Crave (Crave Series)

by Tracy Wolff

  “Actually, I think it’s the most important point.” I’m not going to stand here and beat him up emotionally when he’s already doing a ridiculously good job of it himself. “Did he deserve it?” I ask again.

  “He deserves worse than what he got,” Jaxon finally spits out. “He deserves to be dead.”

  “But you didn’t kill him.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “But I wanted to.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you wanted to do,” I admonish him. “It only matters what you did. You never once lost control when you were going after Cole—in fact, I’ve never seen anyone more in control than you were in that lounge. The power you wield…it’s unfathomable.”

  He quirks a brow at me even as his shoulders tense, as if preparing for the next body blow. “And terrifying?”

  “I’m pretty sure Cole was terrified.”

  “I don’t give a shit about Cole. I’m talking about you.” He shoves a frustrated hand through his hair, but this time his gaze never leaves mine.

  I take a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then tell him the truth he so desperately needs to hear. “You don’t scare me, Jaxon.”

  “I don’t scare you.” His tone is half sardonic, half disbelieving.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” I repeat. “And I’ve got to say, you’re beginning to sound an awful lot like a parrot.” I make a face at him. “You might try being careful of that if you want to keep your badass reputation intact.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “My badass reputation is pretty solid right now, thank you very much. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “Me? Why are you worried about me?” I’m sick of waiting on the other side of the room for him to calm down. Not when it’s not getting us anywhere, and not when the need to touch him, to hold him, is a physical ache inside me.

  With that in mind, I finally take my hands out of my pockets and walk toward him, slowly, carefully, deliberately. His eyes get wider with every step I take, and for a second, I really do think he’s contemplating fleeing.

  Not going to lie, the idea that I scare Jaxon Vega fascinates me on all kinds of different levels.

  “What the fuck is happening here?” he demands after the silence between us has gone on too long.

  I have no idea. I just know that I hate the way Jaxon looked when he walked up to me in the study lounge, hate even more the way he looked when he brought me into this room. Wary, lonely, ashamed, when I don’t believe he has anything to be ashamed of.

  “What do you think is happening here?” I ask.

  “Now who’s the parrot?” He shoves both hands into his hair in obvious frustration. “Are you okay? Are you in shock?”

  “I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “Me? I—” He breaks off and just stares at me, speechless, as he registers that I very deliberately mimicked his words. “I just terrorized the entire school. Why the hell are you worried about me?”

  “Because you don’t exactly look happy about it, now, do you?”

  “There’s nothing to be happy about.”

  And that, right there, is exactly why I’m not afraid of him.

  I’m only a few steps away from him now and I take them slowly, under his watchful, worried gaze. “So how do you feel about what just happened?” I ask.

  His face closes up. “I don’t feel anything about it.”

  “You sure about that?” Finally, I’m close enough to go for it. I reach for his hand, grab on tight. The second our skin touches, he jerks like he’s being electrocuted. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he just stands there and watches as I lace our fingers together. “Because you look like you feel a hell of a lot.”

  He takes a step back even as he holds fast to my hand. “It had to be done.”

  “Okay.” I take a step forward. If we keep this up, it’s not going to be long before I have him pinned against a bookcase the same way he had me pinned against that chess table on my very first day.

  Poetic justice, if you ask me.

  “You should go.” This time, he takes two steps back. More, he drops my hand.

  I feel the loss of his touch keenly, but that doesn’t stop me from closing the distance once again.

  Doesn’t stop me from reaching out and resting a hand on his hard biceps.

  Doesn’t stop me from softly stroking my thumb up and down his inner arm. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.” He nearly strangles on the word, but this time he doesn’t move away from my touch. From me.

  And while there is a part of me that can’t believe I’m doing this, that I’m all but throwing myself at Jaxon, there’s another part of me just waiting for him to give in.

  It’s the same part that’s encouraged by the fact that he’s barely coherent at this point.

  The same part that can’t help but feel—and be happy about—the small tremor running through his body.

  The same part that desperately wants to feel Jaxon’s mouth once again on my own and is determined not to leave here until I find out.

  “I don’t believe you,” I whisper. And then I take the final step, closing the last of the distance between us and pressing my suddenly trembling body flush against his.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he tells me in a voice that’s low and tortured and anything but cold.

  He’s right. I don’t have a clue how much I’m asking of him. But I know if I don’t ask, if I don’t push, I’ll never get another chance. This will be the end of the discussion.

  More, it will be the end of us.

  And I’m not ready for that. I don’t even know if there is an us, or what will happen in a day or a week or three months, if there is. I only know that I’m not ready to walk away from him—or whatever happens next. Which is why I reach for him again and whisper, “So show me.”

  Long seconds pass, minutes maybe, and Jaxon doesn’t move. I’m not sure he even breathes.

  “Jaxon,” I finally whisper when I can’t take the agony of waiting. “Please.” My mouth is nearly pressed against his.

  Still no response.

