Chapter 44 Dope
Chapter Fourty Four
Dope
— Grayson —
Darkness dissolves into dim light as I wake, the familiar disorientation of the transition tugging at me. Before I can fully shake it, I’m greeted by a face—Xavier’s, mere inches from mine, their green eyes gleaming with amusement beneath a fan of coal-dark lashes.
“Finally!” they say, drawing the word out like it’s a long-standing grievance.
“Finally?” My voice is dry, groggy. I arch a brow. In one smooth motion, I flip us over, pinning them beneath me. Their black hair spills across the pillow, bronze skin warm under my touch. My lips find the curve of their neck, and I let my fangs graze their skin, drawing a sharp intake of breath. “Finally what?”
Their heartbeat picks up, their scent shifting—headier, sweeter. “Honestly, I can’t remember.”
“Good. Let’s see if we can prolong this temporary amnesia.”
“Wait, wait, no. We need to get over to Colt’s. Dominga is engaged, and I haven’t seen the ring yet.”
“I’m sure she’ll tell us all about it,” I murmur, trailing kisses along their neck. “Just give me fifteen minutes. I need to hear you moan my name once or twice before we go.”
“No, we need—” They gasp as my hand slides under their t-shirt, fingers ghosting up their side. Gods, it’s good to feel muscle and flesh again. They were so bony in Elba, worn thin.
They twist toward me, and I capture their mouth, savoring the roughness of our kiss, the softness of their skin. Their fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through me. It’s the invitation I’ve been waiting for.
My lips move lower, trailing down their throat to the spot where their pulse beats strongest—fast and eager beneath warm skin.
“Gray,” they murmur, half a warning, half a plea.
“I know,” I whisper against their neck, my fangs grazing the surface, teasing. “Just a little.”
Their body tenses, then melts against me as I bite down. The sharp puncture gives way to the rush of their blood flooding my senses. It’s intoxicating—rich and complex, like summer rain with hints of something darker, far more dangerous.
They gasp, nails digging into my shoulder as I take what I need. My grip tightens on their waist, grounding us both. For a moment, everything narrows to the heat of their body, the steady rhythm of their pulse, and the taste of life on my tongue.
I pull back before the hunger can take over, sealing the bite marks with a flick of my tongue. Xavier’s breath comes in uneven bursts, their cheeks flushed, green eyes half-lidded as they meet my gaze.
“You’re insatiable,” they murmur, voice thick and teasing.
I smirk, wiping the corner of my mouth with my thumb. “And yet, you keep letting me.”
They roll their eyes but don’t pull away, their hand sliding down to rest lightly against my chest. “You owe me. No more stalling—we’re already late.”
“Fine.” I lean in, pressing a final, lingering kiss to their lips before rolling off the bed. “But don’t think this conversation is over. My bonded is engaged to another, and there’s really only one thing that will make me feel better about—”
“Seriously, though.” Xavier interrupts, tone dry but eyes glinting. “Ben. He’s going to be lonely. We should all be together tonight.”
Ah, all of Sunday’s cast-offs for the evening, trying to provide each other comfort. What a nauseatingly sweet thought. Still, I can’t argue—I’ll be there too, won’t I? Cast off, left behind. Not at all dramatic.
I sigh, shrugging as I pull on my shirt. “Fine. The shifter can sit right there and watch.” I point to the big velvet armchair draped with a fluffy blue blanket, letting the smirk creep into my tone.
Xavier groans, flopping back onto the pillow. “ Maldito vampiro ,” they mutter, the words rolling out in perfect exasperation.
I glance over my shoulder with a raised brow. “You do remember I speak Spanish, don’t you?”
Their cheeks flush, a pinkish bronze unmistakable even in the dim light. They narrow their eyes at me, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You were supposed to ignore that,” they grumble, kicking a foot half-heartedly in my direction.
“I’m teasing, carino ,” I say smoothly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to their forehead. “But it’s cute when you get grumpy. Don’t stop on my account.”
***
“And this?”
“That’s tres leches cake. It’s soaked in three types of milk.”
I blink at them, nonplussed. “So, it’s soggy on purpose?”
“It’s delicious on purpose,” they retort, smirking as they reach for a spatula. “You should try it. Or would you prefer to keep judging from the safety of your ignorance?”
I step back, raising my hands in mock surrender. “I’ll leave the tasting to Sunday. She seems more willing to gamble with her palate.”
Xavier places the last dessert into a box, then pauses, their gaze flicking to me with a mischievous tilt of their head. “I’ve always wondered… what happens if you eat something?”
