by Tracy Wolff
“The blood thing?” He looks both wary and amused.
“Of course the blood thing! And the going outside when it’s light thing. I thought vampires could only be outside when it’s dark.”
He looks uncomfortable for a minute, but then he squares his shoulders and says, “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what kind of blood they drink. Here at the school, Foster serves animal blood. If we drink only that, we can be outside in the sunlight. If we choose to…supplement with human blood, however, then we have to wait until it’s dark.”
I think about his comment in my room, about how we could go out, since civil twilight had started. “So when I got here, I saw you outside because you were only drinking animal blood. But now—” I blush, and it’s my turn to shift my face away. Not because I’m necessarily embarrassed by what Jaxon and I do but because it feels so intimate to talk about the fact that he—
“You mean, now that I’ve been drinking your blood on the regular?”
And the blush gets even worse. “Yeah.”
“Yes. I drank from you. And Cole. And then you again in the tunnels. So, no light for me.”
“For how long?” I ask, because it’s been days since the tunnels, and he definitely hasn’t drank from me since—even though I’ve kind of wanted him to. But apparently me nearly dying of blood loss has him less than eager to sink his fangs into my neck any time soon.
“Until the hormonal spike that comes from metabolizing human blood wears off.” When I look mystified, he continues. “It’s like humans and insulin. When you eat high-carb foods, your insulin spikes and takes time to come down. When I drink human blood, my body secretes a hormone that makes it impossible for me to be in the sun. It takes about a week for all traces of that hormone to disappear. Animal blood doesn’t trigger the same hormone.”
I count back in my head. “It’s been six days since the tunnels. So by tomorrow, you should be able to go out in the sun again.”
He shrugs. “Probably the day after to be safe. And that’s if I don’t…”
“If you don’t bite me again.” A sudden surge of heat flares through me.
Now he’s the uncomfortable-looking one. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Something like that?” I put my cup down on the bench and wrap my good arm around his waist. “ Or that exactly?”
He looks down at me, eyes dark and just a little bit dangerous. “That exactly,” he murmurs. And I know—if I wasn’t covered from head to toe in piles of clothes, he might very well be biting me right now. The idea gives me a thrill I don’t even try to pretend away.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Jaxon warns. “Or I’m going to take you back to your room, and we’re not going to do what I brought you here for.”
Not going to lie. Going back to my room suddenly sounds pretty good. Except… “Why are we here?”
“Why else?” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a long, skinny carrot and a hat. “To build a snowman.”
“A snowman?” I gasp. “Really?”
“Flint’s not the only one who knows how to play in the snow around here.” His face stays relatively expressionless, but there’s a bite to his words that has me wondering all kinds of things. Including if Jaxon could possibly be jealous…which seems absurd, considering Flint tried to kill me on three separate occasions. Not a lot there to inspire jealousy.
“Well, are you coming?” Jaxon asks as he leans down and starts scooping snow into a giant ball. “Or are you just going to watch?”
“It’s a good view,” I tell him, openly checking out his very fine ass—which is encased in way fewer layers than mine currently is. “But I’ll help.”
He just rolls his eyes at me. But he does wiggle his butt a little—which makes me laugh. A lot.
It’s not long before we’re both cracking up as we stare at what has to be the world’s most lopsided snowman. Which makes sense for me, because I’m a San Diego girl. But Jaxon has lived in Alaska for years. Surely he’s built a snowman before.
I start to ask, but there’s something about the way he’s staring at our snowman that makes me hold my tongue. Even as it makes me wonder if maybe Jaxon hasn’t had much time to play in his life—even when he wasn’t first in line for the throne.
The thought makes me sad as he looks around for stones to use for the snowman’s eyes. He’s been through so much in his life. It amazes me how he could have gone through all of that and still emerge on the other side, this boy who feels so much. Who cares so much. And who is willing to try to play for me.
It humbles me even as it makes me ache for him.
The ache only gets worse as I remember the question that’s been nagging at me on and off since I woke up in that infirmary three days ago. “Jaxon?”
“Yeah?” Something in my voice must tip him off, because his smile fades into concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask…” I take a deep breath and blurt out the question I’ve tried so hard to ignore. “Where did Hudson go? I mean, we saw Lia die. But where did the black smoke go? Did it die with her? Or…” I don’t finish, because the thought is too horrible.
But Jaxon’s never been one to sugarcoat things—or avoid them. His face turns grim as he answers, “I haven’t figured that out yet. But I will. Because there’s no way in hell I’m risking Hudson being set loose on the world a second time.”
There’s such vehemence in his tone that it hurts to hear it, especially knowing how much Jaxon has already suffered because of his brother. I hate that he’s had to go through so much, hate even more that the threat of Hudson coming back will probably hang over us forever.
After all, it’s hard to relax when a homicidal sociopath has it out for you…and the rest of the world.
Jaxon’s obviously better at dealing with his fear than I am, though—or maybe it’s just that he’s had longer to live with the threat. Whatever it is, he’s able to shoot me a real smile as he finally makes the snowman a face out of stones and the carrot he brought for the nose. “Come on,” he says. “You get to do the pièce de résistance.” He hands me the hat.
