from my screaming lungs, trying to make a joke so I can see Hudson smile one last time.
“Yeah, because that’s what I’m worried about,” he jokes back as he scoops me up into his arms and carries me across the field. “You having a concussion.”
Jaxon and Macy finally get to us, and Jaxon demands, “Let me have her,” but Hudson barely glances his way. He just keeps moving. He’s not fading, but he is striding out of the arena like a man on a mission.
The only thing he bothers to say is, “Push everyone back, make them leave this arena.”
I don’t know if Jaxon follows Hudson’s directions, but I no longer hear voices coming closer. Everything seems to be receding. Then again, that could be the poison working its way through my system.
“Grace, just hold on a little longer,” Macy tells me, her voice thick with tears. “We’ll figure this out. I swear, there has to be a spell, something. My dad is talking to all the witches and vampires on staff right now. They’re trying to find a way—”
She breaks off, unwilling to say what all of us are thinking, which is that it will take a lot more than a spell to save me now. Cyrus is too powerful, his bite too irrevocable. They can look all they want, but if what Hudson told me about his father the other night was true, they won’t find anything.
And much as I don’t want it to be true, the pain coursing through me right now says otherwise.
Still, I hate to see Macy like this. She’s devastated, her face crumpled and wet with tears she doesn’t even bother to try to stem. “It’s okay,” I soothe, because someone needs to. “You’re going to be okay.” I rub my hand against her arm, which is the only part of her I can reach.
“Where are you going?” Jaxon demands as Hudson continues to stride through the arena. “Where are you taking her?”
“I’ve got an idea,” he grinds out from between clenched teeth, his arms tightening around me. “It’s a long shot, but it’s better than sitting here waiting for her to die.”
The others wince, but I’m glad someone finally said it out loud. I’m going to die.
“What is it?” Macy whispers.
But Hudson isn’t listening anymore. Instead, he’s locked into the fury inside him, his wrath so great that it’s threatening to rise up and swallow us whole. I don’t know if the others can tell—his face is completely impassive—but I can feel it in the way he’s holding me. See it in his clenched jaw. Hear it in his ragged breathing and the too-fast pounding of his heart.
“It’s okay,” I try to tell him, but a stronger, deeper wave of pain chooses that exact moment to hit me, and I can’t stop myself from arching in his arms. From squeezing my eyes and fists and mouth shut as tightly as I can in an effort to stop the scream that wells in my throat.
“It’s not okay,” he growls as we finally step through the stadium doors into the snow and sleet.
The moment we do, there’s a wrenching sound behind us.
Macy gasps, her face going as white as the snow-capped mountains all around us. And a few seconds after that, the entire building starts collapsing in on itself. I watch over Hudson’s shoulder as wood and glass and stone and metal come tumbling down, the arena literally tearing itself apart piece by piece.
“What’s happening?” Macy squeaks out. “Jaxon, what are you doing?”
But Jaxon looks as ashen as she does as he shakes his head. “That’s not me.”
You don’t know what real power is.
Hudson’s words come back to me now, as does that moment when I was returning his powers to him—the moment when I realized just how infinite they really are.
Infinite enough to reduce his father’s bones to dust with the wave of a hand.
Infinite enough to tear down an entire stadium with barely a thought.
Infinite enough to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants.
And if Jaxon’s gasp is anything to go by, he knows it, too. Which means he also knows that Hudson has been telling me the truth all along. Because if he had been dead set on the murder and mayhem and genocide that Jaxon had believed was his plan two years ago, then it would have already happened. It would have been done with a flick of his fingers—a wave of his hand—and there would have been nothing anyone could