Chapter 14 Thin Ice
Chapter Fourteen
Thin Ice
— Sunday —
Granny always called airplanes “sardine cans.” She thought flying was terrifyingly unnatural—not that we did much luxury travel back then.
We flew to Florida once. I was six, wedged between Gran and Colt. Her fear overwhelmed my senses, making my heart race and my breath go shallow. I remember Colt’s little eight-year-old hand snaking under the armrest, finding mine, and then… blissful calm. He whispered, “Concentrate on me now, Sunny. Everybody else, they’re just flies buzzin’ in the background.”
I give Colton Prescott so much shit, but he’s always had a beautiful mind and the most rock-solid emotional base I’ve ever known.
A part of me can’t wait to sink back into that—Colton’s unshakable confidence and the way he manages to share it with me. It made moving away from Greenbriar hard, but I knew it was something I had to do.
For us to grow, we needed to live in the real world, not hide in one of our own making. Because that’s what it was—us and them. I see it in Gemma and Lily, too, the way they create a safe place to exist just by being near each other.
The point of this rather long story is that we’re headed to Mississippi, my brother’s coming home tomorrow, and it’s an almost physical ache to be back in a familiar place with familiar minds.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Ben, Shadow, Tomas, and Gray are family now, too. Over time, they’ll become as familiar as Sue and Daddy. But will they ever be the mental refuge that Colton is? Probably not. I have good shields now; I don’t need him that way anymore. But will I still wear my brother’s empathy around me like a beloved blankie the moment I set eyes on him? Absolutely, I will.
“Thinkin’ some big thoughts over there, Trouble?” Tomas’s voice pulls me back. He’s still smarting a bit from his epic defeat at the hands of a twenty-year-old strategic mastermind.
Meanwhile, Xavier’s jaguar is hanging out with me again, grooming himself with his eyes half-closed, lounging in that warm, dark space in the far reaches of my mind. I wasn’t born with an animal half, but these visits from Shadow let me pretend.
“No bigger than usual,” I reply, checking my phone. “Daddy and Sue are waiting with vehicles to transport us and all our baggage back home.”
“We’ll buy something to get around in tomorrow.”
I stiffen. “But we’ve got the Judge, and Colt won’t care if we use the old farm truck.”
“Sunday.”
I keep my eyes on my phone screen, hoping he’ll drop it. “Hmm?”
He doesn’t. “We’re all planning to live in Greenbriar, correct?”
I decide being a smartass is my best defense. “Well, I thought that was the plan.”
The Alpha doesn’t bite. “There are five of us, plus Val and Vivien. We need cars and homes and food and other things we can’t rent, beg, or borrow.”
He has a point. It might even be a good one, but that old poverty brain of mine stutters to life as I start counting expenditures. The numbers pile up fast: tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands of dollars. While Greenbriar has one of the lowest costs of living in the country, houses are still house-priced—and we’ll need a big one. I also admit, begrudgingly, that all seven adults will want to drive.
The panic that follows shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. I shove it down into the sub-basement of my mind and bolt the door behind it.
The shadow cat rubs a silky flank against my legs, e soterically I mean , he’s in my head and soothing me while Xavier draws with Mishka. They must be pulling double duty tonight because Mishka looks as anxious as I feel, and Shadow seems to be redirecting all that energy into the sketch of a sprawling treehouse big enough to fit us all.
Tomas watches me closely, waiting for me to dot the I’s and cross the T’s. Finally, I just blurt, “I think I’m gonna let you handle this,” then drop my gaze back to my phone, trying to wrestle my unhelpful thoughts into submission.
His eyes widen in surprise before he pulls me onto his lap. His arms wrap around me, solid and reassuring, his chest a steady wall against my back. I feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the rhythm grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. His scent—green apple and outdoor fires—wraps around me, familiar and comforting.
I catch a glimpse of the ink curling down his forearm, intricate lines and symbols that reflect his heritage. The black of his tattoos stands out starkly against his tanned skin. His eyes seem to darken, and a golden spark flickers—a primal glint as his wolf peeks through.
“You’re going to let me provide us what we need?”
“I think I might.” I play with his shirt collar, smoothing it flat. “Spending money makes me nervous. So, maybe I’ll just assume things are good unless you tell me they aren’t.”
He nods, his grip steady. “Could you promise to work with Gray to make sure everyone is sharing the load?” I glance in my vampire’s direction. Grayson is watching us, his expression unreadable. He gives a short nod before returning his focus to his phone.
