Chapter 19 On a Sunday
Chapter Nineteen
On a Sunday
— Grayson —
The real estate agent hardly paused on the room during the hurried virtual tour. I remember scoffing at the bed as she walked through, her camera quickly panning the space. I could already hear Vivien’s voice in my head, dripping with sarcasm. “ A round bed? What’s next—a champagne glass bathtub? Niagara Falls honeymoon chic? ” She’d wrinkle her nose and give me that look—like I’d made a grand mistake.
But this time, it won’t matter. She can sneer and mock all she wants, but it won’t change the fact that this house, this space, these people, are mine now.
Still, a knot forms in my stomach as I picture her sizing up Sunday and Shadow, dismissing them with that sharp tongue of hers. She’s never been subtle about what she thinks of people she considers beneath her, and I know exactly what she’ll see—a venom addict and a country bumpkin.
The old me might’ve let it slide, would’ve been too weary or apathetic to challenge her. But Sunday isn’t just another fleeting connection—she’s my mate. My bonded. The vampire equivalent of a wife, tied to me in blood, body, and soul. And Shadow? They’ve burrowed into the spaces of me I thought long dead, coaxing out things I didn’t know I still had to give.
If Vivien can’t see that—or worse, refuses to try—I’ll have no choice but to be stern with her. For the first time in centuries, I’ll draw a line. And if she crosses it, well…
It’s a concern for tomorrow, but one that weighs heavier than I’d like.
Still, it’s hard to fret about the future with two such beguiling mates in the present, offered up like two especially delicious gifts. Shadow sprawls across the bed, their tanned skin glowing warmly under the lights—all loose-limbed elegance and coiled energy, like a predator at rest. The kohl smeared around their eyes—reminding me of lovers from a distant life—stirs something deep within me. It’s an inescapable pull, the need to see them rendered beautifully disheveled, transformed into a delectable slattern mess.
The way they look at me now—knowing, almost daring—makes my monster stir, a ripple of heat settling low in my chest. But beneath that pull, there’s an ache, a hollow place where our bond used to be. My monster feels it keenly, the absence of their shadow cat a gnawing emptiness that refuses to fade.
I used to resent that bond, the way it snapped into place without warning, without choice. It felt like a violation, a tether I hadn’t asked for. But over time, it became something vital—something I craved. That low, rumbling presence of the jaguar wrapped around my own monstrous edges, soothing the chaos within me.
Now, that absence leaves me restless. It’s not just my monster that misses them; it’s me. But rebonding isn’t simple. Xavier’s past with venom addiction complicates everything. What if trying to reconnect risks slipping back into those traps? And what if we fail, and it breaks something precious beyond repair?
The first bond had been an accident—Sunday’s magic and pure chance. A happy accident. To force it again feels dangerous. But the hollow ache inside me whispers that perhaps it’s worth the risk.
They act like they need nothing from anyone, but I know better. Their shadowcat wants what we lost just as much as my monster does. But they’re too proud to say it, and I’m too scared of hurting them to try.
Sunday, beside them, has an entirely different kind of pull, though no less devastating. Smooth, pale skin dusted with freckles that catch the light like constellations scattered across a distant sky. They invite me to trace each one, a sailor charting his course home by the stars, finding my way in the wild beauty she wears like a second skin.
Her eyes catch mine, and something in them softens, opens, and beckons. Through the bond, I feel a whisper of her emotions, cutting through the anxieties swirling within me. For a moment, my worries about Vivien’s ridicule and my absent bonds are replaced by the steady presence that is her.
I’m drawn to her, pulled by an inexorable tide, knowing exactly where I belong. She makes space for me, her gaze a wordless invitation.
Instead, I take her hand and gently pull her to her feet. Her eyes widen with a flicker of surprise, but the smile that follows is bright and curious—like my mate, always ready for whatever comes next.
“We have so much more to see,” I murmur, my voice low, teasing. I catch her other hand, pulling her closer until her body presses against mine. The warmth I feel from her grows, that familiar fire—her passion and curiosity—spilling into me in waves. “Before we get horizontal,” I admonish.
She laughs, her cheeks flushing just a bit, her fingers tightening around mine. Then she turns toward Shadow, who’s lounging with half-lidded eyes, clearly enjoying the show. Her gaze shifts back to me, her eyebrow arching in playful challenge.
“What else have you got to show us?” she asks, her lips quirking up.
“Plenty.” Trust me, I think, and I swear I feel her amusement ripple back through our golden tether, a silent answer of I do.
Xavier lingers behind, unable to resist opening every drawer and closet they pass. Their boundless curiosity is both maddening and endearing in equal turns.
I lead them down the hallway, pausing at The Thistle and Thorn Room. Turning the handle, I let the door swing open with a soft creak. Silver and grey-green hues dominate, everything about it wintery and sharp. This might work for Valentine or Ben, I muse. Of course, everyone is welcome to redecorate—whether that means flannel shirts or a collection of taxidermied ravens. I don’t pretend to know what Val keeps in her ridiculously heavy suitcases.
Next is The North Star Retreat, just a few steps down on the left. Deep blues and rich browns greet us, the rough-hewn timber furniture lending it a feeling of stability, like a place to return to after the longest of nights. Though I’d never admit it aloud, it’s perfect for Tomas.