I lean against the counter, arms crossed. “Why do you ask?”
They smirk, waving a hand over the lemon meringue pie. “Just curious. Do you combust? Choke? Or is it something less… dramatic?”
I sigh. “Nothing quite so theatrical. If I eat human food, I’ll throw it back up. Violently.”
Their eyes widen slightly, though the amusement doesn’t fade. “Really? Like, immediately?”
“No. It takes a few minutes. Long enough to smile politely and excuse myself from the table.” I give them a pointed look. “And yes, I’ve had to do it. More than once. Humans notice if you never touch your food.”
Xavier laughs, a warm, easy sound. “So, let me get this straight. You’ve been pretending to eat human food for centuries, knowing full well it’s going to come back up?”
“Maintaining a cover has its costs,” I reply with a shrug. “Though I’ll admit, there’s a particular cruelty in smelling the things I loved as a human—like freshly baked bread—and knowing I can’t enjoy them.”
They study me, their teasing smile softening. “I heard somewhere that food smells bad to vamps… and I thought that must be a blessing. At least you don’t want what you can’t have.”
“Not for me. The scents changed—became sharper, more layered than I ever noticed as a human. Many of us develop an aversion to food. It’s easier that way.” I shake my head. “Ultimately, blood sustains us. Food doesn’t. Even liquor is… an indulgence, not a necessity.”
“Can you drink wine?”
“Some of us can.” I offer a faint smirk. “It doesn’t intoxicate, but we can taste it. A small pleasure, reserved for the very old.”
Xavier leans against the counter, their green eyes gleaming with curiosity. “I remember when Sunday gave you her blood in a wine glass. That night at dinner, with her nasty little cousin. You looked like you’d hit peak vampire enjoyment.”
“She had no idea,” I murmur, my thoughts drifting miles away.
“No idea of what?” they prod gently.
“Of how quickly I was falling for her,” I admit, my voice low but certain. “Of how much my monster appreciated her offering. Blood given willingly—especially from someone like her—is rare. Precious. And in that moment, she made it clear she didn’t hate my existence or see me as an irredeemable monster.”
Xavier’s smirk fades, replaced with something more thoughtful. “She wasn’t afraid of you. She was afraid of growing attached.”
I nod, a wry smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that she handed me her life in a glass like it was nothing. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.”
Xavier tilts their head, considering me for a long moment. “She still does that, you know.”
“Does what?”
“Gives pieces of herself away like it costs her nothing.” Their voice is soft, almost wistful. “And somehow, she never seems to run out.”
My chest tightens, the truth of their words hitting me like an unwelcome smack. “That’s what makes her remarkable. And how she puts herself at risk.”
Xavier raises a brow. “How is she doing that?”
“She gives so much, so freely.” I know I sound maudlin, but I can’t stop. “It makes people want to take more. And when there’s nothing left, they’ll blame her for not having enough—for not being enough.”
Xavier falls silent, fingers drumming absently on the counter as they mull over my words. Then they meet my gaze, their expression resolute. “We won’t let that happen.”
Before I can reply, they lean in, brushing their lips against mine—a fleeting touch. When they pull back, their voice is lighter, but their gaze remains steady. “Now, help me load these into the car. The Prescott circus awaits.”
***
Xavier shifts the car into park with a flourish, their grin wide. “And that’s why we’ll survive the apocalypse. Reinforced doors, typed blood, and armor-plating on every surface.”
I glance at them sideways. “Tomas really thought this through.”
“Yeah, I thought it was overkill, but after Silas managed to draw Dominga out… well, I’m kind of glad he’s such a psycho,” they admit, tapping the wheel for emphasis before nodding toward the farmhouse.
Their words hang in the air as I exit the car. Psycho or not, Tomas’ paranoia might be the only thing keeping us ahead of the bad guys. Though, in truth, an armored vehicle wouldn’t have stopped Sunday from walking to her father’s garage and willingly meeting someone who harbored her ill will. But I keep that thought to myself.
The barn doors are wide open, spilling golden light and music into the cool evening air. Laughter rises above the chatter, and the scent of roasting meat mingles with damp earth. Cars line the drive, mismatched and practical—proof of the Prescott clan’s lack of funds or pretense, perhaps both. Overhead, the full moon casts its silver glow, softening the night’s edges.
Xavier steps out, adjusting their jacket with obvious delight. “The barn looks amazing! And look—they put lights up in my tree!” Before I can respond, they’re dashing ahead, excitement pulling them toward the party’s glow.