“Trouble, I am so proud of you.” Tomas tips my head gently toward him and presses a kiss to my hairline, his hand moving in slow, calming circles on my back.
Through the small window, the moonlight renders the landscape in duotone. I spot familiar landmarks—the wide ribbon of the Mississippi River, silver and endless, winding beneath us, snaking past small towns and dark expanses of forest.
To the north, a faint glow marks Memphis—a scattered constellation of lights on the horizon, distant but recognizable. Below us, the Yazoo River branches off, cutting through fields and forests like a glimmering vein. The closer we get, the more the land flattens, the dense trees giving way to farmland and winding backroads. We’re almost there.
The familiar bong, bong, bong that precedes a message from the pilot catches our attention. Tomas’ arms tighten slightly around me, and I lean back against his chest as the voice crackles over the speaker. “We’re beginning our descent into Holmes County Regional Airport. The local time is 8:35, and the temperature is a balmy 23 degrees Celsius.”
I frown, the numbers spinning in my head as I try to convert it to Fahrenheit. Okay, multiply by two, add thirty… no, wait—carry the two…
“Seventy-three degrees,” Tomas murmurs near my ear, his voice low and amused.
I twist slightly to glance up at him. “You’re kind of adorable when you do mental math,” he teases, his dark eyes warm with affection.
I huff, but a smile sneaks through. “I had it.”
“Of course you did,” he replies, his lips brushing my temple before he pulls me a fraction closer. “I just couldn’t resist.”
The pilot doesn’t bother reminding us to buckle our seatbelts, and Tomas makes no move to transfer me to my own seat. His hold is possessive and unapologetic.
I reach out to grab a stray wrapper from the table, shifting carefully to avoid disrupting his grip. We’ve been on this plane for ten hours, and even with Tomas’ constant tidying, it’s still a mess. Living together is going to take some serious adjustment. I mentally add “hiring a cleaning service” to our ever-growing list of expenses. Without one, Tomas and I will end up doing everything by default—and that’s how resentment takes root and thrives.
Ben sprawls across most of the long sofa along the wall, watching his son and his lover as they debate colored pencil choices. His hair is down, curling softly around his face, giving him an almost boyish look despite his imposing presence. When he senses my attention, he flashes me a full, double-dimpled smile that makes my heart squeeze just a little.
Tomas and Gray, on the other hand, are doing their best to studiously ignore each other—or at least pretend to. In reality, they’re constantly sneaking glances, only to look away the moment their eyes might meet. It’s anything but subtle.
Curious, I let my gift brush against them, and their auras lean toward each other, practically vibrating with awareness. The tension is almost tangible, a tangled mess of emotions neither of them seems willing to confront. Desire, frustration, uncertainty—it’s all there, swirling in a volatile mix that makes the air feel heavy around them.
I keep hoping they’ll figure it out, but the distance between them seems to be growing. Each unspoken word, each averted glance, stretches the space further, and I’m starting to wonder if they’ll ever bridge the gap.
The closeness they once had is gone, replaced by a thick tension that clings to the air. Tomas used to be Grayson’s confidant, his go-to. Now, they barely speak. I wonder if I should sit them down and force them to face this tangled mess of desire, jealousy, pride, and fear.
I don’t want to overstep, but it feels like we’re standing on the edge of something precarious—a thin sheet of ice ready to crack beneath us.
The cabin door slides open, cutting through my thoughts. Rurik steps inside, Leon close behind him. I glance into the hallway, but before I can spot anything, Rurik pulls the door shut again.
“Where the heck is Val?” I ask— not demand .
Rurik arches a brow, his expression calm as he settles into a seat across from Grayson. It’s Leon who answers. “She and Stefan will be along in a few moments.”
Feeding, I presume. The flight crew is mostly shifters, and I guess they double as donors. I just hope they don’t leave the pilot too drained to land this thing safely.
I wonder why Val isn’t taking her mug o’ blood in here with us. It would be so much easier if I could just use a blood tie to get a read on how she’s feeling. It’s so much faster than tracking people down, having to talk to them, and waiting for something more than polite, expected answers—not that Val is particularly guilty of that. Honestly, I’m just getting spoiled. Bonds are too damned convenient.
Shadow gives me an exaggerated shrug, like they’re reading my mind. They aren’t, of course, but they have a knack for this sort of thing. They’ve already picked up on how certain people feel when I think about them. It probably comes from being an omega—keeping tabs on shifting emotions is second nature to them, so bond-reading isn’t much of a stretch.
