Chapter 13 Risk Averse
Chapter Thirteen
Risk Averse
— Xavier —
The jet engines hum steadily, a white noise backdrop to our surreal journey. This is my second ride on Volga’s flying fortress, and, honestly, the novelty is wearing thin. I could practically teach a masterclass on vampire travel logistics by now—travel pods, lightproof rooms, all the glamorous details. If someone had told me pack life came with a side of nocturnal freight expertise… well, I’d still be here complaining.
Volga’s jet, The Overcompensation Express (Ben’s brilliance, not mine), is as ridiculous as ever—shiny black everything, bird’s-eye maple accents, and everything reclines, everything. This time, though, we have the entire second level to ourselves until the vamps rise. I’m trying to appreciate the breathing room, even though we’re headed to Mississippi with sixteen undead passengers.
Sixteen . That’s way too many, in my opinion—not that anyone asked for it, but I’m sharing freely anyway. “Grayson and Val, I understand,” I grumble mostly to myself. “I’ll even give Stefan a pass. But why does Rurik need to be here? Or his whole damn brood?”
“X, I’m not explaining it to you again. You’re being what we like to call ‘willfully obtuse’.” Tomas glances up from the papers he’s been poring over—maps, maybe? Strategy notes? Whatever they are, they’re apparently important enough for him to ignore my theatrics.
“Come here.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because your energy is all over the place. You’re nervous. Come. Here.” He adds a touch of Alpha command to the last part, tilting his head to look at me over his reading glasses. Not quite a bark, but there’s enough resonance to straighten my spine. I feel it through the pack bond, and before I fully process what’s happening, I’m halfway across the cabin.
He swivels in his chair, still focused on the papers, and pats his leg. He wants me to sit on his lap? Well, this is new. Never let it be said that I turned down a lap.
I sit.
On Tomas’ lap.
His arm wraps around me like a seatbelt, and I lean into his touch. A purr rumbles in my chest despite my half-hearted attempts to suppress it. Is this sexual? It doesn’t feel not sexual, but it also feels… calming. Grounding. Something I didn’t realize I was desperately needing.
“I can hear you overthinking. Relax.” His voice is low, almost a murmur, but it carries. I feel it resonate. My body responds almost involuntarily, the tension in my shoulders easing as I sink into his hold.
Ben wanders into the cabin, Mishka trailing sleepily behind him. Mijo is rubbing his eyes, looking every bit like a kid who stayed up past bedtime. Ben sees us and stops short. His head tilts to the side in a very canine way, his curiosity practically tangible. Then he shrugs and starts rummaging through a cabinet by the large center table.
Mijo, to his credit, has no reaction at all to me perched on our Alpha’s lap. He’s much too busy prying a window shade up and gazing out at the dark water below, a look of true disappointment etched across his face.
“Do you want to sit with Ben?” Tomas’ voice rolls over me, soft and close to my ear. My body reacts instantly, a flutter low in my stomach that I can’t quite deny is edging into the sexual ballpark.
He must feel it—or, knowing him, smell it—because his chest vibrates in silent laughter behind me. He leans in even closer, his breath warm against my neck. “Tell me what you want, X,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. The tingling memory of his bite flares to life, and I realize with absolute certainty that he’s teasing me, and, that I’m getting hard.
“Nope. Nope . Not doing that,” I mutter, hopping up as if his lap had suddenly caught fire. “Uh, thank you.”
I toss him a half-hearted salute, desperate to cover up the flush creeping up my neck, and make a beeline for the other side of the cabin.
Sunday strolls in and stops short. Her eyes sweep the cabin, taking in the scene—Ben rummaging in the cabinets, Mishka with his nose practically pressed to the glass, and me frozen like a startled deer. Her lips curve into a smile. “And what exactly is going on in here?”
Ben starts to open his mouth, catches sight of Mishka, and wisely closes it again. Thank the Moon Goddess for small mercies.
I answer instead, striving for casual. “Nothing. Tomas is being boring, and I think we’re about to play a game.”
Mishka, the traitor, beams at me and cheerfully outs me to Sunday. “Xavier was sitting on Alpha Tomas’ lap and they were purring.”
“Oh.” Her brows lift, a spark of amusement lighting her eyes. “Were they now? Well, that’s… new.” She arches an eyebrow, her lips twitching like she’s barely holding back laughter.
Mortification floods down the bond from me to her, and she picks it up immediately. Her expression softens as she takes a step back, though the glimmer of humor never quite leaves her face.
She turns her attention to Tomas, a sly smile curving her lips. “When do we land, Big Daddy Wolf?”
Her eyes dart to me, gauging my reaction. I just know she’s going to be teasing me about stupid sexy Tomas for the next week, and the worst part is, she knows I know.
