Crave (Crave Series)

by Tracy Wolff

  His smirk jump-starts my brain—finally—and then it’s my turn to ask a question. “What were you and Lia fighting about?”

  I don’t know what I expect—his gaze to go flat again, probably, or for him to tell me that it’s none of my business. Instead, he says, “My brother,” in a tone that doesn’t ask for sympathy and warns that he won’t permit it.

  It’s not the answer I was expecting, but as the very few pieces I have start fitting themselves together in my head, my heart plummets. “Was…was Hudson your brother?”

  For the first time, I see genuine surprise in his eyes. “Who told you about Hudson?”

  “Lia did. Last night when we were having tea. She mentioned that—” I break off at the glacial coldness in his eyes.

  “What did she tell you?” The words are quiet, but that only makes them hit harder. As does the way he drops my hand.

  I swallow, then finish in a rush. “Just that her boyfriend died. She didn’t say anything about you at all. I just took a guess that her boyfriend might also be…”

  “My brother? Yeah, Hudson was my brother.” The words drip ice, in an effort—I think—to keep me from knowing how much they hurt. But I’ve been there, have spent weeks doing the same thing, and he doesn’t fool me.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, and this time I’m the one who reaches for him. The one whose fingers whisper over his wrist and the back of his hand. “I know it doesn’t mean anything, that it doesn’t touch the kind of grief you’re feeling. But I truly am sorry you’re hurting.”

  For long seconds, he doesn’t say anything. Just watches me with those dark eyes that see so much and show so little. Finally, when I’m searching my brain for something else to say, he asks, “What makes you think I’m hurting?”

  “Aren’t you?” I challenge.

  More silence. Then, “I don’t know.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what that means.”

  He shakes his head, then moves back several feet. My hand clenches, missing the feel of him under my fingers.

  “I have to go.”

  “Wait.” I know better, but I reach for him again. I can’t help it. “Just like that?”

  He lets me hold his hand for one second, two. Then he turns and walks back down the path to the pond so fast, it’s nearly a run.

  I don’t even bother trying to keep up. If I’ve learned anything in the last couple of days, it’s that when Jaxon Vega wants to disappear, he disappears, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Instead, I turn in the other direction and head back to the castle.

  Now that I have a set destination in mind, the walk seems much faster than my original wandering did. But I still can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that I’m being watched. Which is absurd, considering Jaxon went in the other direction and Lia disappeared right after her argument with him.

  The feeling stays with me the whole time I’m outside. And something else is niggling at me, too, something I can’t quite figure out. At least not until I reach the warmth and safety of the castle—and my room. It’s as I’m peeling off all the layers I’m wearing that it finally hits me.

  Neither Lia nor Jaxon was wearing a jacket.

  17

  It’s Discretion,

  not Diamonds,

  That’s a

  Girl’s Best Friend

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Macy asks several hours later as I grab a sweatshirt from my closet.

  Is she kidding? “Not even a little bit.”

  “That’s what I figured.” She heaves a huge sigh. “We could cancel if you want. Tell everyone you’re still not over the altitude sickness.”

  “And have Flint think I’m chicken? No thank you.” I actually couldn’t care less if Flint thinks I’m afraid or not. But Macy has been so excited about this snowball fight that there’s no way I’m going to take it away from her. The fact that she offered to cancel because she knows I’m not into it only makes me more determined to go. “We’re doing this snowball fight and we’re going to…”

  “Kick some butt?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of not make complete and total fools of ourselves, but way to think positive.”

  She laughs, as I intended her to, then bounds off the bed and starts layering up big-time. Which…finally, someone at this ridiculous school who has some sense. Between the jerks I met the first night and then Jaxon and Lia, I’m beginning to think everyone in this place has some bizarre immunity to cold. Like maybe they’re aliens and I’m the ignorant and fragile human living among them.

  After we both finish getting dressed in—I counted this time—six layers, she herds me toward the door. “Come on, we don’t want to be late or we’ll totally get ambushed.”

  “Ambushed. With snowballs. Sounds fantastic.” San Diego has never looked so good.

  “Just wait. You’re going to love it. Plus, it’ll give you a chance to meet all of Flint’s friends.” She checks her makeup one more time in the mirror by the door, then all but shoves me into the hallway.

  “All of Flint’s friends?” I ask as we make our way through the halls. “Exactly how many people are going to be at this thing?”

  “I don’t know. At least fifty.”

  “Fifty people? At a snowball fight?”

  “Maybe more. Probably more.”

  “How does that even work?” I query.

  “Does it matter?” she answers, brows raised.

  “Yes, it matters. I mean, how can you possibly keep track of that many people trying to throw things at you?”

  “I don’t think you keep track of them so much as try to flatten everyone you come across without being flattened yourself.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the altitude sickness is coming back.”

  “Too late.” She links her arm through mine and grins. “We’re almost there.”

  “So can you be a little more specific about who all is going to be there? Anyone I’ve already met—I mean, besides Flint?”

