Page 81 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Colt snorts from his spot on the railing, his grin easy again. “Yeah, well, that’s a Prescott specialty.”

I pull her in, wrapping my arms around her. My wolf finally settles, the need to protect easing as I feel the steady beat of her heart against mine.

“I just… I need you here, alright?” I murmur, my voice rough. “Just like this. Don’t run off like that again. Promise me.”

She nods against my chest, her arms tightening around me. “Promise.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” I mutter.

She snorts softly, her face still buried in my shirt. “Yeah, well, you love me anyway.”

I exhale, the anger ebbing into something deeper, more certain. My grip tightens around her. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I really fucking do. Now, let’s go get your vampire and leave your brother to his.”

I open the truck door for her, watching as she slides into the passenger seat, her expression contrite. The air around her isthick, the scent of overwhelm clinging to her like a second skin. She’s drowning in her thoughts, and before she can sink any further, I lean in—one hand braced on the doorframe, the other reaching across her.

The seatbelt slides over her lap. My fingers brush her hip as the buckle clicks into place. She opens her mouth, maybe to protest, but I shoot her a look. She rolls her eyes and sighs, long and exaggerated.

I ignore it, tugging the belt snug before I pull back, my eyes locking onto hers.

“Really, Tomas?” she mutters, eyes narrowing just slightly, though the corners of her mouth twitch.

“Humor me,” I deadpan.

Something about her sitting there, looking up at me with those wide, trusting eyes, makes my heart thud just a little harder. I linger on her face—the curve of her lips as they tug into a bratty smirk.

Just before I pull away, I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper.

“We’ll deal with your punishment later.”

Her eyes widen, her breath hitching. For a second, there’s only silence between us—the slow rise and fall of her chest, the sharpness of her inhale. It dances in her eyes: not fear, but something far more dangerous, something I know is mirrored in my own—Need.

Chapter Thirty Three

BCE Energy

— Grayson —

With Sunday’s bond and blood, the concept of being dead beneath the sun has shifted from an iron-clad rule to little more than a suggestion. And with this early rising comes an overwhelming opportunity for self-reflection.

I do have a great deal to reflect upon this evening. I could be thinking about smoothing things over with Vivien or apologizing to Sunday. I could be planning my sister’s demise or buying my Little Cat an island. But instead, I’m replaying my just-before-dawn feeding, trying to untangle these new feelings—instincts I’ve never allowed myself to consider.

The pull toward Tomas is becoming undeniable—raw Alpha power mixed with something deeper. It’s distracting, how my thoughts keep circling back to him. His scent. The warmth of his skin beneath my hands.

When he offered himself, it was with quiet surrender. And when my fangs parted his skin, it wasn’t just his blood—it was his wolf’s too. Through it all, a thread of trust burned steady and warm. A flame I didn’t realize I needed.

The weight of that trust terrifies me. But, Gods, it excites me too.

I watch Tomas care for our mate group—the quiet way he anticipates needs, holds space, carries burdens. And some part of me, a part I refuse to look at too closely, aches to be cared for like that.

It feels ridiculous. At my age, with my history, I should be able to stand alone, inviolate. I am the caretaker. I am the protector. But sometimes… sometimes I long to lay that weight at someone else’s feet, to let go of the control I cling to so fiercely.

And Tomas pulls that want out of me, drags it into the light where I can’t ignore it. It unsettles me, shakes something loose inside me that I thought was extinguished long ago.

I’m almost angry at how he’s taken over my thoughts. He was always meant to be at arm’s length—a useful tool, my right hand. But now, he feels closer than I ever intended, and that’s what scares me the most.

But there’s no time for these reflections now.I locate my phone—interior left jacket pocket—exactly where I know I didn’t place it before death took me. I’m sure it was him.

I skim through Tomas’ messages, my eyes catching on the one sent just before noon. I read it, then sit up and read it again, as if a new vertical alignment might change the meaning. It doesn’t.

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