by Tracy Wolff
“There are a thousand ways to get somewhere, but not all ways are the correct one.”
I don’t have time to wonder about what it means because Flint scoops it up and then barks, “Come on, let’s go.”
I grab my purse and follow him, dread pooling in my stomach as I try to figure out what could possibly make him react like this. “What’s going on?” I ask again.
“I don’t know yet. But the Order is on the move.”
“On the move? What does that mean?” I’m all but running in an effort to keep up with Flint’s long-legged strides.
“It means there’s going to be trouble.” He bites the words out like they taste bad.
Not that I blame him. God knows, I’ve had more than enough of that in the last few days to last me a lifetime. “What kind of trouble?” I’m right behind him when he pushes the library doors open and starts booking it down the hall.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
I fumble my phone out of my pocket, determined to get an answer out of Jaxon. But by the time we get to the main passing area near the stairs, I don’t have to. Because one level up is the Order, walking in grim, single-file silence.
They’re moving fast, and though their backs are toward us, I can tell Flint is right. There’s a problem—a big one. It’s in their squared-off shoulders and the tenseness that runs through each and every one of them like a live wire.
I call to Jaxon, but he’s either ignoring me or he doesn’t hear me. Either way, it’s another bad sign, considering he usually knows exactly what’s happening around him at all times.
Just the thought that he’s in some kind of trouble has me rushing on the stairs right after Flint, determined to catch up with them before something terrible happens.
But Jaxon is moving swiftly, too, and we end up chasing him down one hall, past the physics lab and several classrooms. He pauses for a second at the door of a room I haven’t been in yet—I think it’s one of the student lounges—and I call his name again. I’m all the way at the other end of the long hall, so I’m not surprised he doesn’t hear me.
Byron does, though. He turns his head and stares straight at me. I’m too far away to see his eyes clearly, but the look on his face is more than a little frightening as his eyes dart back and forth between Flint and me. Then he shakes his head at me in a quick back-and-forth motion.
It’s obvious he wants me to leave them alone, but that’s not going to happen—at least not before I know what’s going on in there. So I just lay on the speed, determined to get to Jaxon before he does…whatever it is he intends to do.
I don’t make it, and neither does Flint. Jaxon walks in the room, followed by the other five members of the Order—including Byron, who doesn’t look my way again.
Panic slams through me, and I run faster than I ever have before, ignoring the way my neck and arm hurt. Ignoring the way it makes me feel dizzy. Ignoring everything but the need I have to get to Jaxon, to make sure he doesn’t do anything because of me that he can’t take back.
I don’t know how I know this is about me, but I do.
I hit the door just as Jaxon sends all the furniture in the room flying in every direction.
Next to me, Flint curses. But he doesn’t move to interfere, even when Jaxon sends a guy that I’m pretty sure is Cole flying next, slamming him against a turned-over table and an upended chair in the process.
My breath catches in my throat in a strangled scream. I knew he was powerful, knew he was dangerous—everyone has been telling me so since I got here—but before now, I had no idea what that meant. But as Jaxon slams the guy—and yeah, it’s definitely Cole—into the wall with a flick of his fingers, then has him dangling a dozen feet in the air using nothing but his mind, I begin to understand.
Still, no warning, no vampire lore, nothing anyone could have told me could prepare me for what comes next.
Several students rush him—other shifters, I assume since Quinn and Marc are among them—but just like in the cafeteria, Mekhi, Byron, and the others make a perimeter around him. The shifters don’t seem to care, though, because they keep running straight at them in an effort to rescue the one Jaxon is still dangling about ten feet in the air. And that’s when all hell breaks loose, the five members of the Order in an all-out brawl with three or four times as many shifters.
It’s fast and brutal and terrifying to witness, some shifters fighting as humans, others as wolves. Teeth and claws come out, raking down Luca’s back and Liam’s arm as the vampires grab on to fur and send the wolves slamming to the ground. Jaxon must be the only one with telekinesis, though, because the Order is fighting the old-fashioned way—with fists and feet and what I’m pretty sure are fangs.
I turn to Flint, hoping he’ll wade in, but he’s just watching the fight with clenched fists and narrowed eyes.
Other students don’t have his reticence, though, and they join the melee—more shifters and vampires squaring off against one another in a fight that will end I don’t know how. But the ground is already littered with fur and blood. If someone doesn’t stop this soon, people are going to die.
Jaxon must have the same thought because he suddenly drops Cole. He hits the ground hard, falling on his ass before scrambling back to his feet. At the same time, Jaxon waves his other arm out in a wild arc that stops everyone in their tracks. Some even fall over completely.
I’m still across the room at the entrance, but the power he blasts out hits me, too. And Flint. We both end up stumbling backward, grabbing on to the double-wide doorframe to keep from falling.
I know I’m just a human, but Flint isn’t, and he was shoved backward, too. I can’t imagine the force the people close to him felt. No wonder so many of them ended up on the ground.
