He strikes again, deeper this time, and I gasp. Shudder. Try to wrap myself around him as he continues to take. As he takes whatever I have to give and then demands more. Demands everything until my knees go shaky, my breath goes shallow, and my hands and feet turn ice-cold despite the heat blazing deep inside me.

And even as the pleasure swamps me, engulfs me, there’s a tiny part of me that understands: Hudson has taken too much blood.

129

Some Days Life’s a Bowl

of Cherries; Some Days

It’s Just the Pits

For one brief moment, I think of protesting, of pulling away.

But my mind is cloudy, my body weak, my will to resist nonexistent. Because this is Hudson.

My mate.

My best friend.

My partner.

And because he is all those things, I know something he doesn’t. Something this hellscape can’t imagine and something he will never let himself believe. He made the best choice he could make with those boys…and I would never blame him for it. Regret? Yes. But also forgiveness.

And so I say again, stronger this time, “I trust you, Hudson.”

Hudson pulls off me with a strangled groan, his eyes confused but clear as he looks between me and the Grace on the floor. As he realizes that it really is just a nightmare.

It’s his turn to bury his hands in my hair as he whispers, “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“That’s the whole point,” I murmur, turning my head so I can kiss the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. “What I’ve known all along and what I need you to believe, too. You will never hurt me, Hudson. At least not like that. You would never hurt anyone if you could help it.”

He shakes his head, starts to speak, but I stop him with a soft finger over his lips. “Never,” I reiterate.

We both glance down then, toward the other Grace who should be cowering on the floor near Hudson’s desk. But she’s gone, and when I look toward the door, I see her disappearing out of it, backpack over her shoulder and curls streaming behind her.

“It was wrong,” he tells me, and I realize he’s watching the other Grace walk away, too. “What I did to them.”

“Yes,” I agree, because it was. “But, baby. War turns everyone into villains. There’s never been a way to get around that fact.”

He doesn’t answer, just closes his eyes with a sigh and nods.

And he looks so tired, so worn out, that I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him into me so I can help support his weight. “How many times have you killed me so far?” I ask.

He swallows hard, his throat working overtime. “Too many. Thousands.” He sighs again. “Maybe tens of thousands.”

“It’s enough,” I tell him. “More than enough.”

He might have only suffered this punishment for a few days, but it’s a pretty fucking terrible punishment. And he suffered it over and over and over again. At some point, enough is enough.

He shakes his head. “It’s only been a few days.”

“No,” I tell him, and this time it’s my turn to shake my head as I quote his favorite movie back to him. “‘It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage.’”

And for the first time in days, he smiles. Because he finally gets it.

“It’s time to forgive yourself, Hudson. It’s time to let it go.”

He doesn’t say anything, and at first I think he’s not ready. But then he smiles and bends to kiss me again.

This time when he pulls away, we’re back in the cell.

“What the hell?” Remy stops pacing the second we wake up. “You can’t do that to me, Grace! I’ve been freaking out for the last twenty minutes. I thought he was going to kill you!”

“Is that how long we’ve been in there?” I ask. “It felt like only a couple of minutes.”

“Yeah, well, I told you time passes differently in there. Sometimes it feels longer; sometimes it feels shorter.” He makes a sound low in his throat, and it’s obvious he’s pissed as hell. “Next time you want to hitch a ride on someone else’s magic, pick anybody else, cher. Because that was some real bullshit.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I never meant to freak you out. And I do appreciate the help. More than I can say.”

“That’s how you got in?” Hudson asks, glancing from Remy to me.

“Yeah. Your girl pretty much dragged me into that hellscape.” Remy rolls his eyes. “Though, I gotta say, respect, man. I don’t know how long I’d be able to handle what you did.”

Hudson looks discomfited for a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with someone besides me having seen what was going on in his head. And I get that. I know how weird it felt to me to know that Hudson was in my head back when I didn’t trust him. I can only imagine how it feels to him to have some warlock he barely knows have access to his deepest fears—and by reflection, his greatest shame.

At first, I think he’s going to retreat behind his shell and pull out something obnoxious to say. But in the end, he must decide to roll with it, because instead of being an ass, he offers his hand to Remy and says, “Thanks for the help.”

Remy looks surprised, too, but he takes the offered hand and nods an obvious you’re welcome.

I settle down on my bed, and Hudson lies down next to me, his arm around my shoulders. Flint and Calder are still out, and it’s awful to watch them twitch and shudder on the bed—especially now that I have an idea of what they’re going through. But the only way I was able to reach Hudson is through our mating bond. I have no “in” with them, and it’s an awful realization.

“This is it, right?” I ask as the minutes slowly tick away. “We’re at the Pit now?”

“Yeah,” Remy says. “And if we’re lucky, we won’t have to do this again.”

“Let’s be really lucky, then, shall we?” Hudson’s accent is thick, his expression totally dry.

“The luckiest,” I add, even as I try to imagine what the Pit will be like if this was just the trip to it.

I mean, Hudson made a joke earlier that in Dante’s “Inferno,” the Pit was where Satan himself was, so a part of me is absolutely terrified of what’s going to happen when the doors open in the morning. What we’ve seen in the regular levels during Hex time has been terrible enough. If it wasn’t our only chance of finding the blacksmith so we can get out of here and save our friends from Cyrus, I’m pretty sure nothing would make me leave this room.

I start to ask Remy about it, but if he says it’s as bad as I think he will, I’ll only freak out about it until the doors open. Besides, he and I haven’t talked any other night during the Chamber because it seems disrespectful when people we care about are suffering.

Tonight is no different, despite Hudson having finally managed to beat his hellscape. So instead of talking, Hudson and I curl up on my bed and hold each other in silence.

As the last few minutes of the Chamber draw to a close, I can’t help thinking about Flint. About what his punishment is. He was arrested for trying to kill the last gargoyle, which makes me think that his punishment must have something to do with me—especially considering how he’s been acting every time I try to talk to him these last few days.

Having seen how I was used against Hudson in his punishment—and what that punishment did to him—I’m sick to my stomach about what might be happening to Flint. And this place having spent the last week using me against both my mate and one of my closest friends.

This place is evil, and if I get half a chance, I’ll do whatever I can to see it leveled. Rehabilitation is one thing. Torture is another. And what the Aethereum does is torture, pure and simple. I don’t care what its purpose is, I don’t care what it was built for, that’s not what it does. And that is not okay.

The minutes finally tick down, the red lights overhead slowly fading back to their normal cool white as Flint and Calder start to stir.

He looks so defenseless lying there, curled up in the fetal position, shivering under the blanket I draped over him an hour ago. I’ve known he’s suffered, have seen the dark circles and the shaking and the way he’s stopped smiling and eating. But I guess I’ve been so preoccupied with Hudson when the Chamber first ends each night that I haven’t realized just what bad shape Flint is in when he first comes out of it.

Or maybe it’s because today’s was the worst one yet. I don’t know and I don’t care. The moment Flint sits up, I’m across the room, kneeling next to his bed.

He flinches away from me the second I reach for his hand, though, and I consider walking away. I definitely don’t want to make this harder for him when he’s already suffering so much. At the same time, though, if I can find a way to help him—I want to.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him softly, knowing the others are probably listening but still trying to keep this as much between us as I can. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

He shrugs and stares at the wall beyond my head. “I deserve it.”

“Nobody deserves this.” I try to reach for his hand again, and this time he lets me.