by Tracy Wolff
I glance down at the ground and realize she’s right—Quinn, Marc, and two other guys are heading our way. They’re moving stealthily instead of quickly, almost like they know we’re here. And maybe they do—it’s not like I was exactly quiet while Flint hauled me up this tree.
Either way, it doesn’t matter, because all we need is for them to get a few steps closer and—
Bam. Flint sends a snowball soaring straight into the leader’s chest. Macy follows up with a one-two shot to the guy in the back. Which leaves Marc and Quinn. Which I’m definitely not going to complain about. I send a volley of snowballs straight at them, one after another. I hit Marc twice and Quinn at least four times, which—if their curse-laden complaints are anything to go by—knocks them completely out of the game. Something I’m also not going to complain about.
Flint is all but crowing in triumph as he dispatches a second group that made the mistake of coming this way, and Macy takes care of a couple of loners trying to sneak in from behind us. I restock from the thick snow on the branches and wait for whoever comes next.
Turns out it’s a couple of girls dressed in teal and navy outerwear, who look like they’re having about as much fun as I do at the dentist.
I think about pulling my punches—no reason to make them even more miserable—but I figure it’s only putting off the inevitable. The faster I knock them out of the game, the faster they can head back to the castle. And the faster we can win this thing.
I reach for my last three snowballs and am just waiting for them to come within range when a powerful wind comes up and knocks me off balance. I make a grab for the tree trunk and manage to hold on while the wind shakes the whole tree.
Flint curses and makes a grab for the trunk, too. Then calls to me, “Hold on, Grace! I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Just stay there,” I call back. “I’m fine.”
Then I turn to look for Macy, worried my cousin might be in worse shape than I am. But just as I turn my head to look behind me, another gust of wind hits the tree, hard. It’s an eerie sound, and as the trunk starts to sway under the wind’s assault, I get more nervous. Especially when another gust comes through and hits me hard enough to threaten my grip on the tree.
Above me, Flint curses again, and Macy yells, “Hold on, Grace! Flint, go get her!”
“Wait!” I shout back to be heard over the wind. “Don’t!”
But then Macy screams, and I whirl around, terrified I’m going to see her plunging to her death. And that’s when the worst gust of wind yet hits, and I lose my grip on the tree completely.
I scramble to grab on to something—anything—but the wind is too strong. The branch I’m sitting on issues an ominous crack.
And then I’m falling.
20
There’s Never
a Parachute Around
When You Need One
For one second, I have perfect clarity—I can hear Macy screaming, Flint calling my name, the wind roaring like a freight train—and then it’s all drowned out in the panicked beat of my heart as terror races through me.
I brace myself for bone-crunching impact, but before I hit, Flint is grabbing me, pulling me against him, spinning us in midair. He hits the ground, back first, and I land on him, my face buried in the curve of his neck.
We hit hard enough that the breath is knocked out of me. For one second, two, three, I can’t do anything but lay there on top of him, trying desperately to drag a breath into my abused lungs.
Flint’s not moving either, and panic is a wild animal inside me as I struggle to get my weight off him. His eyes are closed, and I’m terrified that he’s hurt—or worse. He took the brunt of the fall, deliberately spinning us so that he slammed into the hard, snow-packed ground while all I slammed into was him.
It’s as I push up into a sitting position, knees on either side of his thighs, that I finally manage to pull in a huge gulp of air. It’s also at that moment that all hell breaks loose.
Macy is screaming my name as she scrambles down her tree, and people swarm us from all directions. I’m too busy shaking Flint and slapping at his cheeks—trying to get him to respond—to pay any attention to what anyone else is doing.
At least until he opens his eyes and drawls, “I’m beginning to think I should have let you fall.”
“Oh my God! You’re okay!” I scramble off him. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” He sits up with a little groan. “You’re heavier than you look.”
“You shouldn’t move!” I try to shove him back down, but he just laughs.
“The snow broke my fall, Grace. I’m good.” To prove it, he jackknifes to his feet in one lithe movement.
It’s as he stands up that I realize he’s telling the truth. There’s a Flint-shaped indention in the snow from where he hit. For the first time since moving to this state, I’m grateful for its ridiculous climate. After all, when you’re falling twenty feet, snow is so much softer than ground.
Still, if that’s the case… “Why did you jump after me? You could have been hurt.”
He doesn’t answer, just kind of stands there watching me, a weird look in his eyes. It’s not concern or annoyance or pride or any of the other expressions I’d expect him to be wearing right now. Instead, it looks an awful lot like…shame.
But that doesn’t make sense. He just saved me from a concussion or a couple of broken bones—at least. What does he have to be ashamed of?
“What was the alternative?” Macy demands, voice shaking like she just got back the power of speech. “Let you be hurt?”
“You mean it’s better for Flint to get hurt?” I ask bewildered.
“But he didn’t, did he? And neither did you.” She turns to him with a grateful look. “Thank you so much, Flint.”
