She starts down the steep, frozen path that leads into the antechamber and, after exchanging a look of our own, Hudson and I follow her.

As we do, I worry about the Bloodletter slipping and breaking a hip or something as she makes her way back toward her sitting room. I have a terrible time navigating this trail, and I’m a lot younger than she is. But she must do the walk more frequently than I give her credit for, because she never hesitates—even in the most dangerous spots.

Still, I breathe a sigh of relief when we finally make it down to the main level of the cave. We pass through the doorway I remember, and I brace myself for what I’ll see. Not going to lie, the bucket of blood that was sitting there last time still shows up in my nightmares occasionally, and I’m not thrilled at the possibility of seeing it again.

I tell myself not to look as we start across the antechamber toward the door to her main quarters, but in the end, I can’t help myself. And once I do… Oh. My. God.

I don’t say anything, but I must make some kind of sound because both Hudson and the Bloodletter turn to look at me—Hudson with alarm, the Bloodletter with a strange kind of fascination that doesn’t make sense at all.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors,” she says mildly as she parades us by the two human corpses currently hanging upside down from hooks in the corner. Their throats are slit, and they’re draining into two large buckets.

Her words aren’t an apology, and I get it. I do. I don’t apologize to anyone when I walk into the grocery store and buy chicken breasts. Why should this be any different? Well, except for two people being dead. And I don’t normally—and by normally, I mean ever—get to see my food in such a natural state.

My stomach rolls.

Hudson moves so he’s between the corpses and me, his hand coming up to rest on the small of my back in what I’m pretty sure is supposed to be a gesture of comfort. But it only makes me nervous, considering the Bloodletter’s scrutiny of both of us. I don’t pull away, though.

We move past the large buckets—which I note with some horror are nearly overflowing at this point—and she waves a hand to unlock the door that leads to her main apartment.

“Sit, sit,” she says as she gestures to the black couch facing an illusion of a roaring fire. “I’ll be with you in just a second.”

Hudson and I do as we’re told, and I can’t help noticing that she’s redecorated from the last time I was here. Before, the couch was a warm harvest gold, facing two wingback chairs in deep red like the poppies in the painting over the fireplace. Now, everything in the room is black and gray with accents of white. Even the art on the wall is in shades of gray, with only a couple of bold slashes of red.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Hudson tells her as we settle onto the couch. “It’s very…serial-killer chic.”

I kick him, hard, but he just makes a face at me, the picture of innocence—as long as you don’t count the wicked glint in his eyes.

When she finally moves to sit in the black rocking chair opposite the couch, the Bloodletter is carrying an elegant crystal goblet filled with what I can only assume is blood. My stomach clenches, and I think I’m going to be sick. Which is bizarre—I see the vamps drink blood at school all the time. Why should this be any different?

Except the vamps at Katmere drink animal blood. And the animals it comes from aren’t hanging in the corner of the dining hall as they partake…

For a while, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just watches us over the rim of her goblet. I can’t help feeling like that mouse in The Lion King—when Scar plays with it, letting it run through his claw, and everyone watching knows its life is completely in his hands.

But then she blinks, and she looks like a little old grandma again. Especially when she smiles and says, “Okay, dearies. Tell me everything.”

27

Lies that Bind

“Grace is my mate,” Hudson blurts out, even as I’m racking my brain, trying to decide where to start.

“Is she now?” The Bloodletter doesn’t seem particularly surprised by the statement, which alarms me—at least until she asks, “What makes you think that?” and I realize she doesn’t believe him.

He lifts a brow. “The mating bond that’s currently connecting us is a pretty good indicator.”

Surprise flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. As she continues to study us with an impassive gaze, I can’t help wondering what it is that surprises her—the fact that Hudson and I are now mates? Or that he refuses to bow and scrape to her and instead meets her as an equal?

I’m pretty sure there aren’t many people who do that—and by not many, I mean none. Even Jaxon, who she raised, treats her with deference and maybe even a little bit of fear. But Hudson doesn’t. I don’t know if that means he’s reckless or if he really is just as powerful as she is.

“How exactly does that work?” the Bloodletter asks as she sips her blood. “Considering I know for a fact that there’s a bond between Grace and Jaxon.”

“A bond you gave him a spell to sever,” Hudson tells her.

“Did I?” She takes a sip from her goblet. “I can’t seem to recall—”

“At your age, I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t recall,” Hudson comments. “But try to remember this, if you wouldn’t—”

“Be careful how you speak to me,” she snaps, as quick and biting as a cobra. But then she seems to catch herself and settles back with a demure smile. Even as she continues: “Or those two unfortunate hikers won’t be the only ones I drain dry today.”

Hudson yawns. He actually yawns, and now I’m thinking he’s not so much brave as really, really reckless.

As for the Bloodletter, I’m pretty sure she’s trying to decide whether to drain him or flambé him into a nice Hudson Jubilee.

“So if I actually gave him the spell like you say I did—”

“Oh, you gave it to him,” Hudson tells her.

“If. I. Did,” she repeats in a voice like steel, “shouldn’t you just say thank you?” she asks with narrowed eyes. “Considering how you benefited from it?”

“You think I should thank you?” Hudson hisses. “For screwing up our lives this badly? For destroying my brother—”

“If he chose to use the spell, I can’t imagine why he would be destroyed.”

“He didn’t use the spell,” I tell her, trying to ignore the way Hudson’s words make me feel. I know everything is screwed up, I know he doesn’t want to be mated to me any more than I want to be mated to him, but hearing him say it like that—like being my mate is the worst thing to ever happen to him—hurts in a way I didn’t expect it to.

“Someone else did,” Hudson says. “But that’s not really the point here, is it? What I want to know is how you knew the spell to break the bond in the first place.”

“Why does it matter? Unless…” She studies us, cold calculation laid bare in her eyes. “Unless you’re here because you want me to break your bond, too.”

“That is what we want,” I tell her before Hudson can say anything—partly because I don’t want him to piss her off and screw this up and partly because I don’t want to hear him talk any more about how awful our bond is. “And we also want to find a way to fix Jaxon’s and my bond.”

“Really?” The Bloodletter turns mocking eyes on Hudson. “Is that really what you want? To tie up Grace and Jaxon’s mating bond in a nice little bow?”

Now I’m the one looking between them, as a million different undercurrents sweep through the room. I feel like a child because I can’t figure out either of them.

“I want Grace and my brother to be happy,” he tells her through gritted teeth.

“And you think repairing their bond will do that?” She takes another sip of blood, even as she contemplates him over the rim of her goblet.

“They were happy before,” Hudson grinds out.

“They were,” she agrees. “But if they really love each other, does it matter if there’s a mating bond or not?”

“It does if the mating bond in question has her mated to me.”

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt in a voice that is anything but nice. “But can I be a part of this conversation? You know, considering it is literally about the rest of my life.”

“Of course, Grace.” The Bloodletter is all magnanimous sweetness as she looks at me. “What is it that you want, dear?”

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to trip over my tongue in the face of that laser-eyed scrutiny. Be careful what you wish for and all that… But in the end, I manage to pull it together and say, “I want to be mated to Jaxon again.” I make sure not to look at Hudson as I say it.

The Bloodletter studies me for a while, as if trying to assess the truth of my statement. In the end, though, she just gives me a sad smile as she shakes her head. “Well then, I’m sorry to say that your trip was for nothing. I can’t break your and Hudson’s bond, and I definitely, definitely can’t fix the one between you and Jaxon.”