by Tracy Wolff
“Do you know what it’s like to realize the brother you grew up revering is a total and complete sociopath?” he asks in a voice made more terrible by the reasonableness of it. “Can you imagine what it feels like to know that maybe if you hadn’t been so blind, so caught up in your hero worship and seen him for what he was sooner, a lot of people would still be alive?
“I had to kill him, Grace. There was no other choice. Truth be told, I don’t even regret doing it.” He says the last in a whisper, like he’s ashamed to even admit it.
“I don’t believe that,” I tell him. Guilt radiates off him, makes me hurt for him in a way I’ve never hurt for anyone before.
“I believe it was necessary. I believe you did what you had to do. But I don’t believe for one second that you don’t regret killing him.” He’s spent too much time torturing himself for that to be true.
He doesn’t answer right away, and I can’t help wondering if I said the wrong thing. Can’t help wondering if I just made everything worse.
“I regret that he had to be killed,” he finally says after a long silence passes between us. “I regret that my parents created him and molded him into the monster that he was. But I don’t regret that he’s gone now. If he wasn’t dead, no one in the entire world would be safe.”
My stomach plummets at his words. Instinctively, I want to deny them, but I’ve seen Jaxon’s power. I’ve seen what he can do when he controls it and what it can do on its own when he can’t. If Hudson’s power was anything close—without Jaxon’s morality to keep it in check—I can’t imagine what might happen.
“Did you have the same power, or—”
“Hudson could persuade anyone to do anything.” The words are as flat as his tone. As his eyes. “I don’t mean he could con people; I mean that he had the power to make people do whatever he wanted them to do. He could make them torture another person, could make them kill anyone he wanted to. He could start wars and launch bombs.”
A chill runs up my spine at his words, has the hair on the back of my neck standing straight up. Even before he looks straight at me and continues. “He could make you kill yourself, Grace. Or Macy. Or your uncle. Or me. He could make you do anything he wanted, and he did. Over and over and over again.
“No one could stop him. No one could resist him. And he knew it. So he took whatever he wanted and planned for more. And when he decided he was going to murder the shifters, just wipe them out of existence, I knew he wouldn’t stop there. The dragons would go, too. The witches. The made vampires. The humans.
“He would destroy them all— just because he could.”
He looks away, I think because he doesn’t want me to see his face. But I don’t need to look in his eyes to know how much this hurts him, not when I can hear it in his voice and feel it in the tension of his body against mine. “There were a lot of people who supported him, Grace. And a lot of people willing to stand in front of him to protect him and the vision he had for our species. I killed a lot of them to get to him. And then I killed him.”
This time, when he closes his eyes and then opens them, the distance is gone. And in its place is the same resolve it must have cost for him to not only take on Hudson but also to beat him. “So, no, I don’t regret that I killed him. I regret that I didn’t do it sooner.”
When he finally turns back around to look at me, I can see the pain, the devastation behind the emptiness in his eyes. It makes me ache for him in a way I’ve never ached for anyone, not even my parents. “Oh, Jaxon.” I put my arms around him again, try to hold him, but his body is stiff and unyielding against my own.
“His death destroyed my parents, and it broke Lia into so many pieces, I don’t think she’ll ever recover. Before all this happened, she was my best friend. Now she can barely stand to look at me. Flint’s brother died fighting Hudson’s army in the same fight, and Flint’s never been the same, either. We used to be friends, if you can believe it.”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets himself sink into me. I hold him as tightly as I can, for as long as he’ll let me. Which isn’t long at all. He pulls away well before I’m ready to let him go.
“Nothing has been the same since Hudson did what he did. The different species have been at war three times in the last five hundred years. This was almost number four. And though we stopped it before it got too far, the distrust for vampires that goes back centuries is right up front again.
“Add in the fact that a lot of people got an up-close-and-personal look at my power and no one’s happy. And can you blame them? How do they know I won’t turn like my brother did?”
“You won’t.” The certainty is a fire deep inside me.
“Probably not,” he agrees, though it’s hard to miss his qualification. “But this is why I warned you away from Flint, and it’s why I had to do what I did in the study lounge. They’ve been gunning for you since you got here. I don’t know why it started, if it’s because you’re human or if there’s something I haven’t figured out yet. But I’m sure that it’s continued—and gotten worse—because you’re mine.”
The torment is back, worse than before. “It’s why I tried to stay away from you,” he adds, “but we both know how well that worked.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” I whisper as so much of what he’s said and done since I first got here finally begins to make sense. “This is why you act the way you do.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His face closes up, but there’s a wariness—and a yearning—in his eyes that says I’m on the right track.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I rest a hand on his cheek, ignoring the way he flinches when I touch his scar. “You act the way you do because you believe it’s the only way you can keep the peace.”
“It is the only way to keep the peace.” The words are torn from him. “We’re balanced on a razor-thin tightrope, and every day, every minute, is a balancing act. One wrong step in either direction, and the world burns. Not just ours but yours as well, Grace. I can’t let that happen.”
