“Then how about I don’t want to watch you go to prison because your dad’s an asshole? And I definitely don’t want to go, either.” I throw my arms up as I look around the room. “If someone has a better idea, please let me know. Because I’ve got a shit ton of work to do between now and graduation, and the last thing I want is to spend time chasing giants when I don’t need to.”

I wait for Jaxon to chime in, for Hudson or Mekhi or Luca to tell me there are a million better ideas. But it doesn’t take very long for me to figure out—complaints or not, sarcasm or not—none of them has a better idea. At least not one that has a chance of stopping Hudson, and maybe me, from being arrested…or worse.

“Okay, then,” I say after the silence has gone on way too long. “Where do we start?”

As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we find the Blacksmith, the sooner I can get Cyrus off his sons’ asses—and my ass—for good.

But once again, no one answers.

“Seriously?” I ask. “You’re not even going to try to help me come up with a plan?” Forget the others, I look between Hudson and Jaxon. Surely they’ll help me.

“It’s not that we don’t want to help,” Mekhi says in a soothing tone. “It’s just that, to go against Cyrus, we should have more than a maybe-a-giant-can-help-us plan. What if we get to Giant City and no one will help us—but someone else is more than happy to tell Cyrus what we’re doing?”

“Well, we’ll just have to take that chance, right?” When no one agrees—not even Hudson—I don’t bother to hide my annoyance. “Well, I’m going to try. The rest of you can do whatever you want…but you need to do it somewhere other than my room.”

“Because we don’t agree with you?” Mekhi challenges.

“Because I’m exhausted. I flew to the Bloodletter’s and back today, and all I want is to get some sleep.” I move to the door and open it. “Thanks for the warning. I’m all in about figuring out how to stop Cyrus from ruining Hudson’s and my lives forever. But…” I blow out a long breath. “Tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to eat my cold grilled cheese, drink my Dr Pepper, and go to sleep.”

For a moment, nobody moves. But then Jaxon lifts his chin in a little nod toward the door, and the rest of the Order files out.

Jaxon starts to follow them, but at the last second, he turns and gives me a warning look. “Pinning all your hopes on finding the Crown isn’t going to end well for any of us. We need a better plan.”

“I don’t disagree,” I tell him. “And as soon as you come up with something, you know where to find me. Until then, good night.” I look at Hudson and nod toward the door myself. “To both of you.”

Hudson doesn’t say anything, but it’s obvious he’s as unhappy as Jaxon is as I close the door behind them. Which is just too bad, because right now…right now I need to have a full-blown panic attack, and the last thing I need is for Hudson to see it.

Because as sure as I know anything, I know Hudson will do something completely reckless—and most likely get himself killed if not locked in a prison meant to torture him for his immortal life—if it means protecting me.

I just hope I bought enough time to keep him safe until dawn.

36

Like a Monster

to a Flame

“So how much do you actually know about the Crown?” I ask Hudson the next afternoon as we work on finishing up our extra ethics project in the library.

He looks wary as he glances up from where he’s reading Symposium—in Ancient Greek. The show-off. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you didn’t seem to know anything about the Crown when the Bloodletter brought it up yesterday afternoon. But when we were discussing it with the Order last night, you acted like you knew everything.”

“I don’t know any more about it than anyone else,” he answers before ducking his head and going back to reading.

“I don’t believe that,” I tell him. “You said your father is obsessed with it.”

This time, he doesn’t even bother looking up from his book when he says, “My father is obsessed with it. But, in case you haven’t noticed, Cyrus and I aren’t what most people would consider close.”

I wait for him to say more, but of course he doesn’t. This is Hudson, after all, and curt is his middle name when he’s in a full-blown snit—which he currently is, though I don’t know why.

“Are we seriously going to do this all day?” I ask, blowing out a frustrated breath.

He raises a brow. “Do what?”

“This.” I gesture expansively between us. “Trying to talk to you when you’re like this is like pulling fangs.”

