Page 73 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

He pushes off the wall, gesturing down the hall. “Let me show you the vampire level. It’s not as secure as your safe room in the Ruby Star, but we can…”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I cut him off, feeling a hint of fatigue in my voice. “Probably perfect.” It’s true. That’s how he does everything—his attention to detail allows for nothing less.

He raises his eyebrows, looking surprised, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leads me down the hall to a plain, nondescript door. Inside is a coat closet—a bare hanging bar, empty shelves, and a dim bulb that flickers to life as he steps in.

“So, uh,” he says, glancing back at me with a small, almost apologetic smile, “the way this works is you have to close yourself in.”

I step forward, crowding into the small space, close enough to breathe in his scent—apple and campfire—and feel the air around us warm.

I clear my throat, my eyes landing somewhere over his shoulder, observing the cedar-paneled wall. “Thank you… for this.” I let the admission, the unspoken debt, hang there between us.

Tomas presses against the back wall of the closet, and with a soft click, it pops out and slides aside. Behind it is a heavy steel door, a keypad mounted flush to the side.

“So, not the latest biometrics,” he says with a shrug, “but we can update that. I was just trying to make it reasonably safe and habitable.”

“I could spend the day under a bed or in a bathtub covered by a blanket. This is more than habitable.”

He gives a brief nod, and soon we’re descending a set of narrow stairs, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the walls. At the bottom, we step into a large, long room—surprisingly spacious, with two doors off to the side.

“So, two bedrooms down here,” he says, gesturing around. “There’s a nice bathroom and a butler’s pantry. Furniture could use an update, but honestly, this space was kind of the selling point for me. Twelve feet of solid rock on either side and a three-foot slab under the house.” He glances over his shoulder at me as we walk, eyes sparking gold, something warm and almost…proud in his expression. “We’ll have a fire suppression system installed by the end of the month.”

I pause, taking it all in—the walls, the safety, the thought behind every detail. It hits harder than I expect: the proof that I wasn’t an afterthought. That he bought this place with me—and Vivien—in mind. A knot loosens inside me, something dark and petty unraveling in the face of that truth. It’s a rare thing to feel truly considered.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I say, my voice rough.

He offers a faint smile, his eyes softening. “Yeah, well,” he says, not quite meeting my gaze, “I wanted you to have somewhere you’d actually want to stay.”

“How the hell did we get here, Tomas?” My voice sounds weary. “Nights like this, it feels like the whole thing’s unraveling, spinning out of my control.”

He gives me a tired smile, softening the new edges he’s carrying. “I get it. When I saw that townhouse you bought—I realized you’d been planning ahead without me. And, I guess I assumed we’d all get there together, somehow.” His eyes slide to the floor. “I went grocery shopping at midnight.”

I scrub a hand over my face, letting out a slow breath. “And I thought I’d get through today without biting anyone’s head off—metaphorically speaking, anyway—but look how well that turned out.” A bitter laugh escapes me, tinged with self-reproach. I can’t help but compare our reactions and find my own lacking.

He glances around, his shoulders tight, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. “Need anything else?”

I don’t answer. Instead, hunger seizes me—brutal and sudden. My fangs drop with a soft, mortifying snick, and the urge crashes through me: the thought of pushing him against the wall, sinking my teeth into his neck, claiming something solid andwarm—something familiar. It rises like a tide, drowning reason. A low, humorless chuckle escapes me, my gaze flicking to the cold stone walls, as if they might offer respite.

Tomas sighs, then begins rolling up his sleeve before extending his forearm to me. I stare at his offered wrist, tracing the tattoos I’ve come to know so well—strong lines, dark swirls, and a few scars threading through the ink, each mark familiar. He doesn’t waver. His gaze is steady, his arm held out like his benevolence means nothing at all.

“Here. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

I swallow, my gaze flicking from his wrist to his face. Hunger pulses through me, yes, but something else too—something deeper, tangled and dark, that I can’t quite push down.

“You shouldn’t,” I murmur, my voice raw. I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.

“But I am,” he replies simply.

Any thought of putting him in his place evaporates, swept away by pure, gnawing need. My throat is dry, and the hunger drums a frantic rhythm in my veins. We don’t do this. Tomas doesn’t feed me.

“Look,” I rasp, my fingers flexing, “I’m not going to turn down a meal just to make some kind of moral point, Alpha.”

A small, bittersweet smile rises on his lips. “Wasn’t expecting you to. Water is wet and…”

The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. “And vampires like blood.” It’s one of Ben’s sayings, and doesn’t it taste like bitter irony now?

The words barely leave me before my hand wraps around his forearm, my fingers pressing into the heat of his skin, feeling the subtle shift of muscle beneath my grip. My pulse quickens as I lower my head. The ink on his arm seems to writhe under my gaze, whispering an invitation, daring me to let go.

I bite back everything that isn’t raw, aching need.

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