Page 23 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Swinging for the Fences

— Grayson —

The cloying scent of jasmine and blood lingers in the throne room—a haunting reminder of the wedding that almost was. Turquoise banners with golden helms hang above me like a silent accusation. My folly,my weakness, laid bare.

Roxana’s net was woven from a thousand threads of ignored slights and unheeded alarms. For two millennia, the warning klaxons blared, and I stayed deaf—fingers stubbornly plugging my ears.

It wasn’t a single misstep that landed me on that dais, holding a poisoned chalice to my enemy’s lips in a farce of a wedding. It was an immortal lifetime of self-deception, a slow accumulation of complacency and denial.

As a human, I learned the harsh calculus of war—every victory tallied in lives lost. Being in command taught me that casualties are the price of ambition. But as a vampire, I sought the shadows, shunning leadership, content to exist in twilight, answerable only to myself and my chyld.

Sunday shattered that illusion, forcing me back into the light, back into a world where my actions have consequences. I still dread that weight, yet I wouldn’t trade it—not if it means having her, having them, in my life. Even with the pain and uncertainty, I’d walk that path a thousand times over to find them again.

Ah, but there’s no time to indulge in self-recrimination this evening. Tonight, we face a different challenge: choosing thethree leaders who are least likely to murder each other before we’ve cleared Italian airspace. Then, the real work begins—convincing the entrenched powers of Europe that Sunday’s new world order isn’t just possible, but inevitable, and it might be best to simply lie back and enjoy it.

Assorted vampire royalty and the Alphas from three Italian packs and a North African one stand in clusters around the room. The species divide is impossible to ignore.

Tomas stands with the last Italian wolf pack, his head bowed in contemplation. His fellow Alpha gestures animatedly—first to the room, then to Sunday. Across the hall, Sunday towers over the diminutive Francesca, who stands with the otters. Xavier, as always, is a silent shadow at her back.

Scion Sandoval arrived at some point today. The demon catches my eye and excuses himself before crossing the chamber with Virgil trailing behind him.

He shakes my hand, then turns as Virgil steps forward. “I understand you’ve met my brother, Corvus?”

“Your brother… Corvus?” Ah, right. Sunday had already mentioned this. My annoyance rises, but I keep it in check. She had warned me about this, but it still stings to see Virgil’s true identity laid bare. “I suppose I should have assumed the First Houses had a spy in court.”

The scarlet-faced demon frowns as Bane hurries to correct my assumption. “He’s not. We’re not aligned with them.”

I lean back, fixing Bane with a sardonic look. “Is the scion to the House of Sandoval playing both sides?”

He chuckles. “I know it might appear so, but I’m very much in favor of equality for all my brethren. If staying in my parents’ good graces allows me to work more effectively toward that end, what people think of me matters very little.” He pauses, his expression turning serious. “And it has given me access to your chyld.”

My monster surges forward, instantly banishing all humor. “You’ve seen her?”

Bane takes a faltering step back. “Yes, just yesterday. I delivered your mate’s instructions to her brother,” He chuckles, then clears his throat, “to get his ass home.”

“So she’s coming.” The ache to see my chyld intensifies, as does the guilt. While she was in Dae, I was here in Elba, wasting weeks—months, really. I failed her so spectacularly. “When?”

“I have a contact who can open a cross-realm portal in Xylia for them tomorrow.”

I nod, accounting for the time dilation in Dae. “So, three days?”

“Wednesday evening, after sunset of course, at the Prescott farm.”

I frown. “In Mississippi?”

“Your chyld is with Colton Prescott… I assume she’ll be welcomed with open arms.” He studies my face, his voice dropping. “And one can’t ignore the safety inherent in the Stymphalian bird making it her territory.”

“The what?” My monster growls low in my chest, primal unease stirring at the mention of this mythical creature.

Bane shakes his head. “Ask your mate or your wolf. I’ve no idea where she came from or when she’s leaving, but she’s very attached to the young girls, Sunday’s sisters.”

“And you’re sure… there’s truly a mythic shifter in Mississippi?”

“I am, and she makes me nervous as hell.” He chuckles. “I don’t know how much you know about them…”

“I remember enough.” Bronze feathers. Razor-sharp beaks.A memory for grudges that rivals even vampires.My monster stirs, uneasy.

“Well, I haven’t heard of one in the modern age, not in this realm. Sunday really is building an extraordinary…” Bane’swords trail off as his gaze drifts to the far end of the hall. The crowd parts, and there she is—Sunday—at the center, flanked by Tomas and Xavier.

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