruise. They tilt their head in invitation. I pause to look at them—eyes closed, ink-dark lashes casting shadows against their cheeks. Their tongue darts out to soothe their swollen bottom lip, still tingling from my kiss. My mark stands out starkly against their sun-warmed skin, reassuring us of our claim. I bury my nose in their glossy black curls, now grown long. They’ve been in the sun again, and Gods, they smell good.

I master my bloodlust long enough to kiss them again, slower this time. Rolling them to their side, I pop the buttons of their jeans, savoring each little groan the button-fly earns me. Their tongue teases my fangs until they draw blood. The taste rushes in, their essence blooming through me.

They’re hard, too, pressing into my palm with only silky boxers between us. I slide my hand beneath the waistband, gripping them firmly—maybe too roughly. But their scent, their blood, and the decadence of Sunday still lingering on us both have my control fraying. They moan, and my monster stirs—I’m fucking purring, like a damn shifter.

Their eyes pop open, green and gold, pupils blown wide. I hold their gaze and give a few measured pumps, reacquainting myself with the pressure and rhythm they crave. My mouth finds their neck again, tentative licks building the tension. I’m edging us both, feeling them press against me, silently begging for my bite and release.

I press my fangs to their skin, delaying the inevitable. Need coils tighter inside me as my hand strokes them—pre-cum slicks my fingers, each whine and gush affirming their omega designation and nearly pushing me to the edge of control.

And then I know it’s time. I temper my venom, resisting the urge to launch them into the stratosphere. Their well-being outweighs my ego.

Sunday’s laughter rings from the suite beyond, followed by Tomas’ chiding tone, and then her laughter again—fuller, unmistakably affectionate.

As Xavier’s breath stutters, they explode across my fist, their body shuddering beneath me. At that exact moment, I sink my fangs deep and swallow. My monster purrs with glee, smoke curling from my fingertips as if he, too, wants to draw closer, to check on our jaguar’s wellbeing for himself.

I feed, luxuriating in Xavier’s submission, their taste, their scent. But even in this bliss, my thoughts betray me. A shadow creeps in—the wolf. No matter how hard I try, I can’t dismiss him completely.

Chapter Seven

Distant Comfort

— Ben —

“Baby,” she starts gently, “you don’t have to be here tonight.” She reaches up, brushing her fingers along my jaw, “Go spend some time with Mishka. Between Gray, Tomas, and Shadow, we have plenty of protection. We’ve got this handled.”

I frown. Is this how it’s always gonna be? A constant tug-of-war between my responsibilities? I have the sudden urge to talk to Wade Prescott—but I’m not sure if I need some fatherly advice or if I just want to know what’s coming at us next.

Ever since we found Mishka, it’s been chaos. Running, hiding, dodging vampires and dragonfire. He deserves a boring childhood—the wildest thing he should have to deal with is keeping up with his psychic cousins. I could pack him up and fly to Mississippi tonight.Maybe I should. There are enough planes on the ground that someone would take pity on us, probably be happy to have House Marchese owe them a favor too.

The thought should bring me some relief, but it doesn’t. It’s just another option I know I won’t take. The weight in my chest settles deeper, makes itself comfortable, it’s a dull ache I can’t shake.

Sunday wraps her arms around my waist, and I rest my forehead against hers. I breathe in her scent, try to absorb her warmth, but it feels like trying to hold onto sunlight through a storm cloud. The comfort is there, it’s just… distant.

“I’ll be right down the hill,” I say, the words coming out mechanical, like I’m just hitting my marks. It’s all performative. “If anything happens, I can shift and be here in a couple of minutes. Keep the bond open, okay?”

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