I follow more slowly, my gaze lingering on the barn and the hum of voices. Halfway there, Vivien materializes at my side, stepping from the shadows with her usual lithe grace. Even in the dim light, she’s striking—dark skin catching the barn’s glow, curls bouncing softly, golden eyes luminous. The sharp click of her heels against the gravel draws a quiet chuckle from me. Even out here in the countryside, she wears her armor, refusing to yield an inch of the four feet and ten inches she’s been allotted.
“Well, don’t you look dashing,” she remarks, her full mouth curving into a smirk. “Dark, broody, and just the right amount of tragic. Very on-brand.”
I glance at her sidelong. “Vivi. Shouldn’t you be inside? Or has Colton slipped his leash?”
Her smirk falters for a heartbeat before snapping back, sharper than before. “And there it is. I wondered how long it would take you to bring him up.”
“What can I say? I’ve noticed a pattern,” I reply, my tone as dry as the evening air. “I’m sure you’ll tell me it’s purely coincidental.”
She narrows her eyes, stepping a little closer. “And I’m sure you’ll tell me watching Sunday and Tomas celebrate their future doesn’t bother you in the slightest.”
I raise a brow. “Of course it doesn’t. Why would it? Unlike you, I don’t lose my composure over unrequited interests.”
She barks out a laugh. “Unrequited? Please. If I wanted Colton Prescott, I’d have him.”
“Of course you would,” I reply smoothly, the corner of my mouth lifting into a faint smirk. “Though admitting that would make it harder to pretend you aren’t panting after him.”
Her shoulders tense—a subtle crack in her armor—but she masks it with a dismissive wave. “You’re projecting,” she retorts, light in tone, but her eyes narrow. “I think the wolf’s proposal rattles you more than you admit.”
I glance toward the barn, where warm light spills into the night, Sunday’s laughter rising above the music. “She deserves happiness,” I say simply. “I won’t begrudge her that.”
Vivi studies me for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before her smirk returns. “If you say so. Just remember, Master—your poker face isn’t as good as you think it is.”
She turns on her heel leaving me to take a steadying breath, the bond pressing insistently against my mind, as I follow her toward the celebration and the weight of the evening settles on me.
Tomas’ big moment. My bonded’s happiness. My own conflicted heart. I steel myself, smoothing my expression into one of calm contentment. This is their night, and I won’t let my own selfishness mar it.
Xavier finds me and loops their arm through mine, pulling me back to the present. “Don’t look so grim. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. It’s in the unofficial rules for our house gatherings. Number one: have fun. Number two: don’t pick fights. Number three—”
“Don’t let the vampires sulk,” I finish, earning a grin.
“Exactly. So smart, Rucio.”
The air inside is thick with the hum of voices and the scrape of boots on the dance floor. The Edison bulbs strung like stars overhead lend everything a golden luster. The air is thick with the scents of old hay, wood, and something unmistakably Prescott—a now-familiar melange of warmth and earth, layered with the heady hormones of joy.
My bond with Sunday pulses in the back of my mind, bright and effusive, a constant reminder that tonight is his night, not mine. My monster doesn’t sulk often, but when he does, he’s an insufferable drama queen, picturing everyone’s gristly deaths.
The crowd parts like a tide as Sunday spots me.
Her skin is flushed from dancing, her breath coming in soft bursts as she weaves her way through the room. A bright smile lights up her face, and the way she moves—effortless and free—draws every eye in the barn. The golden light catches in her hair, turning it to fire, and for a moment, all I can do is stand there, taking her in.
Then she’s in my arms, warm and sweet, as I catch her and spin her around. The edges of my jealousy soften as she beams up at me.
“You look… happy,” I murmur, setting her down but keeping her close.
“I am,” she says, the words bubbling out of her like champagne. “But it’s even better now that you’re here.”
She takes my hand, guiding me effortlessly into the rhythm of the music. The movement feels instinctive, her body aligning with mine as if we’ve danced like this a thousand times before. Her usual scent—a bouquet of salted honey and olive leaf—lingers faintly, now mingled with the broader notes of watermelon, smoked meat, and Tomas’ apples and embers. It fills the space between us, anchoring me even as it ignites that low, ever-present ache of possessiveness.
Then, I see it. The ring. It catches the light as she moves, a flash of deep purple and red that draws my gaze like light pulling shadow. The music fades into the background, leaving only the pulse of the bond—bright and steady, a constant reminder of what she’s given him.