Her words make me realize that I’ve been too busy worrying about—and yelling at—Flint to do what I should have right away. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
The words sound awkward after all my admonishments, but they are nothing compared to the look on Flint’s face as he stares over my shoulder into the crowd. It alternates between looking like he’s going to throw a punch and like he’s dying to run away.
I figure it’s because he’s bad with gratitude—I’m terrible with it, so I get that—but as the talking in the crowd dies down and people start parting like a human Red Sea, I turn.
And nearly wither on the spot at the coldness in Jaxon’s eyes. Only the fact that it’s directed at Flint and not me keeps my knees from giving way completely. Because I only thought he was intimidating at the welcome party.
Right now, the look on his face is absolutely terrifying. And the five inscrutable guys at his back—I assume I’m seeing the whole of the infamous Order for the first time—only reinforce the fact that there’s a problem.
A big problem.
I just wish I knew why.
Even Flint, who has never reacted to Jaxon in the past, turns a little sickly looking. And that’s before Jaxon, in the coldest, most reasonable voice imaginable, asks him, “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
It’s the tone even more than the look that has me moving, a frisson of fear working its way down my spine as I position myself between him and Flint before an all-out brawl can take place. I may not understand all the nuances of what’s happening here, but it’s obvious that Jaxon is livid—and more than ready to take it out on Flint. Which makes no sense, considering, “I fell, Jaxon. Flint saved me.”
For the first time, he turns those cold eyes on me. “Did he?”
“Yes! The wind kicked up, and I lost my balance. I fell out of the tree, and Flint jumped after me.” I shoot Flint a stare, telling him to back me up, but he’s not looking at me.
He’s not looking at Jaxon, either. Instead, he’s gazing off into the distance, jaw and fists clenched.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Are you hurt after all?”
A fine tremor runs through the earth, a tiny little earthquake that rattles the tree branches a bit but doesn’t do anything else. I’ve heard Alaska has them, so it doesn’t surprise me when no one reacts. Even I don’t get too excited. In San Diego, we’d have one or two of these tiny ones every couple of months. Flint doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy shrugging off my hand. “I’m fine, Grace.”
“Then what’s wrong?” I look back and forth between him and Jaxon. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”
Neither of them answers me, so I look to Macy for an explanation beyond my working hypothesis that Alaska brings out the worst in people. But she looks as confused as I do—and about a hundred times more terrified.
As for everybody else…they’re riveted by the drama, eyes glued to Jaxon as he continues to watch Flint who continues to very obviously not watch him back. It’s not the first time I’ve thought of Jaxon as a hunter, but it is the first time I’ve thought of Flint as prey. Other members of his group must agree, because in seconds they’re moving, guys and girls alike, to flank him on either side.
Their obvious support of Flint only ups the tension between him and Jaxon, whose face has grown even more coldly amused.
I’m trying desperately to figure out how to break things up without bloodshed when Macy suddenly snaps out of whatever stupor she’s been in and says, “We should go back to the room, Grace. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. Like I’m going to leave Jaxon out here when he looks like he wants to rip Flint’s throat out just for breathing. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Actually, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all afternoon.” Jaxon takes a step closer until he’s right behind me. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t even brush against me, but he’s close enough that that doesn’t matter. I can feel him. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
The crowd recoils at this. Like, I actually see people drawing back, eyes wide, mouths open, faces slack with shock. I can’t figure out what the big deal is unless it’s that Jaxon is breaking up the showdown between the two most popular guys in school before it even begins. Not that it’s even a real showdown, considering the way Flint’s taken himself out of the whole thing by refusing to so much as acknowledge Jaxon’s existence.
It’s that uncharacteristic behavior more than anything else that has me stepping away from Jaxon and saying, “I need to stay with Flint. Make sure he’s really—”
“I’m fine, Grace,” Flint grates out from between clenched teeth. “Just go.”
“Are you sure?” I reach out a hand to touch his shoulder again, but suddenly Jaxon’s there between us, preventing my hand from landing. Then he’s stepping forward, moving me slowly, inexorably away from Flint and back toward school.
It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Definitely the strangest thing I’ve ever been a part of.
And still, I let it happen. Because this is Jaxon, and I can’t seem to help myself.
“Come on, Macy,” I say quietly to my cousin and reach for her hand. “Let’s go.”
She nods, and then we’re walking back toward the castle—Macy, Jaxon, and me. I half expect the other members of the Order to join us, but a quick glance behind me shows that they aren’t moving.
No one is.
And can I just say, I’m beginning to feel an awful lot like Alice in Wonderland here—things keep getting “curiouser and curiouser.” Maybe that last plane ride with Philip was really a trip down a really big rabbit hole.
We walk in silence for a minute or two, and with each step, I’m beginning to realize that maybe I didn’t escape from the fall unscathed after all. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, my right ankle is hurting. A lot.
