Chapter 33 BCE Energy
Chapter Thirty Three
BCE Energy
— Grayson —
With Sunday’s bond and blood, the concept of being dead beneath the sun has shifted from an iron-clad rule to little more than a suggestion. And with this early rising comes an overwhelming opportunity for self-reflection.
I do have a great deal to reflect upon this evening. I could be thinking about smoothing things over with Vivien or apologizing to Sunday. I could be planning my sister’s demise or buying my Little Cat an island. But instead, I’m replaying my just-before-dawn feeding, trying to untangle these new feelings—instincts I’ve never allowed myself to consider.
The pull toward Tomas is becoming undeniable—raw Alpha power mixed with something deeper. It’s distracting, how my thoughts keep circling back to him. His scent. The warmth of his skin beneath my hands.
When he offered himself, it was with quiet surrender. And when my fangs parted his skin, it wasn’t just his blood—it was his wolf’s too. Through it all, a thread of trust burned steady and warm. A flame I didn’t realize I needed.
The weight of that trust terrifies me. But, Gods, it excites me too.
I watch Tomas care for our mate group—the quiet way he anticipates needs, holds space, carries burdens. And some part of me, a part I refuse to look at too closely, aches to be cared for like that.
It feels ridiculous. At my age, with my history, I should be able to stand alone, inviolate. I am the caretaker. I am the protector. But sometimes… sometimes I long to lay that weight at someone else’s feet, to let go of the control I cling to so fiercely.
And Tomas pulls that want out of me, drags it into the light where I can’t ignore it. It unsettles me, shakes something loose inside me that I thought was extinguished long ago.
I’m almost angry at how he’s taken over my thoughts. He was always meant to be at arm’s length—a useful tool, my right hand. But now, he feels closer than I ever intended, and that’s what scares me the most.
But there’s no time for these reflections now.I locate my phone—interior left jacket pocket—exactly where I know I didn’t place it before death took me. I’m sure it was him.
I skim through Tomas’ messages, my eyes catching on the one sent just before noon. I read it, then sit up and read it again, as if a new vertical alignment might change the meaning. It doesn’t.
Tomas
Good News: The Marchese Gulfstream G650 is on its way here.
Bad News: We may need it sooner than you’d think. DuFour has summoned us. We’re required at the palace to swear fealty by tomorrow at midnight.
Worse News: Intel from Vegas—TX plans to marry LA. He wants X back.
A slow breath escapes me, smoke curling from my lips as my fangs slip from their sheaths. Anger rolls through me, dark and unrelenting. This is the last thing we need. The Council breathing down our necks. Roxana plotting her next move. And now DuFour demanding we kneel.
I refuse to imagine my Little Cat anywhere near Winston Cavanaugh.
DuFour’s demand is a power play, a maneuver I can’t afford to ignore. If Texas aligns with Louisiana, it’s not just about Xavier—it’s a consolidation of power that leaves us all vulnerable, the Prescotts included.
This is bad. Next-level bad.
I may need to take control of the Louisiana Territories just to protect us all. Texas thinks my aversion to leadership will hold, but he doesn’t understand.
For once, I’m all in.
I almost text Rurik, just to see if he’d drop by for another coup. I’m sure he’ll use any excuse to see his Little Sun.
Fuck.
I lob my phone across the room. I need to get out of here. Twenty-seven minutes until sunset. This is absurd.
The door’s locked until sundown. I understand why—there are children running about now—but it makes me feel like I’m right back in Roxana’s cage, trapped and powerless. I push off the couch, pacing the length of the room. To pass the time, I slip into my bondspace.
Sunday’s presence is bubbly and bright nearby, but not right upstairs—she’s probably with her brother. Xavier feels like they’re playing, maybe with Mishka or Ben.
I reach for Vivien’s bond. Still dead. As she should be. The conclusion is inescapable—whatever magic in Sunday’s blood wakes me early and shields me from the sun, Colton’s blood lacks it.
So much for hoping Vivien might rise early.
My fingers move across the screen. A quick message to the group chat:
Gray
Is anyone up there?
The silence stretches, my temper simmering hotter with each second. I’m an ancient vampire of the strongest bloodline, and I can’t even leave this damned room.
A vibration snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance down.
Sunday
Someone’s an early bird. I’m in the car. We’ll be there soon, I promise. Just hang tight, okay?
I let out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall, trying to let the tension go. Sunday’s voice—even in text—has a way of cutting through the fog, pulling me back from the edge. I can almost hear her: that soft, teasing lilt that makes it feel like everything’s going to be fine.