It’s the first time I’ve really looked at it, and when I do, it makes me laugh. And laugh. And laugh.
Because maybe I wasn’t being ridiculous earlier after all. Maybe Jaxon actually is jealous of Flint.
Jaxon just shakes his head at me. “Are you going to put the hat on him or what?” he demands.
“Oh, I’m going to put the hat on.” I step forward and do just that before moving back to where Jaxon is standing so we can both admire him.
“What do you think?” Jaxon asks after a moment. And even though he sounds like he’s ready to make a joke, I can hear a little bit of vulnerability in his voice. A tiny little need for my approval that I never would have anticipated.
So I turn back and look at our poor, lopsided, listing-to-one-side snowman and, despite the cold, nearly melt all over again. Because to me, he looks perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I don’t say that, though. I can’t without revealing to Jaxon that I see more than he ever imagined. So instead, I tell him the only truth I can. “The vampire hat is a really nice touch.”
His grin is huge. “Yeah, I thought so, too.”
He reaches for my hand at the exact same moment I reach for his. And it feels good. More than good.
It feels right.
For the first time, I let myself think about what Lia said before she died, about me being Jaxon’s mate. I don’t know what that means, but as he pulls me close and his warmth slowly spreads through me, I can’t help thinking that maybe I should find out.
65
Why Can’t a
Girl Just Have an
Ordinary HEA
These Days?
Four days later, I finally get to start cla
sses again—for real this time, complete with Brit Lit homework, a research paper on the causes of the Salem Witch Trials, and my very first counseling appointment with Dr. Wainwright. Plus, actual makeup work for what I missed when a psychopathic vampire tried to murder me. Which seems a little unfair, if you ask me, but who am I to complain when I get to spend every morning, every lunch period, and nearly every evening with Jaxon, who is doing an admirably good job of staying in the moment and not borrowing trouble.
We’re together right now, in fact, grabbing breakfast in the cafeteria and joking around about Luca’s latest dating debacle—which, even I have to admit, is a doozy.
I’m eating brown sugar Pop-Tarts—Macy grabbed the last pack of cherry ones, because she’s mean like that—and Jaxon and the rest of the Order are drinking their morning rations of school-supplied elk blood out of opaque tumblers. Turns out, that’s what all the big orange beverage coolers are for—feeding the vampires.
Cam still hasn’t worked up the nerve to join us yet, but Macy has high hopes for him finally coming around. I’m not so sure—Jaxon’s reputation has only grown more intimidating since what happened with Lia got around, and nearly everyone is giving him an even wider berth than usual. I keep telling him they’d relax a little if he smiled more, but so far he hasn’t taken my advice. Personally, I think it’s because he believes that the more scared they are, the safer I am.
I don’t necessarily agree, but I do have to admit things have been shockingly quiet lately. No one has tried to poison me or turn me into a human sacrifice in at least ninety-six hours. It’s definitely a record, one I am more than happy to ride out as long as possible.
The warning bell rings as I take my last sip of tea, and I glance up to find Jaxon staring at me, a (very) slight smile on his lips. “What’s up?” I ask as I grab my Pop-Tart wrapper and mug.
“Just looking at you.” He leans over, presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Wondering what you’re thinking about.”
“You,” I answer. “Just like always.”
Rafael pretends to gag. “No offense, but could the two of you try to refrain from sending the rest of us into sugar shock?”
“Vampires don’t metabolize sugar the same way regular humans do,” I inform him with a grin. “Hence, no sugar shock.”
“Now look what you’ve done,” Mekhi interjects. “You’ve created a research monster. She’s obsessed.”
“Pretty sure it’s the librarian who’s done that,” Jaxon answers dryly. “Every day, Amka has as least five more books for Grace to check out.”
“Hey, if I’m going to live with vampires, I need to know as much about them as possible,” I tell them as I stand up and tuck in my chair. “It’s pretty normal to want to learn about your surroundings.”
“You know what else is normal?” Jaxon asks as he bends down so his mouth is only a few scant inches from mine.
“I have a pretty good idea,” I answer, tilting my face up so that our lips can meet.
“Look at us,” I whisper against his mouth a few seconds later. “Being normal.”
He scrapes a fang across my lower lip, gives me a sexy look that turns my insides to mush. “Almost normal.”
“I’ll take that.”
He grins. “Yeah, me too.”
He moves in for another kiss, one that makes my head swim and my knees tremble, and I can’t help but melt against him. I’ve never been big on PDA, but Jaxon has me breaking all the rules, and I’m pretty sure I’m doing the same for him. Especially if Lia’s right and we really are mated.
Not that I’ve told him that yet. I mean, the boy’s already terrified of this whole relationship thing. If I bring up a word like mate—something Macy spent a long time explaining to me a couple of days ago—I’m pretty sure the earthquake Jaxon generates will crumble the school.
