Chapter 1 If You Kant Be Good, Be Careful
Hudson
My palms are damp, and if I didn’t know better, I would think I was nervous.
But I never get nervous, which means something else is wrong with me.
Maybe the flu? A rare tropical fever? Ebola?
Sure, vampires don’t normally get that shite, but there’s always a first time for everything.
And with the way my luck has been running, today would definitely be the day for me to be struck with one—or all—of them.
And you never can be too careful. Heck, it’s only been an hour since Foster gave me my class schedule, and I don’t want to get everyone else sick, so maybe I should just go back to my room and—
Jesus. I really have turned into a naff-arsed wanker, haven’t I? Wanting to run away from the mess my life has become instead of facing it?
I did that once when I let Jaxon think he killed me. I’m bloody well not doing it again.
It’s that thought that has my shoulders going back and me reaching for the classroom door. Fuck it. What’s the worst thing that would happen? Jaxon will try to kill me? I survived once. I can do it again. And this time I just might fire back at the fucker. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.
Still, it’s a sucker punch to the gut when I walk in and find Grace and Jaxon huddled together over her desk. Despite having nearly died yesterday, she looks beautiful. Really, really beautiful, with her curly hair tumbling down her back and some of the dark circles gone from beneath her eyes.
Instinctively, I head toward her, but I stop about two rows away.
She’s sitting with Jaxon and Flint. No way any of them want me to join them.
And I don’t want the first time I talk to Grace since I blurted out she was my mate to be in the middle of a crowded classroom anyway.
So much of her life is already a public spectacle.
No reason to make whatever is happening between us into one, too.
I end up sliding into one of the desks in the back row.
Then I pull out my brand-new ethics book and start reading in an effort to catch up on what I missed.
And to avoid eye contact with anyone else in the room.
Grace hasn’t spotted me yet, but a hell of a lot of other people have, and I’ve got no interest in talking to any of them.
I’m here for Grace and to graduate. Everyone and everything else can go to hell.
The first twenty minutes of class pass without incident, and I’m beginning to think we’re all going to make it through this exercise unscathed. But then Ms. Virago—bastion of compassion and understanding that she is—calls on me to answer a question about Kant.
I know she thinks she’s going to catch me out—she’s the kind of teacher who delights in that—but I’ve read everything Kant ever wrote, not to mention a lot of interpretations of his work.
So when she asks me to explain his moral imperative, I shrug and answer, “Kant believes people have the moral imperative to do the right thing—even if it causes bad things to happen.”
Grace’s head whips around when she hears my voice, but I notice neither my brother nor Flint looks my way. Which means they’ve known I was here all along and were just choosing to ignore that fact.
Which is fine. It’s not like I’m running to Jaxon with open arms, girl-stealing tosser that he is.
“But what does that mean?” Ms. Virago asks, walking down the aisle toward me. “That is a good summation of his theory, but what does it actually mean if you apply it practically?”
I start to give her some benign answer, but it’s at that moment that Grace’s big brown eyes meet mine. There is such confusion there, such fear and hurt and worry, that it completely derails me. Not only do I forget my answer, I practically forget my own bloody name.
But then, she’s always had that effect on me. When we were together before, even at the beginning, I never could resist—
I cut off that train of thought before it can go any further.
I’m in the middle of a classroom with an instructor and thirty other students staring at me.
The last thing I want to do right now is think about the way things used to be with Grace and me.
And how much it fucking hurts that things aren’t like that anymore.
Feeling it is one thing. Letting the whole bloody world see what I’m feeling is something else entirely.
Unfortunately, Ms. Virago mistakes my sudden silence for an inability to answer and asks, “Is there anyone who wants to help Hudson out?”
I’m pretty sure the answer to that question is a resounding no, but apparently I’ve underestimated my baby brother. Because he jumps in so fast that it’s obvious he’s had the answer on the tip of his tongue all class, just waiting for a chance to use it.
Too bad I just handed it over to him on a diamond platter.
“Killing your brother can be the moral thing,” he says so virtuously that it’s impossible to miss the fact that he’s taking a stab at me—again.
Ms. Virago’s eyes go wide, and she darts a look between the two of us, like she’s trying to decide if World War Vega is about to go down in her classroom. Which I suppose is understandable, given the circumstances.
But I’m not about to give Jaxon the satisfaction of throwing a punch during the first half of my first class in more than a year.
The bloody nob doesn’t fucking deserve it.
Instead, I just smile at him in a touché kind of way.
And if my smile happens to be cold enough that several people in the room actually shiver, all the better.
Especially since Ms. Virago apparently still hasn’t learned her lesson. Because instead of moving past this subject—and Jaxon’s answer—as fast as her five-inch heels can carry her, she doubles down on the question.
“So if that’s the right and moral thing to do,” she says—and thanks for the fucking support, teacher mine—then pauses to clear her throat. “What’s the bad thing that comes from it?”
“How about your girlfriend”—I refuse to call Grace his mate—“nearly ends up being a blood sacrifice to bring your brother back and it’s all your fault?”
Jaxon’s eyes narrow, and the floor beneath our feet starts to tremble.
Apparently, he still hasn’t figured out the self-control thing.
Then again, the kid was raised in a fucking party palace—ice cave or not.
Why should he bother to control himself when he doesn’t have a clue how much it can hurt if he doesn’t?
In the meantime, Ms. Virago’s bravado deserts her and she all but scampers to the front of the room.
“I think we should spend the rest of class writing a personal reflection on Kant’s theory,” she tells everyone. “Talk about a time you did the technically correct thing and it caused a bad outcome, and whether you think you made the right decision or not.”
“Is this a group project?” one of the wolves asks from the front row, her ponytail bobbing with each word.
“Which part of personal reflection means group essay, in your mind?” Ms. Virago asks sharply.
The wolf doesn’t answer, but she does duck her head and start writing really bloody quickly.
I do the same, not wanting to spend one more second in this classroom than I have to. But it’s pretty hard to write about a morally correct decision that I made when my mate—who is currently in love with another guy—keeps glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.
She doesn’t think I notice her looking, but that’s just because she still doesn’t understand how attuned to her I am.
She breathes and I feel it; she blinks and I hear it.
I was in her head for months, and that’s after everything we went through to find each other the first time.
There’s nothing she does that I don’t feel in my soul.
I finish my essay in record time. It’s not like it’s a hard assignment—I’ve done a lot of shit I thought was right that ended up going sideways—then turn it in and make my way to the door. I’m halfway down the aisle when Grace makes the mistake of trying to surreptitiously glance at me again.
And just like that, I’m sick of pretending that I don’t see her.
That I don’t feel her.
That she isn’t my mate.
So this time when her eyes flicker over to me, I catch her gaze. And hold it.