Their shadow cat slips back out of my head with hardly a ripple, and just like that, visiting time is over. For a moment or two, I feel profoundly alone. Then I remind myself: I was born alone, and I’ll likely die that way too. Every moment of feeling otherwise is a gift.
I take a seat next to Gray, and he wraps a hand around my denim-clad thigh without a word. I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. His eyes flick toward Rurik, a subtle movement, but I catch it—a hint of something deeper beneath his usual stoicism. Tension, maybe, or something else he’s trying to mask. I could prod a little, the triple bond is powerful, but I like it better when he just tells me things.
And if I’ve learned one thing: it’s that Gray likes me close when his brother is around. Why? Now, that’s a lot harder to untangle.
Rurik finally acknowledges me, his gaze sweeping over my comfy flying clothes with a small frown. Then he begins, “Tell me what you know of supernatural politics in North America, Solnyshko. ”
Oh, great. It’s quiz-bowl time. Fantastic.
“Well, Tomas made me a map, and I know the names of all the rulers,” I offer, shrugging like it’s no big deal, even as my brain scrambles to piece together anything useful.
Rurik leans forward, impatience flickering across his face. “Excellent. Who is your regent?”
I blink, tilting my head. “My what-now?”
He sighs, the sound steeped in long-suffering patience. “Who controls the territory you and your lovely family reside in?”
I frown, wracking my brain. “Umm, I guess we’d be part of the… Louisiana Purchase-shaped one?”
Rurik’s lips twitch, but he manages to maintain his composure. “The Louisiana Territories, yes. Your Queen is Sylvie DuFour.”
Crossing my arms, I quip, “Well, no offense to Ms. DuFour, but she ain’t my queen—nor any of my family’s.”
Rurik exhales a breath of pure consternation. “Grayson, perhaps you can explain the reality of our situation to your bonded.”
Grayson leans back, arms draped casually over the armrests, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh no. I think I’d like to watch you tangle with your ‘Little Sun.’ I can’t imagine she’ll become more agreeable once she’s your chyld.”
There’s humor in his tone, but I feel something else beneath it—jealousy, maybe, sharp and raw. The tension pulses down our bond, brimming with something unspoken.
I take a slow breath and send him calm, wrapping a gentle warmth around the jagged edge of his emotions, hoping to smooth it out. His shoulders ease just slightly, though I can tell the storm isn’t entirely gone.
“Trouble,” Tomas begins, ignoring the vampires entirely. “Your family is technically under the rule of Sylvie DuFour. As supes, you can’t opt out just because you haven’t presented yourselves to her in New Orleans. You’re unregistered. With all of us moving to Greenbriar while the dust settles in Elba… you can’t continue to fly under the radar.”
I sigh, rubbing my temple. “All right, someone bottom-line it for me. Are we going to owe back taxes? Is she a threat to the twins? Can I go make nice with her, and she’ll let us disappear back into obscurity?”
Tomas scratches at his stubbly beard, his voice resigned. “Bottom line? She’s not going to like Grayson residing in her territory, and she may deny our request to live here.”
Grayson stiffens beside me, his jaw tightening. “I hardly think I’m her biggest concern.”
Tomas starts to argue, but something clicks in my mind. “Does she know about Daddy and the twins? Does she know about Arcadia?”
Rurik and Leon speak almost simultaneously, their voices overlapping. “Who is Arcadia?”
Grayson’s attention sharpens on me, and I feel the weight of Ben and Shadow leaning forward expectantly, like they’ve been waiting for this moment. But why?
“She’s a shifter who was trapped out in the woods behind our family’s farm.”
“What kind of shifter?” from Grayson, and “Trapped?” from Rurik hit me at the same time. I raise my hands, cutting them both off. “Okay, I’ll explain.”
Val and Stefan enter, leaning casually against the backs of the occupied seats. The cabin isn’t cramped, but with all these big energies pressing in, it feels like the walls are closing in on me.
“Every single one of you has to promise this stays in our House—bloodline, whatever the fiddly-fuck you want to call it.” My eyes sweep over the room, my voice firm and unyielding. “I don’t want to threaten you, but consider it implicit. I don’t mess around where my family is concerned.”
Nods ripple through the group, Shadow’s and Ben’s approval anchoring me. Mishka’s still drawing, his hand moving steadily over the page, but his attention is locked on me, completely riveted.
Fuck. I said fuck again, didn’t I?
