in a sometimes-drafty old castle in Alaska and I don’t want to spend the next ten hours of my life freezing, I layer my favorite cardigan over the tank top. As its worn softness settles around me, I feel more like myself than I have since I turned back from being stone.
It’s a good feeling.
“I’m done,” I tell Hudson softly, and he nods, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
And as I stand here with this unique, unprecedented chance to study him uninterrupted—usually he’s wide awake and trading barbs with me every time I so much as get a glimpse of him—I can’t help but realize how tired he looks.
I get it. I’ve had two solid nights of sleep and I still feel like I’ve been run over by a semi. But his tiredness looks edgier, harder, more soul deep, and I wonder what’s going on in his head. I wonder what he’s feeling, if anything.
Four days ago, it would have been impossible for me to imagine that I would worry about Hudson, even for a second. I still can’t believe it now. Not after everything he’s done, to Jaxon and to everyone else here at Katmere. Not after everything he wanted to do to the world.
I wonder if this is what Stockholm Syndrome feels like? Despite everything your captor has done, all the horrible things they are, you start to identify with them anyway? God, I really hope that’s not the case.
“I think you should be more concerned about whether reverse Stockholm Syndrome is a thing, don’t you? Considering you’re the one who has been holding me captive for almost three and a half months?” The crisp British accent is back, and when he opens his eyes, so is the superior smirk that makes Hudson…Hudson.
My eyes go wide. “Me? You’re the one who won’t leave my head!”
“Won’t leave your head?” he scoffs. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? I’m desperate to leave your head. You’re the one who wastes time going to classes and painting pictures—oh, and kissing my brother—when you should be looking for a bloodstone!”
“I’m sorry that me living my life is such a waste of time for you, but I can’t just drop everything and run around the world to stop you from having a temper tantrum,” I shoot back.
“Temper tantrum?” His voice is dangerously low. “That’s the second time you’ve accused me of having a temper tantrum when I’ve expressed legitimate concerns about your attitude. I put up with it the first time, but now I’m warning you. Don’t do it again.”
I take exception at the warning, not to mention the look in his eyes when he issues it. “Or what?” I ask, my entire body crackling with outrage.
Suddenly he’s up and across the room, his face several inches from mine. “Or I’ll stop playing nice, and that’s something I’m not sure you—or your precious little mate—can handle.”
“You think taking over my body and leaving me covered in blood is playing nice?” I screech, about half an octave shy of the pitch needed to actually break glass. “You think making snide comments about your brother every second I’m with him is playing nice?”
His eyes narrow to slits. “Compared to what you’re doing to me? Hell yeah, I think I’m playing nice.”
“Doing to you? Doing to you?” I throw my hand in a “step right up” kind of gesture. “Please, feel free. Tell me exactly what it is that I’m doing to you that’s so awful besides trying to find a way for you to live outside of my head?”
“You—” He breaks off, fists clenched and jaw working as he stares me down. “I—” With a roar, he whirls around and punches a fist straight through the nearest wall.
I rear back, shocked at the depth of his fury. Shocked even more by the fact that there’s an actual fist-size hole in the wall next to my head. I look down at my hands, wondering if maybe he took over my mind long enough for me to somehow punch the hole.
But my hands are fine, and the knuckles aren’t the least bit red. So no, I didn’t punch the wall. Hudson did. The only question is how?
Fear races through me at the idea that he can wield that kind of power even when he’s bodyless. Even when he’s inside me. I know his main power is that of persuasion, and for the first time, I wonder if he’s using it on me without my knowledge.