I think it’s over—the fight and whatever Jaxon planned on doing to that shifter—so once the power blast dissipates, I take a step forward. “Jaxon!” I call, hoping to get his attention. Hoping to make him think in the middle of all this madness.
He glances my way for one second, two, and his eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Not blank. Not ice. But fire. A raging inferno blazing in his gaze.
“Jaxon,” I say again, softer this time, and for a moment, I think I’m getting through.
At least until he turns his head, cutting me off. Blocking me out.
Seconds later, he reaches out a hand, and Cole is once again brought to his feet. This time, though, the entire room holds its collective breath as we wait to see what comes next.
It doesn’t take long for us to find out.
Cole starts struggling, eyes going wide and fingers clawing at his throat as Jaxon reels him in. Slowly dragging him closer and closer until Cole is once again standing directly in front of him. Eyes bugging out. Livid red scratches on his neck. Terror in his eyes.
It’s enough, more than enough. Whatever Jaxon is doing, whatever point he is trying to make, he’s done it. Everyone in this room knows what he can do.
“Jaxon, please.” I say it softly, not sure if he’ll be able to hear me but unable to keep silent when he’s so close to killing this boy. So close to destroying the shifter and himself in one moment of careless rage.
Everything inside me tells me to go to him, to get in the middle of him and the shifter before Jaxon does something he can’t take back. But when I try to move toward him, it’s like I’m running straight into a wall.
Unable to rush forward.
Unable even to take one single step.
It’s not me—I can move or walk however I want—but there’s an invisible barrier in front of me, as strong as stone and twice as impenetrable.
No wonder Flint has made no move to interrupt this nightmare. He must have known the wall was there all along.
It’s Jaxon’s doing—of course it is—and I’m furious that he’s done this, that he’s cut me off
from him and his fight so completely. “It’s enough, Jaxon!” I yell, pounding on the wall because I can’t do anything else. “Stop. You have to stop.”
He ignores me and terror swamps me. He can’t do this. He can’t—
Suddenly, I lurch forward as my hand and arm slide right through the mental barricade that Jaxon erected.
“What the fuck?” Flint breathes from beside me, but I’m too busy trying to get Jaxon’s attention to respond. Or pull back.
“Jaxon!” I all but scream his name this time. “Stop. Please.”
I don’t know what’s different—if it’s because I somehow pierced through the barrier or if he’s reached the same conclusion I have. Either way, whatever psychic grip he’s been using on Cole disappears. Now standing under his own power, the shifter nearly falls to his knees even as he drags loud, painful-sounding breaths through his abused throat and into his air-starved lungs.
Relief sweeps through me—and the room. It’s finally over. Everyone is still alive. Some are more than a little worse for wear, but at least they’re a—
Jaxon strikes so fast, I almost miss it, fangs flashing and hands grabbing onto Cole’s shoulders as he leans forward and sinks his teeth into the left side of his throat.
Someone screams, and for a second I think it’s me, until I realize my throat is too tight to make a sound. Seconds pass—I don’t know how many—as Jaxon drinks and drinks and drinks. Eventually the shifter stops fighting, goes limp.
That’s when Jaxon finally lets him go, lifting his head and dropping Cole into a limp heap on the ground.
The guy’s pallor is frightening, but he’s still alive, eyes wide and frightened, blood trickling from the fang marks on his neck, when Jaxon looks out over the room and hisses, “This is the only warning you get.”
Then he turns and walks straight toward me, without so much as a backward glance.
And when he takes my elbow in a grip that is as gentle as it is unyielding, I go with him. Because, honestly, what else am I going to do?
47
The
First Bite
Is the Deepest
Jaxon doesn’t say a word as he escorts me down the hall—and neither do I. After what I just saw, I’m too… I don’t know what. I want to say “shocked,” but that’s not the right word. Neither is “disgusted” or “horrified” or any of the other descriptions—any of the other emotions—that someone who’s an outsider might expect to feel.
I mean, watching Jaxon nearly drain that guy wasn’t what I would call pleasant, but he is a vampire. Biting people’s necks and drinking their blood is pretty much par for the course, isn’t it? It feels hypocritical to freak out now just because I got to see it up close and personal—especially when Jaxon obviously had a reason for what he did. Otherwise, why go on a rampage like that? And why announce to the whole school that this is the only warning they’re going to get?
I’m more concerned about finding out why he felt the need to issue the warning than I am about what he did. Especially since I’m terrified that it has something to do with me and his fear that someone is trying to hurt me.
I don’t want to be responsible for Jaxon getting into trouble—and I definitely don’t want to be responsible for Jaxon hurting someone…or worse.
Not for the first time, my hand goes to the marks at my throat as I wonder what would have happened if Marise hadn’t stopped. If she had bitten me for a purpose other than to help heal me. Would I be as laissez-faire about Jaxon’s treatment of that shifter if I had nearly died the same way?
I don’t know. I just know that right now, I care more about Jaxon’s state of mind than I do some boy I don’t know. Some boy who, if Jaxon is right, wants me dead.