  “I don’t know if Lia will be there. Cam won’t—he and Flint don’t really get along. It’s a…thing.”

  I think about asking exactly what kind of thing she’s referring to, but the truth is, I don’t care if Lia shows up. Or Cam. There’s only one person I’m trying to find out about, and since Macy isn’t getting there herself, I guess I really am going to have to ask.

  “How about Jaxon?” I keep my voice light even though, after our encounter earlier, my heart is pounding at the mere mention of his name. “Is he going to be there?”

  “Jaxon Vega?” By the time she gets to the second syllable of Jaxon’s name, her voice is little more than a squeak.

  “He’s the one we saw in the hall that first day, right?”

  “Yeah. Um…yeah.” Macy gives up any pretense of chill—and of walking, as it turns out. Instead, she turns to me, hands on her hips, and demands, “Why are you asking about Jaxon?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve met a couple of times, and I just wondered if he was into snowball fights.”

  “You’ve met Jaxon Vega a couple of times? How exactly did you meet, considering I’ve been with you almost all the time since you got here?”

  “I don’t know, just walking around the school. It was only a few times.”

  “A few times?” Her eyes almost bug out of her head. “That’s more than a couple. Where? When? How?”

  “Why are you being so weird about this?” I’m seriously beginning to regret bringing Jaxon up. I mean, she was freaked out over Flint, but it was a fun kind of freaked out. Right now, it looks more like she’s going to blow a gasket. “He was in the hallway; I was in the hallway. It just kind of happened.”

  “Things don’t just happen with Jaxon. He’s not exactly known for being talkative with anyone outside of—” She stops abruptly.

 
“Outside of what?” I prompt.

  “I don’t know. Just…”

  “Just?” I ask. She smiles a little sickly but doesn’t say anything else, and it annoys me. Like, seriously annoys me. “Why do you keep doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “You start sentences and then never finish them. Or you start to say something and halfway through change what you were saying to something else entirely.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You do. All the time. And honestly, it’s beginning to feel a little weird. Like there’s some kind of secret I’m not supposed to know. What’s going on?”

  “That’s ridiculous, Grace.” She looks at me like I’m a few snowflakes short of a snowball. “Katmere is just, you know, full of all kinds of weird cliques and social rules. I didn’t want to bore you with them all.”

  “Because you’d rather I commit social suicide?” I arch my brow at her.

  She rolls her eyes. “Social suicide is the last thing you need to worry about here.”

  It’s the first real thing she’s said since we started this conversation, and I jump on it. “So what do I have to worry about, then?”

  Macy sighs, low and long and just a little sad. But then she looks me in the eye and says, “All I was going to say is that Jaxon’s not very friendly with people who aren’t in the Order.”

  “The Order? What’s that?”

  “It’s nothing, really.” When I keep looking at her, silently pushing her to continue, she sighs again, then adds, “It’s just a nickname we gave the most popular boys at school because they’re always together.”

  I think about the guys Jaxon walked into the party with and the ones who were with him in the hall when Flint was carrying me to my room. At the time, I remember thinking that Jaxon looked like the leader, but I didn’t think much of it. I was too busy trying not to stare at him.

  Based on my recollections, Macy’s explanation is reasonable. Still, there’s something about the way she says it—and the way she’s looking everywhere but in my eyes—that makes me think there’s more to the story than she’s letting on.

  Although, standing in the middle of the hallway doesn’t seem like the best place to keep pushing at her, especially since we really are going to be late if we don’t get moving.

  With that in mind, I start walking and Macy does, too, but she sticks close to my side. I give her a weird look, wondering what she’s up to, at least until she asks in a kind of stage whisper, “Have you met the others, too?”

  “The other guys in the Order?” I feel a little ridiculous just saying the name out loud. I mean, they’re twelfth-grade students at a boarding school, not running a monastery in Tibet. “No. I’ve only met Jaxon.”

  “Only? You mean he was alone?” Now she doesn’t just look worried; she looks downright sick.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Oh God! What did he do? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “Jaxon?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.

  “Of course Jaxon! That is who we’re talking about, right?”

  “No, he didn’t hurt me. Why would you even think that?”

  She throws her hands in the air, frustration and fear evident in every line of her body. “Because he’s Jaxon. He’s a one-man demolition crew. It’s what he does!”

  “He was…” I shake my head, try to think of the right word to describe our interactions. Then go with generic because I figure Macy won’t get it anyway. “Most of the time he was actually kind of…interesting.”

  “Interesting?” This time she looks at me like I just said I wanted to bodysurf the Alaskan tundra. “Okay, I’m confused. Are you sure we’re talking about the same Jaxon?” She pulls me into the nearest alcove, then grabs my hands and squeezes them tightly. “Really tall, really gorgeous, really scary? Black hair, black eyes, black clothes, and a smoking-hot body? Plus the arrogance of a rock star…or the self-proclaimed dictator of a not-so-small country?”