“Actually, removing their fangs kills vampires, so I’m guessing the struggle would be a lot more violent than this.” He turns the page emphatically.

I’m not so sure, considering I’m going to lose my shit if he turns another page like that. Still, “I’ve never heard that before, about fangs.”

“Shocking.”

My eyebrows lift. “I thought a stake through the heart is what killed vampires, not—”

“Who doesn’t that kill?” He rolls his eyes. “And of course you’ve never heard about our fangs before. Do you think we go around broadcasting our vulnerabilities to humans so they can stomp all over us?”

“Yeah, but…” I trail off as I realize I don’t actually have anything to say to that. And Hudson has gone back to his reading anyway. Big surprise.

I look down at my own book—Aristotle’s On the Soul (definitely not in the original Greek)—and try to focus on my part of the project. The sooner I get this read, the sooner I can answer the Aristotle portion of the ethics question. And the sooner I can get away from a very pissy Hudson.

Except I can’t concentrate when he’s sitting over there stewing silently. He might be able to comprehend what he’s reading when he’s annoyed, but I might as well be reading in Greek. Which means this project is never going to get finished if we don’t find a way to clear the air between us.

Which is the only reason I finally ask, “Hey, what’s wrong?” Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

Right up until he answers, “Nothing,” anyway.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I tell him. “You’re ignoring me, and I don’t know why.”

“We are sitting at a table in the library, working together on a project, and I have answered every single thing you’ve said to me,” he says in a voice so primly British that it only stokes the flames of anger deeper inside me. “How, exactly, is that ignoring you?”

“I don’t know, but it is. And I don’t like it.”

And yes, I am perfectly aware of how ridiculous I sound, but I don’t actually care. I know when I’m being given the non-silent silent treatment, and that is definitely what’s happening here. Which is unfair, considering all I wanted last night was to not freak him out while I had a complete meltdown.

“Yes, well, it’s rough out there for a gargoyle.” He flips the page just a little too emphatically, and that, combined with the way he bastardizes the title of that old song to make fun of me, makes me snap.

I lean forward and, without giving myself a chance to change my mind, I shove his book right off the table.

I expect him to get mad, maybe demand what the hell I think I’m doing. Instead, he just looks from me to the book and back again. And says, “Not a fan of Plato?”

I grit my teeth. “Not at the moment, no.”

“Looks like you and Jaxon have more in common than I thought,” he answers as he bends down to pick up the book. And then goes back to reading it.

“You know what? I’m not going to do this with you,” I tell him, grabbing my stuff and shoving it into my backpack without so much as looking at what I’m doing. I hear paper rip, but I’m so mad that I don’t even care.

“Now, there’s a surprise,” he answers, and this time when he flips a page, he does it with such force that I’m pretty sure he rips something, too. Not that I’m sticking around to figure out what. I’ll go to my room and finish my half of the project, and then he’s on his own.

“And you accuse me of being the one who doesn’t deal with conflict,” I say and then turn and leave.

I fume all the way up the stairs and all the way down the hallway. I have stuff to do today—a lot of stuff—and I don’t have time for Hudson being petty. Sure, snarky is his default state, but not like this. Not to me.

I just wish I knew what set it off. Maybe then I could figure out how to fix it. But the longer we were at the library, the more annoyed he got, and I have no idea why. Any more than I know why he told me about the fangs thing, when he’s so obviously mad at me.

I’m still trying to figure it out when I turn the last corner before I get to my room…and find him leaning against the wall near my door. Ugh. Vampires.

“I’m sorry I was an arse,” he tells me in his perfect British accent.

“Don’t you mean wanker?” I tell him as I open my door.

He moves his head in a back-and-forth, maybe kind of motion. “Seems a bit harsh if you ask me, but sure. If it makes you feel better. I was a tosser.”

“A wanker,” I repeat as I cross the threshold into my room. And can’t help grinning as he tries to follow me in and gets stuck on the other side.

“Seriously?” he asks.