It’s Mekhi’s turn to snark about how sick he is of being late to class because some people can’t keep their lips to themselves. Jaxon flips him off, but the words must sink in, because he pulls away from me and reaches for my backpack.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to class.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I glance at the clock. “You’ll be late to physics.”
He shoots me a give-me-a-break look. “Somehow I’m sure they’ll survive without me for five minutes.”
I’m not so sure about that, but I know enough about Jaxon—and the sudden, stubborn set of his jaw—to know when to argue and when to let it go. Besides, letting him walk me to class comes with an extra perk. With him next to me, no one is going to bump into my still aching shoulder or any of my other injuries.
It’s a win-win situation.
At least until we pass a small group of dragons on our way out of the cafeteria. Jaxon ignores them, and I try to, but Flint is right in the middle. And he’s trying to catch my eye.
I want to ignore him, I really do. But like I told Jaxon the other day, there’s a part of me that understands why he did what he did. I mean, I’m not ready to start roasting marshmallows with him again, but I can’t hate him, either.
And I can’t ignore him.
Instead, I let my gaze meet his for a couple of seconds. His eyes widen and he gives me the grin that’s been making me laugh since my first day at Katmere. I don’t laugh this time, but I do smile just a little as I walk on by. And for now, it’s enough.
I kind of expect Jaxon to say something about what just happened as we weave through the halls, but he doesn’t say a word. Guess I’m not the only one learning to compromise. I squeeze his hand just a little harder in a silent thank you, but he just kind of shakes his head in response.
It all feels very normal, and very right.
I know Jaxon still worries—and will continue to worry—that his being with me makes me a target. And there’s a part of me that knows he’s right. That I will never be safe if we’re together.
But no matter what he thinks, it’s not Jaxon’s job to protect me. I’ve known from the first day that he wasn’t meant to be the hero of my story. And I am more than okay with that.
Because he smiles now in a way he never did before. He laughs. And, on occasion, he even tells me a really bad joke or two. I’ll take that over safe any day, especially when safety can be snatched away at any moment.
Which reminds me… “Hey, you never did tell me the punch line of that joke from the other day.”
We stop a few feet away from my classroom, partly to take advantage of the now nearly empty hallway and partly in an effort not to freak my whole Brit Lit class out again.
“What joke?” he asks, puzzled.
“You know. The pirate one. Remember? What did the pirate say when he turned eighty?”
“Oh, right.” Jaxon laughs. “He says…”
I never do get to hear the punch line. A flash over Jaxon’s shoulder catches my attention. It’s followed immediately by a noxious and eerily familiar cloud of black smoke. I start to stumble backward, to drag Jaxon with me. But it’s too late. Because when the smoke clears, someone who can only be Hudson Vega is standing there, a giant broadsword in his hand—aimed straight at Jaxon’s head.
The horror on my face must register, because Jaxon starts to glance over his shoulder. But the sword is already swinging. There’s no time for him to even see the threat, let alone react to it.
Terrified, I grab his arms and yank him toward me. But even as he falls forward, I know it’s not going to work. He’s still in the blade’s path. For a moment, just a moment, I flash back to how he looked last night when we were stretched out on his bed. He was leaning over me, resting on his elbow. Sleepy smile, eyes hazy with want.
His hair had fallen forward into his face, and I reached up to push it back so I could see his eyes…and, for the first time, as my hand grazed his scarred cheek, he didn’t flinch. His smile didn’t falter and he didn’t duck his hea
d. He didn’t turn away. Instead, he stayed right there with me. In the moment.
Relaxed.
Happy.
Whole.
And that’s when it hits me. Jaxon was never meant to be the hero of my story…because I was always meant to be the hero of his.
So, in the end, I do the only thing I can do. I wrap myself around him and spin us around so that my back is to the sword. And then I close my eyes and wait for the blow I’ve always known would come.
0
She Persisted
—Jaxon—
“When the fuck is she going to turn back, Foster?”
“I don’t kn—”
“Don’t tell me that again. Don’t fucking tell me you don’t know.” I turn on the librarian and the Biology of Ancient Creatures teacher who are sitting in front of the headmaster’s desk and demand, “Aren’t you supposed to be able to figure out what the hell is going on around here? What the fuck is the point of putting you people in charge of this school if none of you can answer a simple fucking question?”
“It’s not a simple question, Jaxon.” The headmaster pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“Sure, it is. One minute, Grace was in my arms, blocking Hudson’s attack.” My throat closes up at the thought of those frantic, frenzied moments. Of the way she tried to drag me away, and when that didn’t work, how she threw herself between—
I cut off the thought before it can derail me and this entire conversation with it. Because if I think about it now, if I think about what she did… The ground beneath my feet starts to tremble and damn it, just damn it. The only thing keeping me from leveling the whole fucking school is the knowledge that I might hurt Grace in the process.
I take a deep breath before continuing. “One minute, she was there. And now Grace… Grace is…” I can’t say it. I can’t fucking say that she’s gone, because if I say it out loud I can’t take it back.