“My little sisters are five years old, and we very recently discovered that they’re psychic. They can read minds.” There’s shifting behind me, a few whispers, but I press on. “My father gets feelings about outcomes. He describes it as a kind of synesthesia—textures and tastes, good ones and bad ones. He’s worked hard to keep attention off us, so your vampire queen taking an interest is pretty much his worst nightmare.”
Rurik’s eyes narrow, his expression brimming with questions. I cut him off before he can ask.
“Arcadia,” I continue, “is probably a Hesperide. And if they can shift into big metal birds, then yeah, she definitely is.”
Rurik’s mouth drops open. “She’s a Stymphalian shifter?”
No explosion of surprise from Grayson through the bond. Someone’s been catching him up. I hope it was Tomas.
Ben leans forward, his tone measured and careful. “When we rescued her, she was in a tree. So probably part dryad, too.”
“In a tree?”
“There was a flood.”
Rurik waits for more, but Ben just smiles, a knowing curve to his lips that answers nothing.
Rurik turns to Tomas. “How…?”
Tomas shakes his head. “I don’t know how. But whatever she is, she has issues with vampires. She believes Sunday and the twins are part of her matrilineal line.”
I know three of us are thinking about the time Cady blew up Grayson’s travel pod with her magic. Not exactly a friendly act.
Rurik exhales a long, frustrated sigh, his fingers pressing against his temples. “So what are we walking into?”
I smirk, sharp-edged. “You’re not walking into anything because you’re not getting off this plane.” Something about Rurik always brings out my need to push back. He’s just so damn sure of himself.
“I most certainly am going to greet your father and any other Prescotts present.” Rurik straightens, chin lifting, daring me to challenge him.
“Why, so you can get one of your very own?” I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward.
“Why would I need to do that, Solnyshko, when you’ve already agreed to become mine?” His smile is cold, his eyes narrowing with amusement.
“You know what? I take it back.” I wave a hand, my voice dripping with mock indifference. “You no longer have my permission to turn me. I’ll find someone else, thanks.”
“You don’t mean that.” He studies me, and when he sees I absolutely do, his composure cracks ever so slightly. He turns to Grayson. “Grayson, talk some sense into her.”
Grayson laughs, low and unhurried. “No.” He pauses, then adds with a hint of seriousness, “I do think introducing him to your father—just your father—is smart.”
I scowl. “Why? So he can turn my Daddy and see if he’s extra delicious?”
Rurik interrupts, his voice firm. “Killing or turning humans isn’t something I consider harmless, Sunday. I gave you my word, and I mean it.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through his otherwise calm exterior. “We land in ten minutes. Will you at least listen to what I have to say before deciding I’m unwelcome near your family?”
I cross my arms, mulishly. “Fine. Start talking.”
“You’re in a very vulnerable position.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Shadow nudges me, jerking his chin toward Rurik, silently urging me to listen. I bite back my retort, turning back to the pompous vampire with a reluctant nod for him to continue.
“To Louisiana and the Supernatural Council, you look like an unknown supe bonded and mated to a very powerful group—the notoriously difficult Marchese, his wolf, a renowned true shifter, and an Omega jaguar.”
He pauses, his expression darkening. “And let’s hope the implications of the dragon incident never go public.” He leans forward, his tone heavy. “You’re in her backyard, stirring things up, gathering power. How do you think she’ll react to that?”
“I’m guessing I won’t be invited for tea?” I say tartly, then ask the million-dollar question. “But why are you here? Won’t DuFour see you and your chyldren as more proof that I’m dangerous?”
“Hopefully.”
I blink, shaking my head as I turn to Tomas. “Explain.”
Rurik cedes the floor—a rare point in his favor.
Tomas takes a breath, but I hold up a hand. “And explain it in a way that doesn’t make me feel like I’m back in school, please.”
He sighs, giving me a look that’s equal parts exasperation and affection. “You’re seen as part of the Argyros line now, which gives us some backing.” His expression hardens, the softness giving way to steely resolve. “But your family is in danger because of what happened in Europe. Louisiana, Texas, and the Council—they’re all going to see us as a threat. We need a plan.”
Just as he starts outlining the finer points, it hits me: this conversation is better suited for the house, away from little ears and this increasingly claustrophobic cabin.
“Let’s pick this up when we get home,” I interrupt, cutting through Tomas’ strategic flow. “We need space and time to come up with a strategy—not while we’re crammed on a plane.”
The words barely leave my mouth before the wheels touch down, the sudden jolt snapping me back to the moment. My eyes drift to the edge of the tarmac, where my family waits—the family I’ve just put in more danger than they can imagine.