Chapter 28 Noogie
Chapter Twenty Eight
Noogie
— Xavier —
My eyes stay fixed on the broodiest vampire in existence as I bounce Gemma on one hip, her chatter a bright, insistent buzz in my ears.
“I saw it, Shadow! I did!” she insists, her voice a mix of excitement and conviction. “She had this funny smile, and her hands were all flappy—like this!”
I glance down just enough to catch her wiggling her hands like flippers. Her eyes are wide with certainty, her tiny brows drawn together in serious concentration.
“She was thinkin’ ‘bout eggs, too. Definitely a platypus shifter.” She nods, solemn as a judge, as if this is the most obvious conclusion in the world.
“ Sí, mi Amor . You should ask Mishka to shift into one…” My voice trails off as I keep my focus on the swirling orange light. I’m not listening well, and she yanks my chin down with surprising force, making me look at her.
“No! The teller at the Piggle Wiggle!” Her pout is fierce. “And Lily’s been hoggin’ Mishka anyway.” She sniffs, arms folding tight.
Time to redirect. “Are you ready to see your big brother?”
Her face lights up, and she nods so enthusiastically her curls bounce. Her words melt into a comforting background hum as my attention snaps back to the portal—and to Grayson.
He’s barely holding it together. On the surface, he’s the picture of calm, but underneath, I feel it through the bond—a storm, tightly coiled and ready to break.
I’ve been sending him a gentle trickle of chill-the-fuck-out since he rose. Just enough to keep Smoky at bay, to make sure that when the door to Dae opens, the only thing he feels is anticipation—but, not the dangerous kind that tends to go sideways when something unexpected happens.
The portal flashes into existence, shimmering and solidifying, and Gemma’s excitement spikes, her eyes going round as saucers.
“Colt!” she shrieks, her little hands pushing against my shoulder as she tries to launch herself out of my arms.
I tighten my hold, keeping her in place for just a moment longer. “Easy, Bolita ,” I murmur, my gaze flicking to Grayson. He’s already moving, his focus razor-sharp. He needs to get to Vivien first, needs that moment with her before distractions—or tiny speed-bumps—get underfoot.
Gemma squirms like a live wire, her eyes glued to the big blond figure stepping through the shimmering orange gateway. Finally, I let her go. Her feet hit the ground, and she’s off like a shot.
She almost beats Lily. Colton barely has time to pull Vivien clear the threshold before they’re both barreling into him, tiny arms locking around his leg. He glances down, surprised for a heartbeat before his face splits into a grin—all teeth and charm.
“Well, hey there, little ladies!”
He scoops them both up with practiced ease, setting Gemma on his hip and moving Lily to his back, her little legs wrapping around him as she giggles. It’s smooth, effortless—like he’s done it a thousand times.
I finally get a good look at him, and huh. Colton Prescott is… kind of hot.
Blond hair, linebacker shoulders, and that shit-eating perma-grin. It’s not what I expected. Maybe a male version of Sunday, with her fire and sharp edges. But Colt? He’s Wade’s spitting image—rugged cowboy charm wrapped up with a smile that probably gets him out of all kinds of trouble.
And while I’d never say, “Gee, Sunday, your brother is quite the snack,” I’m not blind. Colt is… well, he’s something.
Gray is five seconds from Smoky taking over, and I increase that trickle of calm to a stream, feeling his emotions break against it like waves against a seawall. It’s messy, but it works. He steadies, taking half a step back.
And then Colton calls Vivien “Crackerjack.”
The snap of tension down the bond is instant, sharp as a whip crack. I struggle to subdue it, willing him to focus on his chyld, to let it go. And, he does, sort of.
He zips around the Prescotts, blurring Vivien away to a quiet spot in the shadow of the barn. I hover in my bonds, Gray’s emotions rolling through me like distant, choppy waves. Meanwhile, Sunday’s are floating up, buoyant and helium-light, bouncing against the ceiling of my awareness.
Curiosity gets the better of me, as always. I let my jaguar’s night vision take over and watch Grayson. He holds Vivien’s face in his hands, their foreheads pressed together. Relief pours off him in waves so intense it’s almost painful. Her arms wrap around his waist, her fingers digging in, and she swipes at her eyes like she doesn’t want anyone to see her cry.