Just as I begin to despair over the lack of a room Vivien would deign to inhabit—even temporarily—The Rose Garden Suite appears. It’s strewn with a truly egregious collection of cabbage roses and artfully distressed oversized furniture. Still, there’s a hint of vintage romance that might make it tolerable. Vivien’s tastes lean toward extravagance, but maybe she’ll find something here that doesn’t entirely disappoint.
The thought causes my lips to twitch. Sunday raises an eyebrow, curiosity sparkling there. “What’s that look for?” she asks, her voice playful.
“Just thinking about how much money I’m going to spend redecorating these rooms.” Slipping an arm around her waist, I draw her closer. Her amusement filters through to me, her acceptance like a balm to my restless thoughts.
“Why? There’s nothing wrong with them. Just a few mattresses and linens to replace.” She glances around the suite and then back to me, her brow lifting. “I mean, I think this one looks a little like Vivien, don’t you?”
She stops suddenly, as if struck by a thought. Because I’m always stalking our bond, I feel the shift—the sudden urgency, followed by an explosion of worry.
“But what are we going to do about all these windows?” Her eyes dart around the room, landing on the glass as if it’s suddenly the enemy. “This house leaks light like a sieve.”
“Ah, well, tonight I’ll find a dark spot and make do.” My thumb traces a line along her waist, my grip tightening slightly as I savor the feel of her. “But tomorrow, an extremely expensive team of glaziers will be driving down from Nashville to replace all the windows on this floor with UV-proof glass.”
“But tomorrow is Sunday.”
“So it is.”
“This is the South, darlin’. You don’t ask tradespeople to work on Sundays.”
“Then find out what church they attend and make a donation if it brings you some peace.”
“I’m serious.” Her voice drops a notch, her gaze narrowing in that way that means she’s about to dig her heels in.
I turn to face her fully, affection flooding the bond. “I know you are, Lover. And I promise, it’s handled.”
She releases a sigh, the corners of her lips twitching as if debating whether to relent. Finally, she shakes her head.
“You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly charming?” I suggest, arching an eyebrow.
“Impossibly infuriating,” she counters, but there’s no bite to it. She leans into me, her forehead resting against my shoulder for a moment before looking up, her expression softening.
Footsteps approach, and Ben appears at the top of the stairs. His eyes flick between us, lingering briefly where my hand rests on Sunday’s waist. He folds his arms in front of him, his gaze cool but not hostile.
“Am I interrupting?” The faint edge to his voice is almost hidden by a smile. Almost.
“Not at all, Baby,” Sunday says, slipping free and moving toward him. “We were just talking about Grayson’s grand plan to have window installers here tomorrow. On a Sunday .”
A snort comes from behind us, and I don’t need to turn to know it’s my Little Cat. They drift closer, lips curling into a smirk. “Grayson’s gonna get some poor Nashville glassworkers excommunicated. Very on-brand for him, honestly.”
“ On a Sunday? ” Ben echoes, enjoying piling on. “You think that’s gonna fly around here? I guess we’ll see how deep your wallet goes.”
He shoots me a look—one that says he’s reserving judgment—before his attention shifts back to Sunday. His shoulders ease, and he tilts his head, his voice gentler now. “You alright, Sunshine?”
She nods. I catch the way he folds her in, the way she leans into his solidity, and my monster shifts restlessly—half irritation, half inexplicable desire.
As a group, we make our way down the hall, passing a grand staircase that sweeps down gracefully to the front parlor below. The polished banister catches the gleam of a thousand crystals from the chandelier overhead, scattering light like tiny stars. Sunday’s eyes light up at the sight, and before I can say anything, she’s halfway down the stairs. One hand lifts the imaginary skirts of a grand gown, the other resting delicately on her collarbone.
“All right, Scarlett, let’s keep moving.”
She glances back, eyes dancing with mischief. “But Grayson, don’t you want to be my chaperone? Keep all these scoundrels away from my virtue?” She bites her plump bottom lip, sending a bolt of desire rolling through me.
“Frankly, my dear… I think your virtue’s well beyond saving at this point,” I tease. “Now, if you’d be so kind, we have the master suite still waiting, and I’ve had my fill of theatrics for one night.”
Ben pushes away from the wall, closing the distance to Xavier. His hand finds the small of their back, and for a split second, their eyes soften. His fingers slide up to the nape of their neck, pressing just enough to be felt. Their pupils dilate, a needy shiver rippling through them as they lean closer. It’s a quiet exchange, intimate in a way that makes me want to look away.
Taking Sunday’s hand again, I tug her gently up the stairs. “Let’s settle in. Then, I promise, we can discuss all manner of vices.”
“Oh, I intend to,” she murmurs, her voice a promise.
We reach the door to the master suite, and I pause, my hand resting on the ornate brass knob. “Ready to see your room, Lover?”
I take in the three of them—Ben, steady and grounded, with Xavier melting against him, eyes still dark from Ben’s touch. And Sunday—her energy sparking, a magnetic pull drawing us all closer.
She giggles and pushes past me, dragging the others behind her. I linger for a heartbeat, glancing down the hallway. My monster stirs restlessly, searching for something—or someone. His absence itches beneath my skin, a longing for completion I can’t quite shake.