As for the rest? The telekinesis, the absolute control Jaxon exerted over everyone in that lounge, including me? The obscene amount of power he wielded with just a wave of his hand? I don’t know how I feel about all that, either. Except, like the violence, it doesn’t scare me the way it probably should.
He doesn’t scare me the way he probably should.
My injured ankle twinges a little as we round a corner—more than likely all the running I did on it earlier—but I bite down the cry of pain that wells in my throat. Jaxon’s moving fast, I assume because he’s trying to get us somewhere we can talk before the consequences of what just happened catch up to him.
I mean, yeah, this is a supernatural school and the rules are probably different than what I’m used to, but I have a hard time believing it’s okay for one of the paranormal species to start chowing down on another one in the middle of the student lounge.
No matter how much he might deserve it.
Which is why I don’t complain about the pace Jaxon sets as we quickly make our way down several hallways to the back stairs. It’s as we start climbing that I realize where he’s taking me. Not to my room, as I half expected, but to his. And judging from the look on his face—the blank eyes, the tight jaw, the lips pressed into a firm, straight line—he expects me to object.
I have no intention of arguing with him, though. Not until I know what we’re supposed to be arguing about. And on the plus side, I’m pretty sure no one will be crossing Jaxon again any time soon, which means maybe I can make it through a whole forty-eight hours without any near-death experiences. Not going to lie, that counts for something, too, even though I feel a little Machiavellian just thinking it.
The second we make it to the top of the tower steps, Jaxon lets go of my elbow and puts as much distance between the two of us as can be had in his little reading alcove. Which leaves me…adrift.
Nothing has changed since I was here a few hours ago. The window is still boarded up, the rug still missing, the book I tried to read while I was waiting for him still sitting in the exact same spot.
And yet it feels like everything has changed.
Maybe because it has. I don’t know, and I won’t know until Jaxon opens his mouth and actually talks to me instead of standing there next to the fireplace, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes everywhere but on mine.
I want to start the conversation, want to tell him…I don’t know what. But everything inside me warns that that’s the wrong approach to take. That if I have any hope of navigating what’s going on here, I need to know what Jaxon is thinking before I open my mouth and say something that ruins everything.
And so I wait, hands in the pockets of my hoodie and eyes nowhere but on him, until he finally, finally turns to look at me.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says, his voice low and rusty and so empty that it hurts to listen to it.
“I know.”
“You know?” He looks at me like I’ve grown another head…or three.
“I’ve never thought you were going to hurt me, Jaxon. I wouldn’t be here if I did.”
He looks shocked at my words. No, not shocked. Stunned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he struggles for a decent response. When it eventually comes, it’s distinctly underwhelming.
“Is there something wrong with you?” he demands. “Or is it just that you have a death wish?”
It’s my turn to pull his favorite trick and lift a brow. “Dramatic much?”
“You’re impossible.” He nearly strangles on the words.
“Pretty sure I’m not the impossible one in this…” I break off because I have no idea what to call this thing between Jaxon and me. Relationship? Friendship? Disaster? I finally settle on “thing,” which is probably the worst description possible of whatever it is we have. “After all, you’re the one who keeps running away.” I’m trying to lighten up the funereal atmosphere, trying to make him smile a little. Or if not actually smile, then at least not frown so hard.
It isn’t working. In fact, I think he’s looking even grimmer than he was a couple of minutes ago.
“You saw what I d
id, right?”
I nod. “I did.”
“And you’re telling me that it doesn’t scare you?” He looks incredulous. Suspicious. And, in a bizarre turn of the tables, maybe even a little disgusted. “That it doesn’t horrify you?”
“Which part?” I want to reach out, want to touch him so badly, but it’s fairly obvious now isn’t the time. Not when everything about him screams boundaries. Or, more accurately, armed battlements.
“Which…part? What does that even mean?”
“It means, which part of what I just saw should I be afraid of? The part where you threw everyone across the room? Or the part where you hung someone in the air and choked him with your mind?” I ignore the frisson of discomfort that works its way down my spine at the memory. “Or am I just supposed to be hung up on the biting part?”
“I didn’t realize this was an either-or situation,” he growls at me as he paces back and forth in front of the fireplace. “You saw what I did to Cole. I thought you’d be appalled.”
Watching him, I don’t think I’m the one who’s appalled here. I think Jaxon is—by what he’s capable of and by what he’s just done. Which makes my job of convincing him I’m not disgusted by him harder than I ever imagined it would be.
It also means I need to tread lightly.
“Is that the guy’s name? Cole?” I finally settle on asking.
I want to get closer to him, want to shrink the gap he’s put between us, but badass, take-no-prisoners Jaxon currently looks like he’ll bolt at the first wrong move I make.
“Yes.” He’s back to not looking at me, so I wait him out, refusing to speak until he finally, reluctantly turns his gaze back to mine.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he whispers.
“Like what?”
“Like you understand. You can’t possibly—”
“Did he deserve what you did to him?” I interrupt.
His whole body goes rigid. “That’s not the point.”