Page 62 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Daddy kills the engine, and we all pile out, stretching and taking in the view up close. Tomas slips his arm around my waist, pulling me close, his thumb tracing faint circles against my hip.

“Go on,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear, a hint of challenge in his voice. “Tell me it’s not perfect.”

I lean into him. “Good luck with that,” I whisper back, my fingers curling around his hand. I tilt my neck to the side, knowing how it pleases his wolf.

I spin in his arms, fixing him with a pointed look. “So this is what you were all tangled up over?”

His lips twitch, but I keep going.

“You were worried Grayson had bought a better house, and you had this tucked in your back pocket the whole time?” I shake my head in mock seriousness. “I am never playing poker with you, Tomas Thorne.”

Tomas pulls me closer. “Well, it does sound kind of silly when you put it that way…”

I roll my eyes. “Or a little dramatic? Maybe,” I say, nudging his shoulder and wrinkling my nose. “But look at you, pulling off the surprise of a lifetime.”

He smiles, sheepish. “I just wanted it to be… right.

“It’s perfect,” I reply, giving his arm a quick squeeze.

We make our way inside, and I’m half-expecting it to be dusty, maybe even a little musty. Instead, the house feels open and bright—and though the floors gleam with years of care, it’s the kind of place that welcomes bare feet and muddy boots, too.

I trail my fingers along the walls as we walk through. The beadboard wainscoting catches the light, its natural woodgrain polished honey-bright. Not like Granny’s, where layers of thick white paint have trapped every bump and groove beneath it.

But just under the surface of my thoughts, something circles like a shark—a flash of long yellow gloves, and a bowl of pink, sudsy water. My heart skitters before I can reel it back in. Funny thing about panic attacks—once you’ve had one, it feels like they’re skulking around every corner, waiting to leap.

I make a beeline for the kitchen, bracing for dated wallpaper, a stove that’s seen the better part of a century, and maybe a sink too shallow to rinse anything bigger than a soup pot.

But instead, it’s… perfect.

The thought flutters, fragile and hopeful: I wish Shadow was here to see this for the first time with me.

I can practically see myself at the sink, washing dishes, catching glimpses of the kids running wild through the fields beyond the big bay window. It’s a simple vision, but it tugs at something long buried—a dream I’d decided long ago I could never have.

We spend the next hour wandering through every room. Each space feels ready and waiting—neutral colors, polished wood, and just enough furniture to make it feel like home without suffocating it.It’s a house that breathes.

Only one door remains barred. Hidden at the back of the coat closet, the vampire level is sealed tight behind a steel door, set to remain locked while Apollo’s chariot still streaks across the sky.

Tomas was planning a home for all of us. And maybe it’s in that moment, standing before the hidden door, that I realizeat least part of what upset him so much about the townhouse. Grayson didn’t buy it with the shifters in mind—not his “Little Cat,” not the wolf who sees him as a mate. They were never part of the calculus for what might be best for all of us.

I do love Grayson. But this… this is such a blind spot for him. And I can’t be the one always pointing it out. I want to. I want to go home and tell him to stop taking Tomas for granted, to stop expecting everyone else to bend for him. But if I do it now, I’ll be doin’ it forever.

Ben’s already waiting on the porch with our Alpha. It’s a good one, too—twice the size of Granny’s, painted with shiny lacquer. Instead of porch swings, there’s a whole living room’s worth of sofas and chairs, cushions plumped and a rug spread beneath them. They look like they belong inside, I assume they’re all weatherproofed.

Part of me misses the ancient porch swing and the scuffed paint beneath it. The ghosts of summers past, lazy afternoons swaying with the breeze. But this porch, with its unexpected luxury, feels like a promise—something new we’re building together.

Daddy joins us a few moments later, carrying four cold beers. We settle in, the afternoon light slanting across the yard, and I can’t help but feel Shadow’s absence like a weight on my chest. It will be good to get us all in one place. This divided feeling gnaws at me.

Tomas sits up, setting his beer down, his expression shifting. A seriousness settles over him, and I know he’s about to drop something heavy.

“Well, this seems as good a time as any.”

I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s goin’ on? Is this about whatever’s been making you scowl at your phone all day?”

He nods, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He turns to me, his gaze weighted with something I can’t quite name. “I’lltell Gray as soon as he rises… but the Packmaster in Vegas says there’s a rumor that Texas is getting married.”

My stomach twists. “To whom?” The words catch in my throat. “Tell me it’s not Roxana.”

“No, not Roxana.”

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