I close my eyes and reach deep inside myself for the platinum string that lets me shift between gargoyle and human so fast that my fingers brush past another string. It’s the emerald-green string I noticed first in the laundry room, the one something inside me said not to touch. But I don’t have time to consider that accident because another string has all my attention. It’s a brilliant blue that’s glowing brightly. More, it’s shooting off sparks in all directions.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s our mating bond. I’ve known it practically from the moment Hudson announced I was his mate—the first thing I did when I got over the shock was look for the string. It didn’t take long to find it, as it was the only string that was glowing so brilliantly at that moment.
That was the last time it glowed. I’ve been checking it out every day, so I’m certain of it. But now it’s glowing so brightly that it’s practically iridescent, and the only thing I can think of is—
I gasp, my entire body going on red alert because in the blink of an eye, I can feel Hudson deep inside me.
It’s not like before, when we could talk so clearly to each other. I don’t know what he’s saying now any more than I did a second ago, when he was all but shouting at me through the stone. But I can feel him, warm and strong and frantic. All the detachment he was projecting earlier is long gone.
It’s that knowledge that has me grabbing on to the platinum string and shifting back as quickly as I can. Teaching him a lesson for being a jerk is one thing. Actually scaring him is something else entirely.
The moment I turn human again, Hudson grabs and pulls me against him in a hug that feels both incredibly relieved and incredibly intimate.
“What happened?” he asks as he moves away, his hands skimming up and down my arms like he can’t quite believe I’m flesh and blood again—or like he’s checking for injuries. “Why’d you shift?”
“Because you were being a jerk, and I was tired of listening to it, so I shifted to make sure I didn’t have to listen anymore.”
His mouth drops open for the second time in as many minutes, and behind us, Amka just shakes her head, chuckling. Hudson is too busy glaring at me to spare her so much as a glance, so she winks and gives me a thumbs-up sign. Apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks guys need to be put in their place when they act like overbearing jerks.
I have one moment to think to myself that I would never pull something like that on Jaxon, before Hudson is snarling, “Turning yourself to stone is the most immature use of powers I have ever heard of.” Once again, his fangs are on full display, and I can’t decide if he’s trying to scare me or if it’s just because he’s that mad, he can’t control them.
In the end, I decide it doesn’t matter, that two can play this game. So I finish packing up my stuff, and then I lean forward until our faces are only about an inch apart. Then I tell him, “No, the most immature use of my powers would have been if I’d turned you to stone.”
Then I pat him on the shoulder—half threat, half reassurance—and sweep right past him. I wave at Amka on my way out the door and leave Hudson to either stew in his own anger or swallow his pride and scramble after me.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him to pick the second choice.
15
A Little
Thread-to-Thread
Competition
I’m halfway to the staircase, just about convinced he’s let his anger get the best of him, when Hudson catches me. And when I say he catches me, I mean exactly that.
I’m watching for him, listening for him, and still he moves so quickly and quietly that it’s a shock when he wraps his hand around my wrist from behind and whirls me around. His hold is gentle despite the fact that the whole yank and spin happens so fast that I barely understand what’s going on until I find myself face-to-face with a half-annoyed, half-amused vampire.
Hudson, however, knows exactly what’s happening as he invades my space, backing me up until I can’t go any farther, until my back is literally against the ancient tapestry–lined wall.
I think about pulling my wrist free, but he must sense it because his hold gets a little tighter—not tight enough to hurt but definitely tight enough that I feel the cold press of his fingers against the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.
“You don’t think you’re the only one who can use your powers irresponsibly, do you?” he asks, and there’s just enough arrogance in the question to set my teeth on edge…and, conversely, to make my breath catch in my throat.
Which makes me feel like such a cliché. Come on.
Boy acts like jerk. Girl gets one up on boy. Boy beats his chest and girl falls under his spell?
Umm, no thank you. It’s going to take more than some random chest beating to get me to fall into line—no matter how attractive and creative the guy doing the chest beating is.
Which is why I say, “I thought you told me that you didn’t need to use your powers,” in the most bored voice I can muster. “You are a vampire, after all.”
“That was an observation, not a statement of intent,” he answers, and now he’s so close that I can feel his breath hot against my ear.
Shivers that have nothing to do with fear work their way down my spine, and I squirm a little, trying to put some more space between his mouth and my skin—not because I don’t like the feel of him but because I’m afraid that I might like it too much.
“Bummer,” I tell him when I’ve finally achieved a satisfactory distance from his face. “I was looking forward to you blowing stuff up again.”
He turns serious, the mischievous glint fading from his eyes. “And here I’ve been working really hard to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
His voice is as sardonic as ever, but I know Hudson well enough by now to recognize the sincerity running just below the sarcasm.
It sneaks past the defenses I’ve had in place all night, and I answer, “Yeah, so have I,” before I even realize I’m going to say it.
His shoulders slump, and for a second, he looks more defeated than I have ever seen him. “This is a huge mess, Grace.”
“The hugest,” I agree, right before he lowers his forehead to mine.
It feels like an intimate position—an intimate moment—and I think about pulling away. But intimate doesn’t necessarily mean sexual. We’ve had plenty of intimate moments—he lived in my head for weeks. And so I tell myself this is just one more.
Besides, I think I need his comfort at least as much as he needs mine.
And so I do the only thing I can do in this situation, the only thing that feels right. I pull my wrist from his now loose hold and wrap my arms around him. The universe might have played one hell of a practical joke on us when it made us mates, but right now we’re just two friends sharing a quiet moment in a fucked-up situation.