In their place is a blank slate, sheer as glass and about as deep.
“I thought you couldn’t use your powers?” I comment as he settles back down in his chair.
The look he gives me is half amused and half affronted. “You do remember I’m a vampire, right?”
“What? That means your power can’t be grounded? Or—” A new thought occurs to me. “Did you just persuade Uncle Finn into believing he grounded your powers?”
“And why would I do that exactly?”
“Why wouldn’t you do that?” I shoot back. “I don’t know very many people who would just hand over their abilities when they have an actual way to keep them.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not most people. And in case you haven’t noticed, my powers aren’t exactly easy to live with. If I could get rid of them completely, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“I don’t believe you.” Affront turns to indignation as he continues to stare at me, but I don’t back down. Instead, I just shrug and continue. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. You’ve got way too much power to just walk away from it. Don’t forget, I know exactly how vast it is.”
He lifts a brow. “Have you ever thought that it’s because I have so much power that I’m so willing to give it up?”
“Honestly, no. You don’t exactly seem the type.”
He stills. “And what type is that?”
“You know, the self-sacrificing, do-gooder, save-the-world type.” I widen my eyes in a deliberate gotcha kind of look. “Besides, if you’ve actually given up your ability to persuade people, how did you get that wolf to run away so quickly?”
“I already told you.” His voice and expression are all smug satisfaction. “I’m a vampire.”
“I have no idea what that means.” Except my damp palms say otherwise.
“It means that baby wolf is quite aware this vampire could separate his arms from his body in a blink if I wanted, with or without my powers.”
He looks so satisfied that I can’t help taunting, “Oh yeah? You really think you’re that big and scary, huh?”
His only response is to slowly blink at me, like he can’t believe I’m actually making fun of him. Or worse, flirting with him. Not as shocked as I am, though, when I realize that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I just wish I knew where it came from. I’d definitely be lying if I said there wasn’t something about the way Hudson snarled at the wolf that sent shivers straight down my spine. And not necessarily in a bad way. I clearly have a type.
Still, it doesn’t mean anything—except that both my human and gargoyle side recognize and appreciate strength when they see it. Right? Hudson is my friend. I’m in love with Jaxon, breakup or no breakup. Any chemistry that is showing up between Hudson and me has to be because of the mating bond and nothing else.
I know how powerful that chemistry was with Jaxon from the very beginning—before I even knew him, let alone had fallen in love with him. Is there any reason to suspect that it would be different between Hudson and me?
Just the thought has me freaking out a little bit.
Not to mention, Hudson still hasn’t answered the question I asked him before the wolf showed up, which means I’m pretty much in the dark here. I have absolutely no idea what happened between us or how he feels about me, let alone how he feels about being mated to me. Not that all this uncertainty isn’t scary or anything…
“Scary enough,” Hudson says so suddenly that I think he must be reading my mind. At least until he flashes a bit of fang, and I realize that he’s responding to my previous comment.
Since just seeing the tip of his fang sends another shiver along my spine, I realize I might have a serious problem on my hands, even before he asks, “What do you want to know about those four months?”
“Anything.” I take a deep breath in the hopes of calming the wild beating of my heart. “Whatever you can remember.”
“I remember everything, Grace.”
12
Eternal Ambivalence
of the Spotless Mind
“Everything?” I repeat, a little stunned at the admission.
He leans forward, and this time when he says, “Everything,” it comes out as much growl as word.
And I nearly swallow my tongue and my tonsils in one fell swoop.
Deep inside me, my gargoyle stirs, raising its wary head, even as I feel its stillness washing through me. I force it back, settling it down with the reassurance that I really am okay, even if I currently feel anything but.
“I remember what it was like to wake up to your incessant cheer and unwavering optimism,” he tells me hoarsely. “I was sure we were going to die locked in that place, but you were just as certain that we would survive. You refused to think any other way.”
“Really?” That kind of unbridled optimism feels foreign to me these days.
“Oh yeah. You were always coming up with someplace you wanted to take me when we got free. Certain if I could just see all the things to love in the world, I wouldn’t be evil anymore, I suppose.”
“Like where?” It sounds like I’m challenging him more than I’m asking a question, and maybe I am. Because all I can think about is how hard it must have been for him after we finally did make it back. First, me not even knowing he was there and then, when I did find out about him, I treated him with every ounce of suspicion I could muster.
“That little strip of Coronado you like to haunt when you’re in San Diego. You take the ferry over and then spend all afternoon checking out the art galleries before stopping at the little café on the corner to get a cup of tea and a couple of cookies the size of your palm.”
Oh my God. I hadn’t thought of that place in months, and with a handful of words, Hudson brings it back to me so clearly, I can almost taste the chocolate chips.
“What kind of cookies did I get?” I ask him, even though it’s more than obvious he’s telling the truth.
“One was chocolate chocolate chip,” he answers with a grin, and it’s the first real smile I’ve seen from him in ages. One of the only real smiles I’ve seen from him ever. It lights up his face—lights up the whole room, if I’m being honest. Even me…or maybe, especially me.
Because it’s an uncomfortable thought—an uncomfortable feeling—I ask, “What about the second cookie?” I never tell anyone about this, so I figure I’m safe.
But Hudson’s smile only gets wider. “Oatmeal raisin, which you don’t even really like. But it’s Miss Velma’s favorite, and no one ever buys them from her. She always said she was going to stop baking them, but you could see it made her sad, so you started buying one every time you went just so she would have an excuse to keep making them.”