Chapter 25 Crosshairs
Chapter Twenty Five
Crosshairs
— Sunday —
The van rattles along the gravel road, dust swirling in its wake like ghosts from some other life—the kind where rolling up to a mysterious farmhouse might mean a hot meal and a night’s rest instead of, well, whatever’s about to happen next.
I’m still feeling a little spacey from my teensy-tiny breakdown earlier. I’m good until I’m not good… and then I’m really not good.
We make a sharp turn, and my heart skips as the familiar sign swings into view.
“Wait a minute… Stony Patch?”
I lean forward, recognition hitting me with a rush. “I can’t believe the Barlows were willing to sell!”
Daddy’s grin widens in the rearview mirror. “Seems they got an offer they couldn’t turn down… Plus, they’ve been struggling to keep up with it for a while now. The kids moved off, and their grandkids don’t have much interest in farming.”
I shake my head, still taking it all in. “Stony Patch… Granny used to send us over every summer with peach preserves and chowchow for Birdie Barlow. Seems like just yesterday—who would’ve thought?”
The farmhouse sits nestled into the land like it’s circled this spot a few times before lying down to rest. It’s old, no mistaking that, built up over the years. A beautiful, haphazard mix of eras —a true testament to the family who kept adding rooms as if hoping to hold on to their kids, or time itself, a little longer.
Sitting up on a rocky outcrop, some stones wild and others laid by hand, the house looks out over the fields and forests with a kind of quiet command, like it’s seen generations pass and storms blow through. There are more gentle hills here than over at Colt’s farm, and I like the way the fields seem to undulate away from the house like ripples in a pond.
Ben lets out a low whistle beside me. “Now that’s something.”
Next to him, Tomas leans forward, eyes alight, intensely sizing up his purchase.
“Well, that’s new,” I say to no one in particular.
On the far side of the freshly graveled parking area sits a garage. It looks like very recent construction, six bays gleaming like they’re mocking the farmhouse’s age. A little ways off, a large shop sprawls—big enough to house every tool imaginable and then some. If part of it isn’t turned into T omas’ House of Hurt, I’ll be very disappointed.
“Thorne Fitness: If You’re Not Crying, You’re Not Trying.”
It still needs work, but it does have a certain ring to it.
To the east, hidden from the road, a large barn with stables and a riding ring catches my eye. A thrill shoots through me at the sight—the possibility of breathing this kind of air every day, with room to run, to rest. The thought of it makes something stutter in my chest, and I rub absently at my breastbone.
Daddy’s voice pulls me back, his satisfied grin clear in the rearview mirror. “Surprised, darlin’?”
“That you and Tomas found us the perfect home?” My tone is dry as dust. “Probably shouldn’t be.”
“Oh no, this was all your wolf,” he drawls. “I just went where I was told, signed some papers, pressed some palms…”
Tomas cuts in, shaking his head. “He’s being modest. I may have bought the place, but Wade handled the heavy lifting —inspections, permits, getting the right people in here. The basement’s fully vamp-friendly now, and he made sure the furniture was all set up inside. Every detail’s right because of your dad.”
He nods toward the closed garage. “Even made sure your baby would be waiting for you.”
I lean forward, trying to get a peek past the closed bay doors. “Oh, is she in there?”
Tomas’ grin stretches wide, his eyes warm. “All tucked in, safe and sound. Figured she deserved her own welcome home, too.”
Daddy kills the engine, and we all pile out, stretching and taking in the view up close. Tomas slips his arm around my waist, pulling me close, his thumb tracing faint circles against my hip.
“Go on,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear, a hint of challenge in his voice. “Tell me it’s not perfect.”
I lean into him. “Good luck with that,” I whisper back, my fingers curling around his hand. I tilt my neck to the side, knowing how it pleases his wolf.
I spin in his arms, fixing him with a pointed look. “So this is what you were all tangled up over?”
His lips twitch, but I keep going.