My monster stirs, twisting with jealousy. It doesn’t matter that she’s mine as much as his. Tonight, the proof of his claim rests on her finger, and I have to fight the urge to crush the shimmering stone in my palm.
I take her hand, gently pulling it forward to study the ring. Beneath the golden glow of the Edison bulbs, the Alexandrite shimmers, a shifting fire that feels almost alive. It’s beautiful—perfect, even. And though I’ve heard descriptions of its other form, the blue-green brilliance it takes on in sunlight, I’ve never seen it myself.
A fitting choice for Sunday, I think, my gaze lingering on the stone. Duality. Adaptation. Shining no matter what’s directed at it. I press a kiss to her fingers, my voice soft. “It’s beautiful, Sunday.”
Her smile widens. “He had it engraved,” she says, excitement lighting her features as she starts tugging at the ring. “Here, let me show you the band—wait, it’s stuck. Must be my knuckle.”
She tugs again, harder this time, her brow furrowing in frustration. We’ve come to a stop in the center of the dancefloor, drawing a few curious glances. Before I can comment, Tomas appears at her side, his gaze immediately fixed on her.
“Stop, stop,” he says, his voice steady but edged with concern. “I told you—it’s enchanted so it can’t be lost.”
Sunday freezes, looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and exasperation. “Wait. You mean I can’t ever take it off? I can’t wear this to the Piggly Wiggly or when I’m gardening. That’s silly.”
“It’s enchanted to disappear when you don’t need it,” Tomas explains patiently. “You just have to turn it off. Sam said it would be intuitive for you.”
Sunday narrows her eyes at the ring, her expression skeptical. Then, after a moment, she closes her eyes briefly—a long blink, really—and the engagement ring winks out of existence.
I lift her hand, my fingers brushing lightly over the bare space where the ring had sat. “This is very nice work,” I’m grudgingly impressed.
Tomas nods, his mouth quirking into a faint smile. “Sam said it’s a new branch of enchantment.”
“Useful,” I concede. My gaze drifts to Tomas, whose wolf is firmly fixed on her, unyielding in its devotion. I try to banish even the faintest sign of longing from my expression as my eyes linger on him. But he doesn’t meet my gaze. Not tonight. Tonight, everything he is—every thought, every breath—belongs to her.
***
As we step onto the porch, the hum of conversation and the scent of scotch and cigar smoke pull me out of my own head. The children have long since found their beds, leaving the adults to settle into the easy rhythm of a late evening.
Vivien drapes herself across my lap, a move that would usually earn her a withering look—if not for the bond thrumming quietly in the back of my mind. Through it, I feel Sunday’s emotions. First, a spark of annoyance at Vivien’s transparent attempt to provoke her, then the amusement that quickly overtakes it. Her humor is almost infectious. Almost.
Before long, Vivien flits away, landing on Colton like a moth drawn to light.
I’m left to watch her play games with her Prescott. The way she leans into him, the way he steadies her—it’s so perfectly choreographed, so utterly Vivien. I want to say, Yes, I remember this stage well. Still trying to convince yourself it’s just the blood—that you’ll grow bored soon enough? But I keep the words to myself.
Instead, I lean back, nursing the remnants of my scotch and observing these fascinating mortals. Colton, for instance, is excellent at vanishing. One moment, he’s leaning against the railing; the next, he’s gone, slipping into the shadows. His scent lingers briefly—sweet like his sister, but edged with something herbal and musky.
I catch it just as Ben and Tomas do, their heads snapping up in near-perfect unison as the smoke carries on the breeze. A knowing look passes between them, and Ben’s lips twitch into a grin. Tomas leaves Sunday with a lingering kiss before the two Alaskan shifters disappear behind the barn, followed a moment later by our jaguar.
Wade watches the whole thing with a raised brow and a wry smile. “Well,” he mutters, turning to Sunday, “I guess it’s nice that y’all have so much in common.”
Sunday snickers from her spot on the porch swing, shifting slightly to face him. “Excuse me, I’m sitting right here,” she quips, feigning offense.
Wade huffs a laugh but doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes narrow slightly—the way they do when he’s about to make a point. One I suspect I’ll find endlessly entertaining.
When he finally speaks, his drawl is thick with mock disappointment. “You know, Darlin’, they don’t call it dope for nothin’.”
Sunday’s laughter spills into the night, warm and genuine. “Hold on, Daddy,” she says, rising from the swing. “Let me refill your drink before you start pontificating. Another finger or two of scotch?”
