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Chapter Three
Hudson
It was nearlyten at night when Hudson and Julius finally got home. They lived on a quiet back street in Granite Valley, a neighborhood full of old Victorian houses with yards.
Quaintwas the word that Hudson found himself using to describe the neighborhood. He felt like he fit in about as well as an eagle in a flock of hummingbirds. It wasn’t a place he’d imagined living, but here he was. The only one on the block who still had the faint outlines of LOST SOULS tattooed on his back.
Some things just weren’t meant to fade. After five removal sessions, Hudson had given up getting the thing off completely.
He turned off his SUV and he and Julius sat there for a moment, in silence, letting the moonlight filter through the sunroof.
“Why do people pull shit like this?” Julius finally asked. “Why the hell can’t we just live?”
It had been over twelve hours since the shooting, but Hudson could tell he was still furious. Utterly exhausted, physically and emotionally, but furious.
Hudson just shook his head. It was new to him as well. He’d seen people shot over drugs, jealousy, or just because someone with a gun was drunk and angry, but not because three people wanted to get married.
“I wish I knew,” he said, looking at the hedge that separated them from their next door neighbors.
“I wish Cascadia had the death penalty,” Julius said. Hudson looked over at his mate and could see his jaw working, the muscles clenched beneath his skin.
People tended to forget how huge and powerful Julius was. When humans saw Hudson, he knew that they looked at him twice: long hair, covered in tattoos, six and a half feet tall.
But when humans saw short-haired, clean-shaven Julius wearing a well-tailored suit, they forgot that he could probably tear them limb from limb without even shifting.
It was intentional on Julius’s part. He wanted people to find him non threatening.
“Maybe it will make sense in the morning,” Hudson said.
They walked into their dark house, and for the first time in years, Hudson couldn’t help but imagine people lurking in the shadows, waiting with guns to come after him and his mate. Both of them paused inside the front door, listening and smelling, before turning on the lights.
Nothing happened. No one jumped out.
Julius rubbed his temples and tossed his bloodstained suit jacket onto a side table.
“I’m jumping at shadows,” he said.
“Go get changed,” said Hudson. “I’ll get you something to fix you right up.”
Julius smiled, and for the first time all day, the expression reached his eyes.
“Thanks,” he said.
Hudson walked into the dark kitchen, flipping on lights as he went, and got down the good bourbon and the nice glasses. Two cubes of ice in each, then a good three fingers of whiskey.
He stopped, looked at the glasses, and considered. Then he poured them each another finger of bourbon before walking into the living room, turning on every light on the way.
Hudson knew he was being ridiculous, but they’d been shot at today. He was on edge that there could be someone in their house, just waiting, and if someone had to find a shooter, it should be him.
He, at least, had a halfway decent chance of taking someone down. He’d had plenty of experience. Julius, on the other hand, had had plenty of experience arguing cases in court.
Hudson sipped as he walked to the leather couch in front of the fireplace, and he flipped the flames on before sitting down.
For one moment he marveled, as he always did, that he’d managed to end up in a place like this. By rights he should have been in an early grave, but instead he’d met Julius, and the rest was history.
The bedroom door opened and Julius padded out, barefoot, wearing plaid pajama pants and a tight white undershirt. Despite the day, Hudson felt himself warm up, just a little, seeing Julius’s physique on display like that, every muscle visible beneath the thin white cotton.
“You made my favorite,” Julius said.
