Chapter 7 Distant Comfort
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?”
Tomas squeezes my shoulder before heading out to the balcony. I watch him for a second, then turn back to Sunday’s upturned face.
“And can you keep an eye on him?” I murmur. “He’s feeling… broody.”
She nods. “Yeah, we knew this might be hard. I’m on top of it.” Her smile is soft. “You’re a good daddy, you know, and a good friend too.”
“Yeah, well, I pretty much hate this. My animal wants me to grab Mishka and follow you around all night.”
“And I thought we didn’t want him to run away again. Give him a quiet night. Lord knows you’ve both earned it.”
I hesitate. “So, if I do this…”
“Yes?”
“If I leave you when I really don’t want to, you have to promise me we’ll talk about the demi-dragon tomorrow.”
I’m hardly the poster boy for confronting issues, but I don’t want Sunday getting blindsided when Silas shows up again. And he will show up.
Her eyes narrow, and I feel the sharp edge of her reluctance cutting through the bond. “I suppose, but I don’t see why we need to waste any breath on him.”
I pull her in tight, the weight in my chest easing just a little. “Because you’re his fated mate, and he won’t just walk away from that.” And yes, I hate that those things are true. That some twisted magic has tied us to a man who’s clearly nothing short of dangerous. A man whose very existence taints what should have been a beautiful, sacred bond.
“He’s not my anything.” Her voice snaps with snark, but the hurt underneath bleeds through the edges. “No, actually, he is something. He’s my attempted murderer.”
She laughs, but the sound is brittle. The bravado cracks a little before she exhales, her shoulders slumping. “Sure, we can talk about it whenever you want. Give Mishka a big hug for me, okay? I’m hoping most of the castle’s guests leave tonight after the Moot, and then we…”
Xavier appears a moment before Grayson. They both look flushed and smell… kind of delicious.
“Moot?” Grayson’s voice carries an edge. I give the pack bond a mental tug to get Tomas back in here.
Sunday just smiles. “Yup. Shadow made a good point earlier. There are more shifters and demons in the Western Roman Empire than vampires. So, we’re gonna change things up a bit.”
I watch Grayson, waiting to see if he’ll surprise me by being progressive or disappoint me by shutting her down. Vampires don’t share power with other races. I know it. Tomas knows it. And X? They know it too, but they’re a chaos-monger of the highest order. They just don’t care.
“Lover.” Grayson’s expression twists with discomfort, and for a second, I almost feel bad for him. “Your desire to improve the lot of marginalized people is… admirable. But vampires won’t submit to the rule of demons and otters. They just won’t.”
She smiles sweetly. “Well then, you can make them accept it.”
“Me?” He steps back, eyes widening, then cutting to Tomas as he walks back through the door. “I think you have an inflated sense of my worth. I’m not a royal. I was one of Texas’s lieutenants—and not a terribly good one at that.”
I barely hold in a laugh. Grayson, playing the “I’m a simple cog in the vampire machine” card. Classic.
Sunday closes the distance between them and pats his chest, her eyes glinting. She tilts her chin up, full of mischief. “Aww, babe, don’t sell yourself short. I’m pretty sure you’ve had some leadership experience, haven’t you? I mean, in your human life… you got around , didn’t you?”
Her sly satisfaction ripples through the bond, and I can’t help but grin. In an entirely expected move, it seems the history buff solved the riddle of the ancient vampire’s human identity, all on her own.
I’m not sure when watching Sunday knock Grayson Marchese around became the closest thing I have to medication, but it’s like a shot of pure happiness.
Gray pales, his gaze darting to Tomas, who gives a subtle shake of his head. He turns to X, who smiles maniacally, and then to me. I just shrug, all innocence, enjoying the hell out of his discomfort.
He clears his throat, trying for nonchalance. “I’m happy to help you, of course, but Rurik doesn’t care who I might have been or what I might have done. He won’t go along with this. Aiden and Bathory are likely to be just as intractable.”
“You let me worry about Rurik… and Aiden.” Sunday’s expression wavers, shifting from confidence to uncertainty. “It’s Bathory I’m concerned about.” You and me both, Sunshine.
Tomas shoots Grayson a pointed look before Sunday continues, “There will still be a vampire in Volterraio,” Sunday assures him. “They’ll just be part of a triumvirate.” She counts off on her fingers, “A demon, a shifter, and a vampire, with one vote each. They can caucus if they need to.”
She spins on her heel a moment before we hear it—a tap at the door has the shifters in the room turning to her for a reaction. She’s smiling, so it’s probably Val.
“Come in.” She calls out before turning back to me. “We got this. You go see Mishka.”
“You know, I think I’ll hang out for a few more minutes, just till Volga gets here.”