  I’ve got to admit, it’s a pretty good description—especially the arrogant part. And the really gorgeous part, even if it doesn’t take into account a lot of the things that make him so attractive. Like his eyes that see way too much and the way his voice gets all dark and growly when he expects things to go his way. Not to mention the thin scar that turns him from merely pretty to sexy af. And also scary af. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “You know you don’t have to lie, right? You can tell me what happened. I swear I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

  “You won’t tell anyone what?” I’m thoroughly confused now. Because while it might have been a stretch to call Jaxon interesting, I can’t imagine why the fact that I’ve met him is eliciting this kind of response from my cousin.

  “What he did to you?” She starts looking me over, like she’s searching for some proof that I survived a rabid Jaxon attack.

  “He didn’t do anything, Macy.” A little impatient now, I pull my hands from hers. “I mean, he wasn’t Gandhi. But he helped me out when I needed it, and he sure as hell didn’t hurt me. Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “Because Jaxon Vega isn’t helpful to anyone. Ever.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Well, you should.” She enunciates each word in an obvious attempt to make sure I listen to—and understand—what she’s saying. “Because he’s dangerous, Grace. Very dangerous, and you should stay as far away from him as you possibly can.”

  I start to tell her that he’s not the dangerous one, but then I remember the way Marc and Quinn fell right into line the second he showed up. It was hard to miss the fear on their faces, and not just because he’d sent them flying across the room.

  Now that I think back on it, they had been scared of him. Like, really scared.

  “I’m serious. You need to be careful of him. If he really was helpful to you, it’s only because he wants something. And even that seems strange, because Jaxon takes what he wants. Always has, always will.”

  I’ve been here three days and even I know that’s not true. Which is probably why I say, “Jaxon’s the one who kept Marc and Quinn from throwing me out in the snow, Macy. I don’t think he did it because he wanted something from me.”

  “Wait. He’s the one?”

  “Yes, he is. Why would he do that if he’s such a bad guy?”

  “I don’t know.” She looks stunned. “But just because he helped you once doesn’t mean he’ll do it again. So be careful with him, okay?”

  “He’s not the one who tried to kill me.”

  She snorts. “Yeah, well, you’ve only been here a few days. Give it time.”

  “That’s…” For long seconds, I trip over my tongue as I try to find a comeback that will show her how absurd she sounds. But in the end, I can’t get past the annoyance her words cause and end up saying exactly what I’m thinking. “A really awful thing to say.”

  “Just because it’s awful doesn’t make it any less true.” She gives me a no-nonsense look that seems incongruous with her normally effervescent personality. “You need to trust me on this.”

  “Macy…”

  “I’m serious. Don’t worry about me being too harsh.” She narrows her eyes at me in obvious warning. “And don’t worry about Jaxon Vega. Unless you’re trying to figure out how to stay as far away from him as possible.”

  Behind her, something catches my eye, and my mouth goes dry. “Yeah, well, that might be a problem.” I barely manage to get the words out past my suddenly tight throat.

  “And why is that exactly?”

  “Because I’m not going anywhere.” Jaxon’s low, amused voice cuts through my cousin’s umbrage, has her eyes going wide and her skin draining of color. “And neither is Grace.”

  18

  How Many

  Hot Guys Does it

  Take to Win ar />
  Snowball Fight?

  Macy squeaks—she actually squeaks—but Jaxon just raises his brows at me. The look on his face is a little amused and a lot wicked and my heart starts beating like a metronome on high.

  At least until Macy hisses, “Seriously? You couldn’t tell me he was there?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “She didn’t know.” He looks me over from top to bottom, and for a second, just a second, a smile touches the depths of those obsidian eyes of his. “Braving the snow twice in one day? I’ve got to admit I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be too impressed. I still have to make it through the snowball fight in one piece.”

  The smile drops—from his face and his eyes—as quickly as it came. “You’re playing Flint’s game?”

  It sounds more like an accusation than a question, though I don’t know why. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “For a snowball fight?” He shakes his head, makes a dismissive sound deep in his throat. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, well…” That got awkward fast. “Um. We should probably…”

  “Get going,” Macy finishes.

  Jaxon ignores her as he braces a hand on the wall behind me. Then he leans in and, in a voice so low I have to strain to hear him, murmurs, “You’re determined not to listen to me, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I whisper back, but I can’t look him in the face as I say it. Not when I’m lying—I know exactly what he’s talking about—and not when his breath is so warm and soft against my ear that I can feel it everywhere, even deep inside.

  “It really is for your own good,” he tells me, still standing way too close. Heat slams through me—at his words and his proximity and the orange and dark-water scent of him currently wrapping itself around me.

  “What—” My voice breaks, my throat so tight and dry, I can barely force the words through it when I try again. “What is?”

  “You shouldn’t go to that snowball fight with Flint.” He pulls back, his gaze catching and holding mine. “And you sure as hell shouldn’t be wandering around the school grounds on your own. You’re not safe here.”