It’s so raw, so intimate, that I feel like I’m trespassing. My gaze shifts, finding somewhere—anywhere—else to land. Vivien was here long before I entered Grayson’s life, and she’ll be here long after I’m gone. That’s just the truth of it.
“Shadow, come meet my brother.”
Sunday’s tug at the bond is gentle, pulling me back. I slip between Sue and Wade. Colton has Lily clinging to his back, her giggles bright in the night air, while Gemma’s hopped down and is proudly introducing Mishka—now a very disgruntled-looking platypus in her arms—to her big brother.
“And he’s from Russia, ‘n he knows vampires ‘n Japanese… ‘n stuff.”
“They’ve got spurs with venom, give him here, Gem.” Wade shakes his head, reaching for Mishka—the world’s most stoic platypus. He hoists him up with practiced ease, making it clear this isn’t his first shifter rodeo.
“Gotta find you some clothes, son,” he mutters, turning and striding toward the house, Gemma and Lily trailing after him, their chatter already picking up where it left off.
As Colton takes me in, he projects loudly so no one can possibly miss it, “Another one? Well, you just bellied right up to that all-you-can-eat supe buffet, didn’t you?”
I hesitate for a second, jaw tightening. His left eyebrow lifts, challenging me. “You ain’t gonna just leave me hangin’, are ya, man?”I clasp his hand, it’s a strong handshake.
Sunday jumps in, her tone casual but firm. “Actually, calling Xavier ‘man’ or ‘bro,’ or, God forbid, ‘bruh,’ isn’t really appropriate for a non-binary person.”
And I wait. I wait for that flicker of discomfort. For Colt to pull back his hand—for that look. The one where they take inventory of me and decide for themselves what I am. I brace for it, muscles coiling tight.
But Colt just blinks, his expression open, curious. I feel his gift—similar to Sunday’s but weaker, or maybe more scattered.
“Okay. Got it,” Colt says simply, his smile softening. He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he holds my hand a beat longer, like he wants to make sure I know he means it.
Or maybe he’s letting his influence sink deeper. Sunday’s mentioned that physical contact amps up her gift; maybe Colt’s playing that angle too.
“Good to meet you, Xavier.”
“You, too. Sunday talks about you all the time.”
“Does she?” Colt’s eyes gleam mischievously. He wraps an arm around his sister’s neck, pulling her head under his arm and giving her a classic noogie, his knuckles messing up her carefully braided hair.
Sunday shrieks in protest, swatting at him uselessly as she tries to wriggle free from the headlock. “Colton Prescott, you jerk!” she squawks, her voice muffled. “Let go! You’re ruining my hair!” Her accent thickens on the last word, stretching it out to two syllables, and I love it.
Colt’s laughing, clearly enjoying himself, but the playful chaos is short-lived because, as it turns out, I was watching the wrong bond.
By the time I spot Ben, he’s already moving fast, eyes flashing molten silver. I know what’s coming. Tomas tries to grab him, but Ben zigzags out of his reach. Maybe I could have stopped him, but a part of me wants to see how this plays out.
Ben crashes into Colt like a freight train. There’s a moment of stunned silence as Sunday’s brother lands flat on his back, the breath knocked out of him, his grin replaced by complete bewilderment.
“Ben!” Sunday shouts, her voice cutting through the quiet. But Ben’s already pulling her away from Colt, his hands going to her neck and shoulders, checking her over for damage. His nostrils flare as he tilts her head, his thumb brushing across her scalp where Colt’s knuckles had been.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice low, almost a growl, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of distress.
Sunday swats at him, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “I’m fine! You didn’t need to flatten him.”
Ben doesn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing as he brushes a stray curl away from her face. Pulling her closer, his hand cradles the back of her head.
“You yelled,” he says, as if that explains everything.
Colt finally catches his breath and lets out a wheezing laugh. “Guess I know where that line is now.” He starts to sit up, and Wade leans over, offering a hand to help him. His expression teeters between sympathy and barely repressed humor.
That’s when I notice her—and, in my defense, she is very quiet.
Vivien is suddenly just a few steps away from Colt, her brows drawn together in concern. Gray stands behind her, looking deeply annoyed, his emotions a tangle of frustration, relief, and something else I don’t have the energy to parse.