I give her a shit-eating grin, and she shakes her head and then rolls her eyes. “Want me to fix you some popcorn?”
The door swings open, and Stefan is already talking as he enters. His gift—keen hearing, sharper than most vampires or shifters his age—means he’s always dropping into conversations uninvited.
“I don’t know why you all think Rurik’s going to flip his shit over a kingdom that’s not even his. But, if you expect bad behavior, he might give it to you.”
He looks like a Viking straight out of legend—well over six and a half feet tall, his golden hair glowing as if the sun still had a claim on him, defying the darkness of his vampiric nature. His smile is so open and unguarded, it’s as if he never got the memo that vampires are supposed to brood and suck the joy out of every room.
He crosses the space and scoops Sunday up like she weighs nothing. He spins her around, making her giggle.
“I was hoping you had plans for Elba. Tell me everything, solstr?le .”
Is that Swedish? Great. Another damn word to look up because apparently every vampire we know needs to have their own nickname for her.
She giggles again, and two low growls echo in the room. I’m not naming names, but let’s just say I behaved myself. Stefan doesn’t acknowledge the wolf or the jaguar.
“Maybe we should consider not encouraging her to make twenty royals into enemies tonight, brother,” Grayson says, his tone dry.
Stefan ignores the warning. “More like thirty. Hudson’s plane just touched down with half the North American royals, and Clovis is expected any minute.”
I didn’t know Stefan could pull off the bratty little brother act, but I’m kind of a fan.
“Perfect,” Grayson mutters. “We were really missing Clovis’s calm and measured approach in all things.”
Sunday’s eyes narrow, her voice firm. “Grayson, I’m starting to feel insulted by your lack of faith in my abilities.”
Her pocket buzzes. A smile blooms across her face as she pulls out her phone. “It’s Daddy,” she says, her voice softening. She takes a step toward the open doors, then halts. Her gaze lingers on each of us, like she’s mentally taking stock of her pack.
“You let me tell Rurik,” she warns, pointing a finger at each of us in turn. “Don’t go gettin’ him all worked up.”
She steps onto the balcony. I watch her pacing, the glow from her phone lighting up her face. She’s laughing, and I try to peek in on the bond, but her shields are up again. It’s great that she’s not getting headaches anymore, but I miss knowing what she’s feeling without having to ask.
“Anyone else get anxious when Papa Prescott calls?” I glance around. Gray is watching X, X is watching Stefan, and Stefan’s playing with the pull cord on the ceiling fan.
“Just me? Okay.” Liars.
“Is her father in the mob?” Stefan asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. He sinks onto the small sofa with surprising grace for someone his size, kicking his feet up on the glass-topped coffee table like he owns the place.
I grab X as they walk past, and they let me pull them down beside me. No one answers. The silence stretches, and I realize not a single one of us wants to expose Sunday’s family to more scrutiny—not even Stefan, who’s practically an honorary member of our House.
“Really?” He presses, his tone more insistent. “No one’s going to tell me why…?”
This time, there’s no knock. The door flies open, and I instantly regret us breaking the chain last night. Rurik strides in, followed closely by Val and Aiden, crowding the already too- small room. Val zips around them to stand behind us. Rurik scans the room once, then zeroes in on the balcony.
Yep. He ignores his brother and heads straight for Sunday. I was hoping he might tone it down now that Gray’s back in the picture, but no such luck.
Through the open balcony door, the distinctive thrum of a powerful engine cuts through the night. Excited chatter and hurried footsteps echo from the hallway behind us. Rurik quickly closes the balcony door, a frown creasing his brow.
Stefan straightens up, his attention snapping to the distant sounds outside. Recognition flits across his face. “He had to bring the biggest ship he owns?” he mutters, exasperation threading his voice.
On the balcony, Sunday pauses her conversation, observing the spectacle below. A super yacht in matte black glides into the harbor—massive, multi-leveled, and sleek. The kind of thing a Bond villain would own. Of course Clovis would roll up in style.
Stefan sighs, his shoulders slumping just a little. “Duty calls, I guess.” He flashes us a quick smile. “Text me if we need to prepare for any… pushback.”
I pull X into a kiss, surprising them with its intensity, but I need it—to feel anchored, not splintering apart. “I’m walking Stefan out, then heading down to the beach. You’ll call if there’s even a chance I can help.” It’s not a question.
They nod, and I squeeze their hand one last time before stepping away. The second I let go, I feel the distance, like I’m already starting to fray.
I glance back. Being away from them makes the darkness feel closer, harder to push down. Doubts creep in, gnawing at everything we’ve been building—and I hate it. No matter how many times I tell myself things are fine, I just don’t feel fine. My gaze shifts to Sunday, and I steady. I don’t want to drift too far from that, too far from them.
Then I follow Stefan out the door.