Thomas wasn’t used to this version of Aiden. Even after all these years together, seeing him like this—relaxed, wickedly amused, content to revel in the violence they’d perfected—still caught him off guard. “I’d prefer not to have to try again.”
Aiden’s grin widened, sharp enough to draw blood. “Which is why it’s going to work the first time.” He offered his arm. “Now come on. Our guests are arriving.”
Our guests. Theirs. Their guests, in their home.
Thomas truly couldn’t see them anywhere but here. While he sometimes toyed with the idea of buying a smaller house, moving closer to his adult children—to give Theo a life with kids his own age—this place held too many memories. It was a fortress, a legacy, and when necessary, a killing ground. Like tonight.
Music drifted faintly from the ballroom below, a low, elegant pulse beneath the sound of laughter. The kind that made people forget they were standing on a trapdoor.
They descended the grand staircase together, Thomas slipping seamlessly into his role as gracious host while Aiden scanned the room like a sentry, those uncanny blue eyes missing nothing. The ballroom had been transformed into something out of a gothic fever dream—velvet-draped archways, chandeliers strung with cobwebbed crystals, and flickering candlelight that painted the walls in shades of blood and gold. It was lavish, theatrical—murder disguised as celebration.
Already, guests were filtering in through the main entrance, their costumes ranging from elaborate to absurd. The air shimmered with perfume, laughter, and the faint metallic scent of anticipation.
“Grandpas!”
Jett and Jagger came barreling toward them, small comets of chaos in bright colors. Thomas squinted. Candy. Jett was wrapped like a chocolate bar; Jagger, a giant lollipop. Behind them, Atticus looked harried in his Captain America costume, while Jericho—as the Winter Soldier—amused.
“Boys,” Thomas greeted warmly, crouching to their level. “You look very…sweet.”
“We’re part of Ever’s candy theme!” Jett announced proudly, puffing his chest. “All the littles are candy. Guess why!”
“Because candy is Ever’s favorite treat and you’re all Ever’s favorite?” Thomas guessed, playing along.
Jett’s brow furrowed, small face wrinkled in deep thought, like he was suddenly unsure if that was the right answer. Jagger, ever the confident one, had no such hesitation.
“No, Grandpa,” he said solemnly. “Because Ever is Glut-N-E. And he loves candy.”
Thomas blinked once, then huffed a laugh. “Of course he is.” He ruffled their hair. “Are you excited for the party?”
“Are we gonna get to play the game?” Jett asked, eyes wide and far too eager.
Atticus made a strangled sound. “No. You’re going to be in the children’s wing with Ever and your cousins, remember?”
“Aww,” they chorused in disappointment.
“But—”
“No buts.” Jericho scooped up Jagger with effortless strength. “Come on, mini-muppets. Let’s scope out the rations in the nursery before you cause any trouble. I’m sure Ever has big plans for you later.”
“We don’t cause trouble,” Jett protested as Atticus lifted him. “We solve problems.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Atticus muttered, but he was smiling as he turned toward the children’s wing.
Thomas chuckled under his breath. “Why do I feel like there’s a story there?”
Atticus shot him a tired but fond look. “Oh, theredefinitelyis. I’ll tell you everything later. After…” He gestured at the ballroom with a free hand. “After all this.” His tone carried weight, subtle but deliberate.
Jericho nodded toward the stairwell. “Let’s go. I won’t relax until the kids and Boots are behind a locked steel door.”
It was then Thomas noticed the cat carrier in Jericho’s other hand. Through the mesh window, Atticus’s cat—Boots, anunapologetically round lump of fur and disdain—was cleaning a paw with dainty precision.
“Wow, she’s…hefty,” Aiden observed, voicing what Thomas was too polite to say.
Atticus gasped like he’d been shot. “You take that back.”
“That rhinestone collar looks permanently embedded in her neck,” Aiden teased. “Have mercy on the poor thing.”
“Don’t let him rile you up, freckles,” Jericho said, rubbing a soothing hand along his husband’s spine. “Clearly someone is taking their demon costume a little too seriously.” His grin was sharp. “Boots isn’t fat. She’s…well-loved.”