I give up and shut the bond down.
***
Arcadia only made it about an hour before she disappeared into the woods. She still smells like apple blossoms, and I feel validated every time I catch her scent. Wade, Sue, and Val left with the kids a little after midnight—and yes, there were tears.
It’s left the rest of us catching up around the large wooden table, surrounded by the remnants of Sue’s welcome home feast—empty glasses and plates scattered across it.
We’re all enjoying the Colton show, and he’s in the middle of one of his stories, his voice animated as he spins yet another tale that seems to involve him and Vivien touring every bar and tavern in Dae.
Colt’s grin is infectious, his eyes twinkling as he gestures broadly. “… and then the owner came out, pointing at ‘The no deals after sundown’ sign, acting like he’d never seen a vampire before…”
Vivien, sitting just across from him, doesn’t miss a beat as she interjects dryly, “Again, he hadn’t.”
Colt lets out a laugh, raising his eyebrows at her, but it’s obvious he’s enjoying the challenge. “Don’t be jealous, Crackerjack. It ain’t my fault the demons liked me better.”
Vivien rolls her eyes, leaning back, her voice laced with mock exasperation. “Sure, sure, Colton. Keep telling yourself that.”
The banter between them is easy, almost flirtatious, and it draws laughs from the rest of the group—except Grayson. Did I say we were all enjoying Colt’s stories? Because Grayson definitely isn’t. He sits a little removed, his expression growing darker with each tale of his chyld’s debauchery.
I’ve tried. Sunday has, too. We’ve all fucking tried to shake him out of his mood, to get him to concentrate on the fact his chyld is home, safe, and, at least according to Ben, seeming happier than usual. But he’s stubborn, and he wants to drag her away and keep her to himself. Maybe it’s a Maker/chyld thing. Thank the moon Goddess Sunday and I can both feel there’s nothing remotely sexual about it. It’s all dark possession.
Suddenly, Grayson stands, his movements sharp, and announces, “We need to take our leave if we expect to be back at the house before sunrise.”
Vivien and Colt exchange a glance, and Vivien’s gaze flicks downward before she speaks. “I think I’m going to stay here tonight.”
Grayson’s response is immediate and absolute. “No, you absolutely are not. Let’s go. Say goodbye to your pet and gather your things.” Dias, why is he being such a cerote?
Sunday’s eyes flash, her voice sharp with anger. “What the hell, Gray? How dare you speak that way to her or about my brother? Am I your pet, too?”
Grayson turns to Sunday, his expression hardening, his voice dismissive. “Oh, come on.” His sarcasm is mean and belittling. “They aren’t serious, they aren’t like us. Take umbrage if you must, but Vivien is coming back to our home.” Umbrage? Shit’s getting serious.
Vivien stands up abruptly, grabbing Grayson by the arm, surprisingly strong as she pushes him ahead of her, guiding him through the kitchen and out the door.
“We’ll be back in a moment,” she calls over her shoulder. “Please, talk amongst yourselves.” She gives the rest of us a tight, controlled smile. The door slams shut behind them.
Ah. So that’s why Grayson picked her. She’d have to be able to stand up to him, or he would’ve grown bored of her centuries ago. Sunday is frowning.
“Colt, what have you done?”
“Me? Nothin’. Just made the best of a bad situation.”
They’re gone long enough that Tomas glances at the door, his brows furrowing as he wonders aloud if he should intervene. But before he can move, the door swings open, and they return.
Grayson is shaking with anger, smoke curling down his arms, leaving faint smoky footprints behind him as he stalks across the floor.
Sunday, meanwhile, has taken to cleaning up the remnants of the meal, her nervous energy driving her to stress-clean. Plates are already stacked, and the table’s mostly cleared. She glances up, her gaze flicking between Vivien and Grayson, then presses her lips together, a frown creasing her forehead.
Tomas steps forward, his voice carefully level. “Maybe it’s best if we head out now. We can drive over to the farm. The vampire suite is ready and we can be there is under ten minutes.”
Grayson pauses, turning towards Tomas, his brows knitting in confusion, then back to Vivien. “Fine. But we will be returning right after dusk tomorrow.” He starts for the door then hesitates. “Wait, what farm?”