  My confidence—shaky at the best of times—is about to desert me completely. After all, there’s nothing quite like throwing yourself at a boy and having him turn into a human statue to make a girl feel wanted.

  But I’ve got one more attempt in me, one more chance to get Jaxon to understand that I trust him, no matter what he did in that hall. That I want him, vampire or not.

  Two months ago, I would have walked away—run away, really—prepared to hide under my bed forever. But two months ago, my parents weren’t dead, and I didn’t yet realize just how fleeting, how fragile, life really is.

  And so I swallow my fear and embarrassment as I slide my hand down Jaxon’s arm to his hand. Once more, I lace our fingers together before lifting both our hands to my chest. I press his palm flush against my heart and murmur, “I want you, Jaxon.”

  Something flashes in his eyes. “Even knowing what I am?”

  Confusion swirls through me. “I know who you are. That’s what matters.”

  “You say that now, but you don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “So show me,” I whisper. “Give me what I’m asking for.”

  His eyes darken, his pupils blown completely out. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

  “I mean it. I need you, Jaxon. I need you.”

  His jaw clenches, and his fingers tighten reflexively on mine. “Are you sure?” he grinds out. “I need to know you’re sure. I don’t want to scare you, Grace.”

  My knees tremble like some medieval heroine at the intensity in his voice, in his eyes. But I am not going to blow this now, not going to mess it up when I’m this close to getting what I want.

 
; This close to having Jaxon as my own.

  So I lock my knees in place, look him in the eye. And say as loud and clear as I have ever said anything in my life, “What scares me isn’t you being a vampire, Jaxon. What scares me is the idea that you’re going to walk away and I’m going to go my whole life without knowing what this could feel like.”

  And just like that, Jaxon strikes. Hands grabbing, fangs flashing, body wrapping itself around me so quickly, I barely understand what’s happening. He whirls me around—my back to his front—tangles his hand in my hair, and pulls my head back.

  And then sinks his teeth into my neck, right below my jaw.

  48

  Is That a

  Wooden Stake in Your Pocket

  or Are You Just

  Happy to See Me?

  For one second, two, panic immobilizes me. Makes it so I can’t feel, can’t think, can’t breathe as I wait…for pain, for emptiness, for death.

  But as time goes by and the agony I’m expecting doesn’t come, my adrenaline stops shooting like a geyser, and I realize that whatever Jaxon is doing to me doesn’t hurt at all. In fact, it feels really, really…good.

  Pleasure like molten honey pours through my veins, lighting up my nerve endings and swamping me with an intensity, a need I never imagined existed. My already weak knees give out entirely, and I sag against him, letting him hold me up with his long, lean body and firm arms as I tilt my head to give him better access.

  He growls at the invitation, a deep, rumbling sound that burrows deep inside me even as the ground shakes a little beneath my feet. And then the pleasure increases, lighting me up, turning me inside out, making me tremble even as I forget how to breathe. How to be.

  I press myself even more tightly against him, wind my arms up and over my head so that I can tangle my fingers in his hair. Cup his jaw in my palm. Push my skin more firmly against his mouth as my eyes drift closed.

  I’m desperate for more—desperate for Jaxon and whatever he wants to give me or take from me. But he’s obviously got more control than I can even imagine, because just as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm me, he pulls back, pulls away, his tongue stroking softly over his bite marks. The caress sends a whole new volley of emotions straight through me.

  I stay where I am, body resting against his, hands clutching onto whatever part of him I can reach, totally dependent on him to keep me from falling as little darts of pleasure continue to zing through me. They’re followed by a creeping lassitude that makes it impossible for me to so much as lift my lids, let alone step away from Jaxon.

  As if I would.

  “Are you okay?” he murmurs against my ear, his voice soft and warm in a way I’ve never heard from him before.

  “Are you kidding?” I answer just as softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this okay in my life. That was…amazing. You’re amazing.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, well, being a vampire doesn’t come with many perks, so you’ve got to take them where you can find them.”

  “Obviously.” Eyes still closed, I turn my head. Raise my face to his. Purse my lips. And pray Jaxon doesn’t shy away from me.

  He doesn’t, his lips pressing against mine in a tender kiss that has my breath catching all over again, though for very different reasons. Moments pass, and he starts to lift his head, but I hold on, wanting just a little more of him.

  Just a little more of this boy who has such power and such tenderness inside him.

  He gives it to me, his mouth moving against mine, his tongue stroking along my bottom lip until, finally, I find the strength to let him go.

  I pull back, open my eyes slowly, and find Jaxon staring down at me, his dark gaze filled with so much emotion, I don’t know whether to laugh or weep.

  “No one’s going to hurt you again, Grace,” he whispers.

  “I know,” I whisper back. “You made sure of it.”

  Surprise glows in the depths of his obsidian eyes. “I didn’t think you believed—” He breaks off as the ground rumbles beneath our feet.

  “We should get under the doorway,” I tell him, glancing around for the closest one.

  But he just closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Moments later, the ground settles back down.