Wade glares at her, but the humor in his eyes betrays him. “It’s not the same—”
“Oh, I’ll give you that,” Sunday interrupts, her smirk sharp. “Cannabis would be a hell of a lot kinder to your liver.”
I’ve been content to listen from the sidelines, nursing my drink, but I step in now, my voice an amused drawl. “You know, cannabis has been used for medicinal purposes for thousands of years. Even in my time, it was often a remedy—though the potency has changed… significantly.”
Wade’s gaze shifts to me, skeptical but curious. “So you’re saying y’all were just sittin’ around passin’ the peace pipe back in the old days, huh?”
I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “Not quite like that. But people have always sought comfort where they could find it—whether in wine, a pipe, or a strong drink.” I lift my glass slightly in his direction. “Sometimes, it’s just about making existence a little more tolerable.”
Wade mutters something under his breath about not needing existential philosophy to justify good scotch. I grin, settling back into my seat.
The moment lingers until a flicker of movement catches my eye. My head tilts slightly, narrowing my gaze as I sense something out of place. The breeze carries the faint rustle of leaves and… something else.
I set my glass down and vault over the railing in one smooth motion, landing lightly on the ground below. Behind me, Wade and Sunday fall silent, their drinks forgotten as I zip through puddles of moonlight and reach beneath a bush.
The culprit doesn’t put up much of a fight. Moments later, I’m back on the porch, depositing a squirming, indignant raccoon directly into Sunday’s lap.
She yelps, staring down at the creature in disbelief as it chitters angrily, waving its unnervingly human-like hands.
“He was trying to eavesdrop,” I say evenly, retrieving my glass and taking a sip as though nothing unusual has occurred.
Sunday gapes at me. “You speak raccoon now?”
“No,” I reply, my lips quirking slightly. “I overheard the girls inside. They tried to put him in a dress, a yellow one.”
She bursts out laughing, her shoulders shaking as the raccoon continues its furious tirade.
“Oh sweetheart, I know, Yellow really washes you out…”
Wade shakes his head, muttering something about “damned shifter nonsense,” but I catch the faintest twitch of a smile before he drains the rest of his scotch.
***
The porch is quieter now. Wade and Arcadia are gathering up plates, bottles, and lost articles of clothing, their flashlight beams cutting through the dark. The hum of their conversation fades as Sunday and Tomas make their goodbyes.
“…And I’ll be there when you rise tomorrow, I promise.” She kisses me again, shrewdly examining the bond between us.
“I don’t expect that, Lover. Enjoy your Alpha.” I run a finger down the slope of her nose and tap the tip. “Don’t worry about me, or Ben, or your Cat. This is your night. Enjoy it without guilt… please.”
I watch as Tomas opens the passenger door for her, the soft glow from the headlights catching her face as she laughs at something he says. A delicious expectation stretches between them, nearly visible. She’ll return to me tomorrow with another bite, another part of her soul stretched to encompass Tomas this time. And though I don’t entirely understand how, she’ll be stronger for it. The more she gives away, the bigger she becomes.
Xavier leans against the railing beside me, their sharp eyes tracking the car as it pulls away. “They’ll be fine,” they murmur, more to themselves than to me.
The taillights fade into the dark. Xavier stays close enough that I could reach for them, but they understand when I don’t.
My gaze drifts to the edge of the woods, where the treeline sways gently in the night air. It’s the same spot where, not so long ago, I stood and watched her leave with Ben. Back then, there was no bond, no promise tying us together—only the faint, gnawing fear that she might never return.
So much has changed since that night. The bond is complete now, unshakable. Tomas, Xavier, and Ben are as much hers as she is mine. Wade and Arcadia, Val and Sue, even—God help me—Colton, have become part of this strange, sprawling family. Even the children are inescapably woven into my life, an end to my once-quiet existence.
Deep down, I’ll always wish for more. I can admit that. I want her to be mine in ways that defy the sharing, the stretching, the giving away that makes her who she is.
“Deja vu?” Xavier’s voice cuts softly through the quiet.
I tilt my head toward them, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “More like cycles,” I say. “The same things, again and again. Only… different.”
They hum in response, leaning into me for just a moment before pulling away. “Let’s head back to the townhouse and find a way to commiserate.”
I nod, turning toward the house as the porch settles into silence. The night stretches on, unchanged, even as everything in my world continues to shift. Cycles, I think again.
Some things have a way of coming back around.