“You were worried Grayson had bought a better house, and you had this tucked in your back pocket the whole time?” I shake my head in mock seriousness. “I am never playing poker with you, Tomas Thorne.”
Tomas pulls me closer. “Well, it does sound kind of silly when you put it that way…”
I roll my eyes. “Or a little dramatic? Maybe,” I say, nudging his shoulder and wrinkling my nose. “But look at you, pulling off the surprise of a lifetime.”
He smiles, sheepish. “I just wanted it to be… right.
“It’s perfect,” I reply, giving his arm a quick squeeze.
We make our way inside, and I’m half-expecting it to be dusty, maybe even a little musty. Instead, the house feels open and bright—and though the floors gleam with years of care, it’s the kind of place that welcomes bare feet and muddy boots, too.
I trail my fingers along the walls as we walk through. The beadboard wainscoting catches the light, its natural woodgrain polished honey-bright. Not like Granny’s, where layers of thick white paint have trapped every bump and groove beneath it.
But just under the surface of my thoughts, something circles like a shark—a flash of long yellow gloves, and a bowl of pink, sudsy water. My heart skitters before I can reel it back in. Funny thing about panic attacks—once you’ve had one, it feels like they’re skulking around every corner, waiting to leap.
I make a beeline for the kitchen, bracing for dated wallpaper, a stove that’s seen the better part of a century, and maybe a sink too shallow to rinse anything bigger than a soup pot.
But instead, it’s… perfect.
The thought flutters, fragile and hopeful: I wish Shadow was here to see this for the first time with me.
I can practically see myself at the sink, washing dishes, catching glimpses of the kids running wild through the fields beyond the big bay window. It’s a simple vision, but it tugs at something long buried—a dream I’d decided long ago I could never have.
We spend the next hour wandering through every room. Each space feels ready and waiting—neutral colors, polished wood, and just enough furniture to make it feel like home without suffocating it. It’s a house that breathes.
Only one door remains barred. Hidden at the back of the coat closet, the vampire level is sealed tight behind a steel door, set to remain locked while Apollo’s chariot still streaks across the sky.
Tomas was planning a home for all of us. And maybe it’s in that moment, standing before the hidden door, that I realize at least part of what upset him so much about the townhouse. Grayson didn’t buy it with the shifters in mind—not his “Little Cat,” not the wolf who sees him as a mate. They were never part of the calculus for what might be best for all of us.
I do love Grayson. But this… this is such a blind spot for him. And I can’t be the one always pointing it out. I want to. I want to go home and tell him to stop taking Tomas for granted, to stop expecting everyone else to bend for him. But if I do it now, I’ll be doin’ it forever.
Ben’s already waiting on the porch with our Alpha. It’s a good one, too—twice the size of Granny’s, painted with shiny lacquer. Instead of porch swings, there’s a whole living room’s worth of sofas and chairs, cushions plumped and a rug spread beneath them. They look like they belong inside, I assume they’re all weatherproofed.
Part of me misses the ancient porch swing and the scuffed paint beneath it. The ghosts of summers past, lazy afternoons swaying with the breeze. But this porch, with its unexpected luxury, feels like a promise—something new we’re building together.
Daddy joins us a few moments later, carrying four cold beers. We settle in, the afternoon light slanting across the yard, and I can’t help but feel Shadow’s absence like a weight on my chest. It will be good to get us all in one place. This divided feeling gnaws at me.
Tomas sits up, setting his beer down, his expression shifting. A seriousness settles over him, and I know he’s about to drop something heavy.
“Well, this seems as good a time as any.”
I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s goin’ on? Is this about whatever’s been making you scowl at your phone all day?”
He nods, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He turns to me, his gaze weighted with something I can’t quite name. “I’ll tell Gray as soon as he rises… but the Packmaster in Vegas says there’s a rumor that Texas is getting married.”
My stomach twists. “To whom?” The words catch in my throat. “Tell me it’s not Roxana.”
“No, not Roxana.”
Beside me, Ben goes still, his whole body coiled like a spring. “Louisiana.”