But the rage doesn’t entirely subside. It simmers beneath my skin, a restless heat I can’t extinguish. The longer I wait, the more it gnaws at me—anger at being trapped, at the world moving on without me, and at the thoughts I can’t shake about Tomas.
My phone buzzes again. A new text pops up, and it takes me a moment to focus on the screen—a sure sign my eyes are turning red.
Little Cat
Whoa, WTF RU doing to Smoky??
I blink. Their unexpected levity cuts through the haze, and for a moment, I feel something almost like amusement. Almost.
Gray
Nothing.
The response is clipped, but my fingers hover over the keyboard. Xavier’s curiosity spikes, their dry wit pulling me out of my own head even when I resist. Another message pings almost immediately.
Little Cat
Well knock it off. You’re not even supposed to be alive yet. Meditate or something.
My lips twitch despite myself.
Gray
I’m stuck down here. It’s making me crazy.
Little Cat
B.S. It’s bigger and nicer than any coffin.
Another ping, and I can practically see the smirk.
Little Cat
Dominga is on her way. Just… be cool. Don’t break anything, it’s new.
I huff out a breath, shaking my head at the idea of the “new” 1800s farmhouse. My thumb hovers over the emoji keyboard for half a second. A simple thumbs-up or eye-roll might lighten the mood.
But no. That’s beneath me.
Instead, I type out:
Gray
So, don’t rip the door off its hinges??
Little Cat
You’re really showing your BCE energy right now.
I scowl at the screen. Again with the fucking dinosaurs.
I lean back against the wall, staring at the door. Soon, I’ll be free of this room, and then I can deal with whatever the hell Louisiana is planning. Until then—I close my eyes, forcing my breath to slow, trying to focus—I am calm.
And then I hear it.
My senses, still razor-sharp from the wolf’s blood, pick up the whispers of the house—the low thrum of footsteps across the floorboards, the faint echoes of voices drifting down from upstairs.
I step closer to the door, straining to catch the words as they grow louder and more distinct.
Tomas’s voice, calm and laced with humor: “Just type in the code.”
A beat of silence. Then Sunday, exasperated: “I am trying.”
“It’s three threes, then the nine, then the rest.”
“You do it.”
“No, I want you to memorize this.”
“Tomas, this isn’t the time. I’ll memorize it when it doesn’t feel like Gray’s about to come through a wall.”
The mechanism lets out a metallic click as it finally disengages, but the door doesn’t slide open. I swear under my breath. The new system has bugs—another damn complication we don’t need.
Tomas grunts, forcing the door up, the metal groaning in protest. I slip my fingers beneath the edge, helping from my side, and together we finally lock it into position.
Sunday is a blur of movement, and then she’s in my arms.
I catch her, holding her tight as she presses against me, her hands running over my chest as if checking to make sure I’m still here. She tilts her head up, eyes searching mine—a mix of concern and relief.
“You okay, baby?”
I let out a slow breath, her warmth seeping into me, easing the tightness in my chest. “I’ve had better risings,” I admit, “but things are improving.”
For a moment, I just hold her, letting the world outside this room fall away. I find myself drawn to the bridge of her nose, where new freckles scatter like stars across her skin. I tip her chin up and brush my lips against hers.
She parts her lips, her tongue tracing the seam of mine. I let her in, tasting golden honey mellowed by sea spray and green leaves.
I pull back, my fingers tangling in the curls escaping her braids. “I expected you to be angry with me this evening.”
“And I expected to wake up mad, but I didn’t.” She sighs, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Damn blood bond. It’s your get-out-of-jail-free card.”
The mention of the blood bond slices deeper than I want to admit. It is a cheat, and part of me hates myself for taking the easy road when I should be on my knees, begging for her forgiveness.
Tomas shifts back a step, his eyes lingering on me a beat too long. He glances at the floor. “I’ll give you two some space. I have a few calls to return.”
He turns to go, and a strange pang hits me. I don’t want him to leave. The thought unsettles me—my hand tightens on Sunday’s waist, needing her familiar solid presence to anchor me against the pull I don’t want to acknowledge.
“Wait.”
The word slips out before I can think it through. Sunday twists to look up at me, eyes questioning, mirroring the uncertainty thrumming through our bond.
I don’t know what it would look like—sharing Sunday between us, sharing him too—but the idea stirs something deep and restless. Intoxicating.
My monster approves, thrumming with anticipation, urging me to let go. Tomas waits, his presence like gravity, pulling me in. That raw desire coils tighter inside me, demanding release.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to step back from the edge. “Never mind.” The words scrape out. “Go ahead. We’ll talk about Louisiana later.”