Tomas, unfazed, checks his watch. “We’re still over the Atlantic, but if the tailwind keeps up, we’ll be in Greenbriar before ten.”
Sunday pulls out her phone, smiling as she taps away. “I’ll update the troops immediately.”
As she types, her stomach growls loudly, an audible reminder of the hour. I glance over at Mishka, who’s starting to fidget and yawn. By the time we land, it’ll be really late for an eight-year-old to have dinner—and a hangry Sunday is not something I ever want to experience again.
“Be right back,” I say to no one in particular, rising from my seat. “I believe someone’s getting hungry.”
I head toward the galley, hoping Rurik’s people stocked this jet with more than just blood bags and caviar. Before I can get more than a few steps down the staircase, one of the flight crew intercepts me.
He’s a big, imposing wolf in a sharply tailored uniform. “Excuse me, sir,” he says in a clipped, overly formal tone that immediately grates on my nerves.
“Not a sir.” I wait a beat, letting him size me up. “My people are hungry, and they don’t like blood or fancy liquor—which is all you stocked in our cabin.”
He hesitates, clearly not prepared for this complaint. “I’ll have food sent right up. Does your party have any dietary restrictions?”
“If you have fresh fruit or cheese, we like that. Just make a charcuterie board. And, uh, one is a child, so cut everything into appealing shapes.”
His brow furrows slightly, but I’m not done. “Dinosaurs, flowers—he doesn’t like acute angles.”
The wolf blinks, visibly thrown. A bead of sweat forms on his temple as he stammers, “No acute angles… got it.”
“Excellent. Oh, and several energy drinks, too.” I turn on my heel, then pause mid-step. “And milk!” I call over my shoulder before zipping back up the stairs. I briefly consider sneaking back down after him… but he’s probably just protecting the vamps until they wake up. Boring.
Back in the cabin, Sunday is nestled close to Tomas, their heads inclined toward each other, voices low.
He’s saying, “Corvus sent me an update. There’s been no bloodshed. All the other contenders left Elba as expected, and the mage we hired is already working on strengthening the wards.”
“It sounds like we might have pulled this off,” Sunday offers, her tone cautious. “Did you let your contacts know refugees will be welcome in Elba?”
“I did. Francesca is already in contact with a French pack with an abundance of fae.”
Tomas finally notices me lingering. “Food?” His eyebrows draw together in concern.
“The flight crew is sending something up.”
The crinkling of a wrapper grabs my attention, and I turn to see Mishka munching on a granola bar, an apple already half-eaten beside him. I have no idea where he got them.
Sunday bounces back to the settee, her earlier tension replaced with buoyant energy. “So, what are we playing?”
Ben sighs, leaning back in his chair. “We have three choices: Risk, chess, or”—he tosses a yellow, banana-shaped bag onto the table with a lazy flick of his wrist—“Bananagrams.”
“I’m gonna have to pass on chess,” Sunday mutters. “Wade Prescott ruined it for me.”
Tomas’ head shoots up, his curiosity clearly piqued. “Hold on there, Trouble. How did your dad ruin chess?”
She gives him a long-suffering look. “I’ll set you up a game with him. You can experience firsthand what it’s like to play chess with someone who sees the outcome of every potential move.”
Mishka picks up the Bananagrams bag and tosses it into the air, the wooden tiles clinking with each catch. Ben’s smile broadens as he watches him. “Looks like we’re playing Risk, then.”
Sunday pats the cushion beside her, a clear invitation. Does she even need to ask? I’m already moving toward her.
As I settle in, her scent envelops me—a welcome contrast to the stale, recycled air of the cabin. Honey and sunshine, with a hint of something wild and untamed.
“Will you be on my team?” she asks.
“Me? Really?”
“ Really . Otherwise, Tomas is gonna wipe the board with me.”
She freezes for a moment, staring off into space, then giggles.
“So, he’s awake?”
“Yup.” She pops the P like a bubble.
Tomas glances at his watch, a frown marring his not unhandsome brow. “Thirty minutes early tonight.”
I nudge Sunday lightly with my elbow. When she turns to me, I lower my voice. “Should one of us…” Goddess, this is awkward. “I mean, is he hungry?”
“I’ll survive.”
Grayson saunters in, wearing a sky-blue henley and distressed jeans, like he just stepped out of a Dangerously Unattainable magazine spread. He sucks the air out of the room, his presence so intense it’s as if gravity itself recalibrates for him.
My first instinct? Roll my eyes. Dismiss the whole walking thirst trap act. But my pulse betrays me—it’s a tell I can’t control.
I glance at Sunday. She’s openly staring, her lips parting just slightly. And suddenly, I’m not just seeing Grayson—I’m feeling him. Feeling Sunday’s reaction vibrate through the bond, her longing hitting me like a sucker punch. It’s not just physical.