Of course he can’t.
Other people could walk away, could say it wasn’t their responsibility. Could tell themselves that there was nothing they could do.
But that’s not how Jaxon operates. Those aren’t the rules he lives by. No, Jaxon takes it all on his shoulders. Not just the mess Hudson created and left him with but everything that happened before it—and everything that’s happened since.
“So what does that mean for you?” I ask softly, not wanting to spook him any more than I already have. “That you have to give up everything good in your life just to keep things together for everyone else?”
“I’m not giving up anything. This is just who I am.” His hands clench into fists, and he tries to turn away.
But I won’t let him. Not now, not when I’m finally understanding all the ways he’s managed to torture himself—for Hudson’s death and for this new role he doesn’t want but can’t turn away from.
“That’s bullshit,” I tell him softly. “You wear indifference like a mask; you wield coldness like a weapon—not because you feel nothing but because you feel too much. You’ve worked so hard to make everyone believe you’re a monster that you’ve begun to believe it yourself.
“But you’re not a monster, Jaxon. Not even close.”
This time he doesn’t try to turn away—he jerks away, like a live wire has just wrapped itself around his entire body. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growls.
“You think if people are scared enough, if they hate you enough, they won’t dare to step out of line. They won’t dare to start another war, because you’ll finish that one, too—and them right along with it.”
God. The pain, the loneliness, of his existence hits me like an avalanche. What must it feel like to be so alone? What must it feel like to—?
�
�Don’t look at me like that,” he orders in a voice as tight and thin as that high-wire he was just talking about.
“Like what?” I whisper.
“Like I’m a victim. Or a hero. I’m neither of those things.”
He’s both of those things—and so many more besides. But I know he won’t believe me if I try to tell him that. Just like I know he won’t take any more comfort from me right now, not when I’ve just laid him open right here for both of us to see.
So I do the only thing I can do.
I tangle my hands in his hair, pull his mouth down to mine.
And give him the only thing he’ll accept from me.
50
He Who
Lives in Stone Towers
Should Never
Throw Dragons
For a second, right after our mouths meet, everything goes away. What he told me about his brother, what he told me about my being in danger, everything. For these moments, as his lips move over mine—as his tongue explores my mouth and his teeth gently ravage my lower lip—all I can think about is him. All I can want and feel and need is Jaxon.
He must feel the same way, because he makes a noise deep in his throat as his arms come around me. And then he’s picking me up just a little, lifting me until the curves of my body line up perfectly with all the hard, sexy planes of his. And soon the kiss I meant as comfort shifts to something else entirely.
His hands are on my hips, his chest and stomach and thighs pressing against my own, and all I can think of is yes. All I can think of is more.
More and more and more, until my head is fuzzy, my heart is practically pounding out of my chest, and the rest of me feels like one more slide of his hands or shift of his hips will make me shatter.
Just the thought has a low, needy sound pouring out of me, a sound that Jaxon responds to with a hard, sexy squeeze of his hands on my hips. But then he’s pulling away, lifting his mouth from mine, and lowering me slowly to the ground.
“No,” I whisper, trying to hold on to him for as long as I can. “Please.” I’m not even sure what I’m asking for at this point, only that I don’t want this to end. I don’t want Jaxon to go back to that cold, bleak place where he has banished himself for so long.
I don’t want to lose him to that darkness anymore.
But he murmurs softly to me, brushes his lips over my cheek, my hair, the top of my shoulder. Then slowly, slowly eases back a little more.
“We won’t have much longer before Foster gets here, and I want to talk to you before he does.”
“Yeah, okay.” I sigh, then bury my face against his chest as I take a couple of deep breaths.
He runs his hands up and down my back to soothe us both, I think, before finally settling me on the bed—with a little distance between us. “I want to talk to you about your safety.”
Of course he does. “Jaxon—”
“I’m serious, Grace. We need to talk about this, whether you want to or not.”
“It’s not that I’m trying to dodge the conversation. I’m just saying, after what happened earlier, anyone who doesn’t like me is probably going to keep it to themselves from now on. Even if they want to hurt you.”
He gives me a look. “I told you, this isn’t all about me. If it was, Flint wouldn’t have tried to kill you on your second day here. There wasn’t anything between us then, so he couldn’t have been trying to get to me. Which means—”
I finally recover from the shock ricocheting through me enough to interrupt him. “What are you talking about? Flint didn’t try to kill me. He saved me. He’s my friend.”
“He’s not.”
“Yes, he is. I know you don’t like him, but—”
“Who told you to walk under that chandelier, Grace?” Jaxon asks with watchful eyes.
“Flint did. But it wasn’t like that.” Still, uneasiness stirs in my belly. It’s one thing to believe nameless strangers are out to get me. It’s another to think that one of the few people I call a friend here is… “Flint wouldn’t do that. Why would he try to drop a chandelier on me after he saved me when I fell off that branch?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. He didn’t save you.”
