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“Well, let me ruin it for you,” Flint shoots back. “They both die in the end. For real.”
“Hmm.” It’s Flint’s turn to be examined like he’s a bug—and not just any bug. She looks at him like he’s a gigantic cockroach skittering across the rug while she’s barefoot—right before she turns back to me. “Just to be clear. You’re free to leave anytime. You are the ones who came to me asking for help, not the other way around.”
“Of course, you’re right,” I say, because she is. And also because something tells me this witch doesn’t get mad; she gets even…in the worst possible way. “We did come to you for help, and we appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
I pick the bowl of flowers back up, trying my best not to slosh any of the water over the edges. “If you think these flowers are the way to go, then we will definitely take them with us if we end up getting arrested.”
Hudson gives me a look that says the hell we will, but I ignore him. He can pretend like we have control over what’s going to happen to us, but we don’t. At least not right now. If this floral death trap gives us some semblance of that control back, then I say we go for it.
“Not like that, you won’t,” the Crone tells me.
“I’m sorry?”
She shakes her head. “It is a prison, dear, and you don’t even know when—or if—you’re going to end up there. If the flowers die before you get arrested, they will be useless to you. Not to mention that the prison would never let you in with them.”
“Oh, right.” I feel like a child as I look down at the bright-orange flowers floating in the water. “So what are we supposed to do?”
“You,” she answers, nodding specifically at me, “need to put your hand in the liquid.”
“My hand?” I ask with a whole lot of trepidation. There are two reasons I don’t want to do what she asks—one is because the flowers are poisonous and the second is because she called the stuff they’re floating in “liquid” instead of “water.”
I must not be the only one who picks up on that, either, because Flint puts a hand on my forearm to keep me from doing anything as he asks, “What kind of liquid are we talking about here exactly?”
She just smiles. “It won’t hurt you, Grace.”
“I’ll do it,” Hudson says, moving forward to block my access to the bowl.
“No, you won’t,” the Crone answers, and beneath the sweetness is 100 percent steel.
“And why is that exactly?” he asks.
“Because I say so,” she snaps, eyes flashing. “And also because this step won’t work on a vampire.”
Hudson bares his teeth at her—and I can’t help wondering if this is all about to go south…in the worst possible way. A way that includes pulling Hudson out of here in a body bag…after she’s shoved him into her pizza oven.
“I’ll do it,” I tell her, stepping around him.
“Grace—” Hudson shoots me a warning look, which I ignore.
Because of course I know it’s a bad idea. But bad ideas are what you have left after you’ve blown through all the good ones.
Is this a last resort? Abso-freaking-lutely. I’m not going to dispute that. But if we get arrested and stuck in an inescapable prison with an unbreakable curse, then I think we’re fucked anyway.
So with options that are basically A, die fast, B, die slow, or C, maybe, possibly have a chance of getting the hell out with the help of these flowers?
I totally choose option D. But something tells me there’s no way Cyrus is going to allow that, so C it is.
Without waiting for any more objections—or for Hudson to try to stop me—I plunge my hand straight into the bowl of floral liquid.
Romeo and Juliet, here I come.
Blood Isn’t Thicker
than Water
My hand still hurts several hours later, when we finally make it back to Katmere. I try to ignore the burn that’s radiating from the three orange flowers now branded into my palm, but it’s basically impossible.
Tylenol, here I come.
“This is a bad idea,” Hudson tells me as we climb up the stairs to Katmere.
We’re all exhausted—we’ve done entirely too much flying, partying, and tense negotiating in the last seventy-two hours, and all any of us wants to do is get some sleep. Preferably a lot of sleep before graduation tomorrow. Jaxon and the others got back before us, so odds are they’re already curled up in bed. I envy them.
I have no doubt that we’re going to need all our wits about us once we have to face Cyrus, who I know is going to be on his game.
“I agree,” I tell him. “But I still think we can’t rule it out.”
“Rule it out? How can we even rule it in?” he hisses. “Tell me you don’t actually trust that woman.”
“‘Trust’ is a pretty strong word.”
“‘Trust’ is utter recklessness. She lives in a bloody gingerbread house. I don’t know about you, but I believe in truth in advertising, and I have no interest in being Hansel or fucking Gretel.”
I make a face at him. “I really don’t think cannibalism is on the table.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Did you see the way she was looking at Luca?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think that had anything to do with cannibalism.”
We both laugh, and I don’t know. There’s something about the way he looks—so happy, despite all the shit we still have to go through—that hits me directly in the feels. And has me giggling long after the joke is over.
“You good?” he asks as we walk through the wide double doors at the top of the steps.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I am. How about you?”
His eyes go that fathomless blue that makes everything inside me stand up and take notice. Then he leans down a little, whispers, “I’d be better if you decide to sleep in my room tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “If I decide to sleep in your room tonight, I think we’ll both look like zombies at graduation.”
“I’m okay with that,” he tells me with a wicked little lift of his brows that has me thinking that maybe sleep isn’t an actual physical requirement.
“Maybe I am, too,” I tell him, idly turning my promise ring around and around my finger, and his eyes go wide with a delight that makes me laugh all over again.
“I promise I’ll let you get some sleep,” he tells me. “Eventually.”
Then he’s reaching over, brushing one of my many errant curls out of my face. As he does, he lets his fingers linger on my cheek for just a second or two, but it’s long enough to have my breath catching in my throat.
Long enough to have electricity zinging along my nerve endings.
More than long enough to have me thinking about how good his mouth feels on mine.
He’s thinking it, too. I can tell, and for a moment, everything fades away except Hudson and me and this heat that keeps burning, burning, burning between us.
And then all hell breaks loose.
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Jaxon snarls. “This is all your fault! You and your mating bond are the reason she might die in prison, and you think you’ve got the right to put your filthy fucking hands on her?”
“Whoa, Jaxon.” Mekhi tries to put a restraining palm on his shoulder, but Jaxon just shoves it off as he gets right up in Hudson’s face.
Hudson’s eyes turn glacial in a way I haven’t seen from him in weeks. “Well, at least I’m not the tosser who threw his mating bond in the trash, so maybe you shouldn’t be too quick to come at me.”
“You know what? Fuck you!” Jaxon roars. “You’re a sanctimonious prick, and no one likes you. What the fuck are you even doing here?”
“Apparently pissing you off, so I’ll call that a win for the day. And here’s a little advice. Keep acting like a bloody wanker, and no one’s going to like you, either.” Hudson starts to brush past him, but out of nowhere, Jaxon grabs him and slams him against the wall so hard that his head makes a cracking sound when it connects with the ancient stone.
“Jaxon!” I grab on to his arm, try to pull him back. “Jaxon, stop!”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Honestly, I don’t even think he hears me. It’s like he’s a stranger, someone I don’t even recognize.
“You just going to stand there like a cack-handed bell?” Hudson sneers. “Or are you actually going to do something? I haven’t got all bleeding day for you to get your bollocks up.”
“Hudson, stop!” I shout, but it’s too late. I can see the moment Jaxon snaps. His hand goes to Hudson’s throat, and he starts to squeeze.
“Jaxon! Jaxon, no!” I grab on to his hand, try to pull him back, but he’s not budging. And neither is Hudson, who is staring at him with contemptuous eyes. I wait for him to stop this, wait for him to pry Jaxon off, but he’s not even trying. I don’t get it until I realize that Jaxon is using his telekinesis to hold him against the wall. And that’s when I go from frightened to terrified.
If I don’t stop this, Jaxon might actually kill Hudson—again.