His eyes narrow, a flicker of gold flashing between us. Something unreadable passes through his expression before his usual calm reserve settles into place like armor.
“Alright.” He nods and turns to Sunday. “Trouble, don’t forget we have business when you’re done here.” Without another word, he ascends the stairs.
The moment stretches like a rubber band pulled too tight—then snaps back. Sunday’s feelings tangle with embarrassment and desire before resolving the second the door clicks shut behind Tomas.
She watches him go, then turns to me, one brow raised in question. “Well, I suppose there’s no rush. You’ve been ignoring the man and his wolf’s needs for what—five years now? What’s another night?”
Her words land precisely as she means them to, and I flinch. She pats my chest gently, eyes sparkling. “I’m not trying to guilt you into anything,” she teases, though her gaze stays earnest. “I’m just very aware of how badly you want each other, and how easily it could all be solved with a bit of courage and communication.”
“I’ll take that… under advisement.”
“Be sure you do,” she says, mock seriousness shading her tone before her expression softens, “Hungry, darlin?”
The tension eases, but it doesn’t disappear entirely. I’m still aware of Tomas moving above us—the dull creak of floorboards, the distant sense of him waiting, wondering.
Sunday pulls me down beside her on the couch with the effortless grace of someone who knows exactly what they want. She climbs into my lap, straddling my thighs, and sweeps her braid off her shoulder, baring her long, lovely neck. She tilts her head.
I’m not terribly hungry, but how could I resist such an enticing offer? Her scent, the promise of her blood—all of it makes my fangs ache. I dip my head, brushing my lips over her skin, and she shivers beneath me. A low growl rumbles in my chest, vibrating through us both as I sink my fangs into her, her taste flooding my senses.
As always, I want to push it further. Nothing feels as good as Sunday clenching around me while her blood slips down my throat in a slow, lazy trickle. Nothing sounds as good as her breathy moans or her angry little curses as I edge her for an eternity.
I move her braid back onto her shoulder, my palm sliding to her throat, gripping gently. She swallows, her breath hitching. Her expression softens, but beneath it, something remains—something entrenched, clouded, and heavy.
Her fingers trace my jaw, hesitating. I sense the shift immediately. The air between us changes, a weight settling between her and me. I drop my hand, brow furrowing as I tip her chin up, searching her face.
“What’s going on?” I murmur, my voice low. My eyes scan hers, looking for an answer. “Is this about Louisiana?”
She bites her lip, guilt flashing across her expression. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she whispers, looking away for a moment before meeting my eyes, her regret plain to see.
I raise an eyebrow, a flicker of concern sparking in my chest. “Tell me.”
She sighs, guilt pooling in her features. “I… put myself in danger today. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. I ignored my phone and went to the farmhouse to see my brother… alone. I didn’t think anyone would—I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
My hand tightens on her waist, heat flaring into something hotter, darker. My monster bristles, protective instincts roaring to life. “You went out alone?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, the thought of her vulnerable and exposed twisting my stomach.
She nods, her eyes steady but regretful. “I just needed space. I needed to think. And… I know it wasn’t smart.” She exhales, shaky, her gaze pleading for understanding. “Tomas found me, and he…” Her cheeks flush crimson, the color spreading down her neck.
“He?”
Her voice lowers. “He wasn’t happy. And now we have, umm, an appointment to…” She squirms, embarrassment etched across her face, but her scent blooms, sweet and heated.
A spark of anger flickers in my chest, but something else smolders beneath it—something far more dangerous. The thought of Tomas and me, our focus locked on Sunday, our power mingling and building between us—it pulls at me.
I’m not happy she put herself in danger, but I can’t ignore the opportunity this presents. A chance to share a scene with Tomas, to connect with him under the guise of disciplining our shared mate. I shouldn’t want this. But the idea of surrendering to that possibility, even for a moment, sends a thrill through me that I can’t ignore.
She closes her eyes, her forehead resting against mine. “I understand now,” she whispers, her voice thick with contrition. “Believe me, Tomas made it abundantly clear. I just… I’m sorry, baby. I messed up.”
I let her apology settle between us. My fingers trace a slow line down her spine. Our bond thrums with what her scent has already revealed—remorse laced with heady anticipation. Ahh, my sweet mate, perfuming so beautifully at the thought of her wolf dominating her.
My lips curl into a slow, predatory smile. “And I’m sure you’ll feel much better after your Alpha administers your punishment.” My thumb brushes her lower lip, my gaze sharp with intent. “Go get him. I think I’d like to watch.”