  Shock explodes inside me. “You—” My voice breaks, and I clear my throat. Try again. “The earthquakes. They’re you?”

  He nods, looks wary.

  “Even the big ones?” I ask, and I can feel my eyes going wide. “All of them?”

  “I’m so sorry.” His fingers stroke over my still-bandaged neck. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know.” I turn my head, kiss his palm even as astonishment continues to ricochet inside me. How can anyone be so powerful that they actually move the earth? It’s incomprehensible, unimaginable. “Does this happen often?”

  He shakes his head, shrugs, like he’s as baffled as I am. “It’s never happened…before.”

  “Before?” I ask.

  “Before you.” He pulls me more tightly against him. “I learned control early—over myself and my abilities. I had to or…”

  “Cities would crumble?” I ask, tongue firmly in cheek.

  “I wouldn’t put it exactly like that. But I swear, I’ve got it under control now. I won’t hurt you again.” His mouth slides along my cheek, over my jaw, down my neck.

  Heat moves through me at the first touch of his lips. It makes me tremble. Makes me want.

  I pull his mouth back down to mine and let the need, and the pleasure, sweep me away.

  The kiss goes on and on, until we’re both breathless. Shaky. Desperate.

  I arch against him in an effort to be closer, then run my hands over his arms, his shoulders, his back. My fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans low in his throat. Then bites down gently on my lip, sucking at it just a little, until it feels like the Fourth of July deep inside me.

  I gasp, shudder, and Jaxon uses my still-weak knees as an excuse to pull away. I try to hold him in place, try to keep his lips and skin and body on mine. But he just smooths a hand over my hair and whispers, “Come on.”

  He takes my hand in his and tugs me toward his bedroom.

  I follow him—of course I do—but as he leads the way, I can’t help but notice that his once neat reading alcove is now an utter disaster.

  Books cover the floor, some lying down, some standing up, some leaning drunkenly against furniture halfway in between. The couch is upside down and the gorgeous old coffee table I liked so much is now splintered into little more than wood chips.

  “What—what happened?” I gasp, bending down to pick up a few books that are directly in my path.

  Jaxon takes them from me with a shake of his head, tosses them onto the bottom of the couch, which is now facing up. “I promised you the earthquake thing isn’t going to happen anymore,” he answers. “But it’s going to take a little time for me to figure out how to control all the things you make me feel.”

  “This is learning how to control it?” I step over a pile of rubble that I’m pretty sure used to be a bookcase and try to pretend his words aren’t making me melt deep inside.

  He turns me inside out with a look, destroys me with a kiss. But this? This makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, he feels as much for me as I feel for him.

  He shrugs. “The earth barely shook this time, and no window broke. That’s definite progress.”

  “I guess.” I swallow down the softness he makes bloom inside me and make a show of looking at the scattered wood chips instead. “I really liked that coffee table.”

  “I’ll find you one you like more.” He tugs on my hand. “Come on.”

  We make our way to his room, which thankfully seems to have been spared the destruction suffered by the reading alcove. It looks exactly the same as last time, complete with gorgeous paintings on the walls and musical
instruments in the corner.

  “I love your room,” I tell him, trailing a hand over his dresser as I make my way to the drum kit. I resisted it last time, know I should resist it this time, since what has happened so far today has left us with a lot to talk about.

  But it’s been weeks since I’ve sat behind a kit, weeks since I’ve held a set of drumsticks in my hands, and I just need to touch it. Just need to run my hands over the skins.

  “You play?” Jaxon asks as I rest my hand on the top of one of the toms.

  “I used to, before…” I trail off. I don’t want to talk about my parents right now, don’t want to bring that sadness into my first conversation with Jaxon post…whatever that was.

  He seems to get it, because he doesn’t push. Instead, he smiles, really smiles, and it lights up his whole face. Lights up the whole room. Definitely lights up all the dark and sad places I’ve been holding on to for too long.

  It isn’t until I see his smile that I realize how much he’s been holding back, how much he’s been holding in for who knows how long.

  “Want to play something now?” he asks.

  “No.” It’s my turn to hold a hand out to him. I pull him toward the bed, waiting until he chooses a side to sit on before I plop down on the other side. “I want to talk.”

  “About?” he deadpans even as a wariness creeps into his gaze that hasn’t been there since he bit me.

  “Oh, I don’t know. The weather?” I tease because I’m trying to be nonchalant about this whole thing. Trying to tell myself that finding out the boy I’m falling for is a vampire who can literally shake the earth really isn’t that big of a deal.

  He rolls his eyes, but I’m watching closely and see the corners of his mouth turning up in the smile he’s trying so hard to hide.

  It makes the nonchalance totally worth it, even as I scramble with trying to wrap my head around everything that’s happened today. And everything that’s happened in the last six days. Because there is still a tiny part of me freaking out about the fact that I let a vampire bite me—even if that vampire is Jaxon. And even if I enjoyed it way more than I ever imagined I would.