To keep my mind off the pain—and to keep Jaxon and Macy from noticing that I’m limping—I ask, “What are you doing out here anyway? I thought you weren’t going to join the snowball fight.”
“Good thing I was out here, considering the mess Flint got you into.” Jaxon doesn’t so much as glance my way.
“It really is no big deal,” I tell him, despite the fact that my ankle is working its way up from painful to excruciating pretty quickly now. “Flint had me. He—”
“Flint very definitely did not have you,” he snaps, his voice as hard and brittle as the ice all around us as he turns to face me for the first time. “In fact—” He stops, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”
“Besides not being able to figure out why you’re so mad?”
He shrugs off the question as he looks me over from head to toe. “What’s hurting you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re hurt, Grace?” Macy joins the conversation for the first time. The chicken.
“It’s nothing.” We’ve got a head start, but if we stop, the others are sure to catch up with us, and the last thing I need right now is to make an even bigger spectacle of myself. So much for fitting in…or even blending in. After tonight, I might as well be painted biohazard orange. Something I find particularly ironic, since Jaxon is the one who told me to keep my head down.
But seriously. It’s just like San Diego all over again. There, I was the girl whose parents died. Here, I’m the girl who fell out of a tree and nearly caused World War III between the two hottest guys in school.
FML.
Determined to make it back to school and my room before the others head this way, I start walking again. Or, should I say, I try to start walking again, because I don’t get very far before Jaxon is blocking my path.
“What hurts?” he asks again, and the look on his face tells me he’s not going to let it go.
And since arguing with him wastes precious seconds, I finally give in. “My ankle. I must have twisted it when we hit the ground.”
Jaxon’s kneeling at my feet before I finish, gently probing at my foot and ankle through my boot. “I can’t take this off out here or you’ll get frostbite. But does it hurt when I do this?”
My gasp is the only answer he needs.
“Should I run ahead and get the snowmobile?” Macy asks. “I can be back before too long.”
Oh my God, no. Talk about making a spectacle of myself. “I can walk. Honest. I’m okay.”
Jaxon shoots both of us an incredulous look as he helps me to my feet. Then, without a word, he swoops me into his arms.
21
I Like Standing on
My Own Two Feet, but
Getting Swept Off Them Feels
Surprisingly Good, Too
For long seconds, I can’t move. I can’t think. I can only stare up at him in a kind of openmouthed shock as my brain short-circuits. Because I’m not actually in Jaxon’s arms, right? I mean, I can’t be.
Except I am. And they feel really good around me. Really good. Plus, being in his arms, bride-style, gives me an up-close-and-personal view of his face. And can I just say how unfair it is that he’s even hotter from an inch away? And he smells amazing, too.
His smell—like snow and orange—is what pushes me over the edge, what has me struggling against him like a madwoman in my effort to be put back down. Because if he carries me all the way to school looking and smelling and feeling like he does, I’m going to be a total incoherent mess.
“Can you please stop wiggling around so much?” he demands as I attempt to push myself out of his arms.
“Just let me down, then.” I glance at Macy for support, but she’s staring at us like she thinks she might be getting punked. Since she’s clearly not going to be any help, I turn back to Jaxon. “You can’t carry me all the way back to school!”
There isn’t so much as a hitch in his stride. “Watch me.”
“Jaxon, be reasonable. It’s a long walk.”
“What’s
your point?”
I squirm around some more, trying to force him to put me down, but that just makes him tighten his hold.
“My point is I’m too heavy.”
Again with the incredulous look.
“I’m serious.” I put my hands on his chest and use real effort to push. His arms don’t budge from around me. If I’m being honest, I really don’t want him to put me down. My ankle is full-on throbbing now, and walking on it is going to be a nightmare. But that doesn’t mean I should let him damage himself trying to help me. “Put me down before you hurt yourself.”
“Hurt myself?” The eyebrow arch I spent way too much time thinking about last night is back. “Are you trying to insult me?”
“I’m trying to get you to let go of me. You can’t carry me all the way back to—”
“Grace?” he interrupts.
I wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, I answer, “What?” in what could, perhaps, be described as not the nicest tone.
“Shut up.”
Part of me is super insulted at his words, and the matter-of-fact way he says them, but the part of me that’s actually in control of my tongue does exactly what he asks and shuts up. I mean, I suppose there are worse things in the world than being carried by a super-sexy guy instead of struggling along in terrible pain. Maybe.
With me in Jaxon’s arms, we move three times as fast as we were when I was limping with every step. Before I know it, we’re through the castle doors, striding up the stairs.
When we get to our room, Macy unlocks the door and holds the weirdass beads back as she tells Jaxon to, “Go on in.”
Seconds later, he deposits me on my bed and I think that’s going to be the end of it. But then he reaches down and pulls off my boot.
“I can take it from here,” I tell him. “Thanks for your help.”
He shoots me a look that tells me to shut up again, this time without him ever having uttered the words. Which embarasses me so much that I try to pull my foot away from him and start peeling my sock off on my own.