I’m jealous. Just a little. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever pull focus the way he does—if anyone could ever look at me like that, like they’re caught in a Xavier-centric solar system.
It’s a stupid thought, ridiculous and beneath me, and yet here I am, wiping at Sunday’s mouth like I’m not tangled in that same mess of want. Wipe your own drool before helping others with theirs.
She glares at me, clearly annoyed, but recovers quickly, turning her attention back to Grayson. “Hey baby, we were just going to play a game and have a nosh. How are you feeling?”
Grayson stretches his arms high above his head, his muscles rippling as he tests the limits of the jet’s low ceiling. His shirt rides up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned abs, the movement so deliberate it’s impossible to miss the smirk tugging at his lips. There’s nothing casual about it—he knows exactly the effect he’s having, and he’s reveling in it.
I notice the tight pull of his shirt across his chest—I mean, I’d have to be dead not to—and casually kick a leg across my knee, skillfully masking any reaction he might be pulling out of me.
Ben chokes back a laugh. “All three of you are ridiculous,” he mutters, shaking his head in amused disbelief.
Grayson ignores Ben entirely, his focus on Sunday. “I’ve certainly woken up in worse places,” he says, leaning down to kiss her. His smile softens, the edges of his usual intensity smoothing into something gentler. “And I’m looking forward to seeing my chyld—and no doubt, enduring her mockery.”
Sunday grins, her eyes lighting up. “I’ll just bet you are. I can’t wait to get my hands on Colt. Still not sure if I’ll be smacking him or hugging him, but—damn, I mean darn—I’ve missed him.” Her gaze flicks to Mishka, checking to see if he caught her slip.
“Daddy said Bane’s already called and set up a time for the portal from Dae for tomorrow night,” she adds, her tone shifting to something more thoughtful.
It suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea where we’re staying. The farm is Colton’s house, and last I checked, it was already packed with Wade, Arcadia, and the girls. “Is your father’s place still full of holes?”
“Nope. Much less breezy now,” Sunday replies with a little smirk. “He got the all-clear to move them back today. But honestly, the girls seem to be thriving on the farm. He’s not looking forward to uprooting them again.”
Tomas asks the question already forming in my mind. “So, where are we bunking down tonight?”
“The plan is to stay at the farm for now,” Sunday replies, a hint of worry creeping into her voice. “And then… well, I guess we’ll need to find something bigger. Something more permanent.” She pauses, her brow furrowing slightly. “Maybe we could start by looking for a rental? Just until we figure out what we’re doing, you know?”
Tomas reaches across the table, his hand closing over hers in a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, Trouble,” he says, his voice gentle and steady. “We’ll find the perfect place for all of us. Somewhere we can all call home.”
Grayson nods, his smile warm and easy. “Indeed. And we have plenty of resources at our disposal.” He winks at Sunday. “We’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
Sunday laughs, shaking her head. “I’ll settle for a roof over our heads and a comfy bed.” She glances out the window, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I can’t wait to be home.”
Mishka finally speaks up, his small voice hesitant. “Do you think… I’ll have my own room?” He doesn’t quite look at Tomas, his eyes focused somewhere near the floor. The question lingers in the air, fragile, as though he’s bracing himself for disappointment.
Sunday catches it immediately, her face softening as she turns toward him. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says gently. “When we get to our forever house, you’re going to have the best room—the warmest, coziest, coolest room you can imagine. We’ll make sure of it.”
Mishka nods, seemingly mollified. His small fingers dig into the Risk box, pulling out the folded map. He spreads it across the table, his brow furrowing as he studies the sprawling continents.
“Umm, guys,” Mishka asks hesitantly, his small finger tracing the bold lettering on the map. “This says Asia, but… I thought there were lots of countries here?”
Grayson leans in, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “There are. The map just simplifies things for the game.”
Mishka frowns, his finger sweeping across the wide expanse of Asia. “But it’s so big. How do you take over all of it?”
Grayson’s smile deepens, a glint of something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Well, I believe Alexander the Great once said, ‘There is nothing impossible to him who will try.’ He thought Asia could be conquered because he dared to try.”
Beside me, Ben shakes his head, muttering something that sounds like, “Of course he would.”
Mishka’s eyes widen, his lips parting in awe. “And did he do it?”
Grayson nods slowly, his voice softening. “He took more of it than most ever dreamed. But in the end, even he couldn’t hold it all.” His gaze drifts to the map, his smile fading slightly, as if he’s seeing something none of us can.
Mishka considers this for about point three seconds before grabbing a handful of brightly colored pieces. “Well, I’m going to try.”
Grayson’s expression softens again, his hand reaching out to ruffle Mishka’s hair. “That’s the spirit, little conqueror.”