Tomas dips his chin once, confirmation settling like a stone.
“So, let me get this straight… if Texas marries, what’s her name—Sylvie?”
Tomas’ tone is grim. “DuFour. Queen of the Louisiana Territories.”
I try to wrap my mind around it, the implications coming in a sickening rush. “Okay, so if Texas marries Louisiana… that means the scumbag who enslaved Shadow could have authority over all of us?”
Tomas nods, his face etched with tension. “That’s exactly what it means.”
My stomach churns. Tomas scratches at his stubble, his eyes distant, like he’s weighing his next words.
“And it makes the email I got this morning even more disturbing.” He hesitates, just for a beat. “Louisiana has requested our presence in New Orleans within seventy-two hours.”
I grip my beer bottle, knuckles whitening around the cold glass. “Who is us?”
His gaze holds mine, steady and unflinching. “Right now, it’s just the five of us.”
“Not the girls? Or Daddy?” My voice shakes, the fear slipping through the cracks.
“Not yet.”
The tension hangs there, denser than the warm spring air, as we sit in silence, the reality of what’s coming settling over us. Daddy stands and crosses the porch, like sitting still is no longer an option—and he knows it.
I catch a shadow flickering beneath his usually easy expression.
It’s like the weight of all those years spent keeping us clear of supernatural politics has finally caught up with him. His children, his brother—everyone he’s protected for so long are suddenly in the crosshairs, and there’s no simple way through.
The green bottle tilts slightly in his grip as he stares out over the fields of Stony Patch, the lines in his face deepening like he’s runnin’ the numbers. Maybe he is . His jaw tightens just a fraction before he lets out a slow, resigned breath.
A sharp, gut-twisting wave of guilt rolls through me. Without thinking, I reach out with my gift, letting it brush across Daddy’s emotions—he’s an anchor, a steady, but with that ache of resignation running deep beneath. He stills, and his gaze sharpens, letting me know he felt my gentle probe.
“Sunshine,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet reminder. It’s not a reprimand, but a nudge that even now, he can bear his own weight.
“Oh, Daddy,” I whisper, my voice barely holding steady. “If it weren’t for me, if I hadn’t—”
He cuts me off with a firm shake of his head, his eyes hardening. “Don’t you go thinkin’ that for a second.” His hand covers mine, solid and warm. “We’re in this because of them, not because of anything you did. And I knew we couldn’t hide forever.”
Ben reaches for me, and I exhale as his arms encircle me. He’s steady and grounding, his certainty pulsing through our bond, calming the turbulence in my chest.
Through Ben, I feel Tomas—cool stone warmed by sunlight, his strength bracing me. Shadow’s presence presses at the edges of my mind, teasing yet edged, like the playful flick of claws that sometimes leave a mark.
Finally, stretched taut by the tyrannical sun, is my link to Gray—faint, like he’s just brushing the edge of waking.
They’re all with me, lending just enough strength to keep me from sinking beneath the rising tide of bad news.
Daddy straightens, glancing at his watch and sighing. “Alright,” he says, slipping back into that calm determination that’s as much armor as anything else. “I’ve got to top off the tank and get back to pick up Sue, Cady, and the kids. We’ll head out to Colt’s place so we can be ready when they come through.”
He glances at the sun, already starting to dip. “Portal’s due to open just after dark, and I don’t want to cut it close. If we miss Colton steppin’ through, the girls will never forgive me.”
He turns to Tomas. “Judge is all fueled up in the barn. Best let Sunday drive—quickest way for her to exorcise all her demons.”
Tomas nods, already calculating our next steps, though he shoots me a faint smile. “We’ll head back to the townhouse, pick up Gray and X. Then we’ll meet you at the farm.”
Daddy takes a final swig of his beer and sets the bottle down on the porch railing. There’s a heaviness in his eyes he doesn’t bother to hide. He rests a hand on my shoulder, his voice steady, resolved.
“Let’s welcome your brother back,” he says. “Then we’ll talk about what’s comin’ next.”