“That’s impossible—he wasn’t even on the branch with me.”
Jaxon narrows his eyes in an are you kidding me kind of way. “He wasn’t underneath the chandelier with you, either.”
“So what? He got one of the shifters to half break the branch before the snowball fight, knowing it was going to be windy?”
“More like he got one of his dragon friends to start the wind that caused all the problems. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Grace. The dragons can’t be trusted, and Flint absolutely can’t.”
“That makes no sense. Why would he dive off that tree branch to keep me from hitting the ground if he was trying to kill me?”
Jaxon doesn’t answer.
My stomach tightens up as something horrible occurs to me. “He did save me from falling, didn’t he?”
Jaxon doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks away, his jaw working for several seconds before he finally says, “It was Cole who was responsible for dropping that chandelier, but it’s a hell of a coincidence that Flint made sure you were walking in that direction instead of sitting with the witches. And I don’t believe in coincidences. As soon as I prove it, I’m taking care of him, too.”
The uneasiness becomes a full-fledged sickness as I remember the look on Flint’s face after I thanked him for not letting me splat all over the snow. And how fast Jaxon got there after I fell. “You’re still not answering the question I asked you, Jaxon. Did Flint jump out of that tree to save me or did you somehow knock him out of that tree?”
Jaxon avoids my eyes for the second time in as many minutes. Then says, “I wasn’t near the tree.”
It’s my turn to grind my teeth together. “Like that would stop you…”
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” he demands, throwing his arms up in the air with as much emotion as I’ve ever seen from him. “Let you fall? I figured if I stopped you in midair and brought you gently to the ground, it would freak you out even worse—not to mention leave you with a bunch of questions no one was prepared to answer.”
“So you made Flint dive after me instead?”
“I threw him under you, yes. And I’d do it again. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if that means taking on every shifter in this place. Especially any of the dragons who might have the power to kick up a wind like the one that broke that branch.”
Oh my God. Flint didn’t save me. For a second, I think I’m going to throw up. I thought he was on my side. I thought we were friends.
“I’m sorry,” Jaxon tells me after several seconds. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I can’t have you trusting him or any of the other shifters when they’re trying to hurt you. Especially when I don’t know why yet.”
“All the shifters,” I say, thinking again about what went down in the study lounge. “Including the alpha.”
“Including the alpha.”
I don’t know what to say to him right now, especially considering everything he’s done to keep me safe from that very first night. Even before he knew that we were going to matter to each other. It’s that thought that drives me to rest my head in the crook of his neck. And whisper, “Thank you.”
“You’re thanking me?” he demands, stiffening beneath the kisses I keep pressing into the sharp line of his jaw—and the scar he works so hard to keep hidden. “For what?”
“For saving me, of course.” I pull him closer, skim my lips over his cheek and along the scar that started this whole discussion, dropping a kiss every couple of centimeters or so. “For not caring about the credit and only caring about making sure I’m okay.”
He’s sitting rigidly now, his spine ramrod straig
ht with discomfort over what I’m doing. What I’m saying. But I don’t care. Not now, when he’s in my arms. Not now, when I’m overwhelmed by the feelings I have inside me for him.
It’s those feelings that have me climbing onto his lap. Those feelings that have me straddling his hips with my knees on either side of his thighs and my arms wrapped tight around his neck.
And those feelings that bring us right back to where we were before Jaxon called a halt—with me kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. Long, slow, lingering touches of my lips to his brow, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Over and over, I kiss him. Taste him. Touch him. Over and over, I whisper all the things I like and admire about him.
Slowly—so slowly that I almost don’t notice it at first—he relaxes against me. The rigidness leaves his spine. His shoulders curve forward just a little. The hands that were fisted on the bed loosen up and wrap themselves around my waist.
And then he’s kissing me, too, really kissing me, with open mouth and searching tongue and hungry, desperate hands. He pushes closer, and I arch against him, pressing my mouth into his until his breath becomes my breath, his need becomes my need.
I slide my hands under his shirt, stroking my fingers along his smooth skin and the lean muscles of his back. Jaxon groans a little as I do, arching into my touch. And then my phone goes off at the exact same time there’s a heavy pounding on Jaxon’s door…
The sounds break the spell between us, and he pulls away with a laugh. I hold tight to him, not ready to let him go. Not ready for this to end. He must feel the same way, though, because his hands tighten on my waist even as he presses his forehead to mine.
“You should get your phone,” he says as it continues to ring. “Foster’s probably freaking out because he doesn’t know where you are.”
The pounding on the door grows harder, more commanding. “Or he’s freaking out because he knows exactly where I am.”
“Yeah, there’s that, too.” He grins at me, his hands lingering on my waist for just a second as I start to climb off his lap. “You want to get the door or should I?”
