There’s no way either Grace or I could live with ourselves if we let Jaxon lose his soul. No way we could ever be together if we knew that doing so meant destroying Jaxon forever. Not when we both love him as much as we do, and not when we’ve both sacrificed so much for him already.

Grace turns around to meet my gaze, but I already know. I’ve known from the moment the words left Jaxon’s mouth. So when she mouths, I’m sorry, it doesn’t even hit.

How could it when the body blow came five minutes ago?

And so I do the only thing I can. I leave.

There’s no place to go, no one to be with. The closest people I have to friends are in the foyer comforting my brother. Which is how it should be.

But my night has taken quite a turn from where I thought it was going to go, so it’s not like I’ve got anything to keep my mind busy as I make my way down the stairs to my room.

I asked Grace to come back here with me earlier because I’d wanted to be with her. But I also did it because I wanted to see what she’d say. I wanted to know if what happened in New York mattered to her as much as it did to me or if it was just something that stayed there.

When she said yes…when she said yes, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life. And now, half an hour later, it’s gone completely to hell. And all I have to show for it is a bruised throat and a long, mate-less existence.

Fate really is a fickle, fickle bitch.

But what’s the alternative?

The truth is, there is none. And there never has been, despite the hope that’s beaten like feathered wings deep inside me for months now.

Grace and Jaxon belong together. Even if the universe hasn’t decreed it, the Bloodletter and some dark magic has. There’s no getting around that now. Maybe there never was. I was just too naive to realize it.

When I get back to my room, there’s nothing to do. Graduation is tomorrow, so there’s no schoolwork. No late-night study session. No one to talk to.

And though I’ve spent my life alone, after these last few weeks with Grace and the others, solitude suddenly feels like punishment.

The silence gets to me—which is ridiculous, but there it is—so I put on some Dermot Kennedy just for the noise. Then I take a quick shower.

When I get out, I resist the urge to check my phone to see if Grace has texted me. It’s harder than it should be.

It’s okay, I tell myself as I drink down a bottle of water in a few gulps.

Everything’s fine, I say to myself as I turn on the fireplace and get it burning hot.

It wouldn’t have worked anyway, I reassure myself as I sit down on the couch.

I’m all right. Everything is all right.

I say it like a mantra, say it until I believe it. Say it until I can finally pick up my phone and text Grace in response to what turns out to be a half dozen texts she’s sent me.

Grace: Hey

Grace: You okay?

Grace: I’m so sorry

Grace: I don’t know what else to do

Grace: You there?

Grace: I wish it was different

Hudson: I’m good

Hudson: Hope you’re good, too

Grace: Hudson, please

Hudson: Night

I put the phone down on the end table next to the couch.

See, that wasn’t so awful.

None of this is actually good or bad.

It just is what it is.

Easy peasy, like Macy always says to me when we’re playing chess. Easy peasy.

There’s nothing else to say.

Convinced I’ve got my shit under control, I pick up the book lying next to me on the couch, the one I was reading before we went to the Dragon Court. I open it to the page I bookmarked and start to read. I even make it through two pages before I realize what I’m reading.

And as Dermot Kennedy switches over to JP Saxe and Julia Michaels’s “If the World Was Ending,” the words swimming before my eyes finally register.

And that’s when I do the only thing yet another tosser who throws away his mating bond can do.

I go to the front of the book and rip out the first page of Pablo Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair—the same book I gave to Grace on her birthday—and toss it into the fire.

I do the same with the second page. And the third. And the fourth and the fifth and the sixth.

Before I know it, I’ve burned the entire book.

And I’m still not okay. More, I’m pretty sure I never will be again.

Blood Brothers

—Hudson—

This is a bad idea.

A very bad idea. But since the alternative is staring at the ceiling in my room and pretending to be asleep while the clock moves at a bloody snail’s pace, I figure a bad idea is better than no idea at all.

I put on a pair of running shoes and grab a hoodie; then I take the stairs three at a time.

All the way up to my baby brother’s tower…because apparently he needs one to feel like a prince.

I figure he’ll be asleep, but catching him with his defenses down might not be a bad thing.

But Jaxon must not be getting any more sleep than I do these days, because when I get to his room, he’s not in bed. Instead, he’s lying on a weight bench in the center of the room, bench-pressing a truly impressive amount of weight while Linkin Park blasts from his phone.

“What do you want?” he demands the second he sees me, his voice extra loud so I can hear him over the pounding music.

“Quality time,” I tell him, deadpan. His only response is a roll of his eyes as he lifts and lowers the weights.

“So if quality time isn’t on the table, I thought maybe you’d like to join me for a run?”

I know it’s a strange invitation—our entire relationship is off and has been for a very long time—but I figure if one of us doesn’t try to take a step, whatever fucked-up shite this is between us will go on for another century or ten, and I don’t want that. Especially not with what’s coming our way in the not-so-distant future. And especially not when Jaxon’s been so fucking decent about Grace lately—something that’s hard to believe but definitely appreciated on my part.

A long silence follows my invitation—too long if you ask me. But eventually Jaxon raises a sardonic brow and asks, “What? Are we bonding now?”

“Bonding seems a little extreme. I thought we’d start with talking and running. Preferably at the same time, if you think you can handle it.” It’s a deliberate goad, one that must hit its mark because the next thing I know, Jaxon is off the bench.

“Let me grab my shoes,” he tosses over his shoulder as he walks toward his bedroom. “Then you can tell me what this visit is actually about.”

Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that we’ve been at each other’s throats for more than a century and I don’t even know why? Besides the whole born vampire supremacy misunderstanding nightmare. And the him killing me nightmare. And the mated to and in love with the same girl nightmare…

Jesus. Is it any wonder our relationship is so completely fucked? The deck’s been stacked against us from the very beginning.

Except I remember when it wasn’t, probably a lot better than Jaxon does.

I remember when we were little and used to play hide-and-seek all over the Vampire Court. It used to make Cyrus so pissed, especially when Jaxon would use his powers to flush me out of hiding. At least a quarter of the fun of the game was seeing how mad our father would get when Jaxon’s earthquakes disrupted his meetings. But Cyrus was already locking me up at that point, pushing me into losing my temper so he could test my powers, and any payback I could deliver was totally worth it to me.

Except when they took Jaxon away. Nothing was worth that.

I didn’t get to see him for more than a hundred years, no matter how much I pleaded or how much my father used him as a carrot to dangle over my head to get me to do things I didn’t want to do. At least it didn’t take long to figure out that it didn’t matter how well I controlled my powers or how well I performed in whatever destructive task he set for me, I would never get to see Jaxon.

I don’t want that to happen again. And with graduation looming, I definitely don’t want to go another hundred years without seeing my baby brother.

As he ties his running shoes, I walk around his room and try to find something I can “pretend” to look at to keep myself busy. To be fair, there isn’t much. He’s taken everything out of the sitting room since the last time I was up here, until the only things left are the weight-lifting equipment and a couple of stray books stacked on the windowsill. Next to a small carved horse.

It’s not even a surprise—I saw it the last time I was here—but I end up stiffening anyway. Because I don’t know how I feel about the fact that he still has it. And he probably has no idea why it matters.

I start to turn away, but in the end, I can’t resist picking it up. I spent days carving it for him when we were kids, and while it’s not a perfect model of his own horse, it’s pretty good. Even the mane and tail look about right. I can’t help being impressed with young Hudson’s skills.

I hold it up to get a better look at the defined swirls in the mane and tail. Yeah, not too shabby at all.

Except when Jaxon comes back from his bedroom, a bigger scowl than usual flits across his face. “Why are you touching that?” he demands, striding across the room to get to me.