by Tracy Wolff
Except I don’t have him. Not really. Not when he could die on me at any second. He’s lost so much blood—more than I have at this point—but I don’t know what to do about it. If I leave him and go for help, he might very well bleed out while I’m gone. If I don’t, he may bleed out anyway, since I can’t seem to staunch the blood.
Desperate, I look around for any untouched jars of the blood Lia had lined up around the altar earlier today. But they’re all gone now, sucked into Jaxon’s vortex or spilled onto the floor around us.
“What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?” I mutter to myself as I try to get my panic-stricken and pain-addled brain to work. Jaxon’s heart rate is slowing down and so is his breathing. I don’t have much time to do something, anything to save him.
In the end, I do the only thing I can think of. The only thing I can do in this situation. I claw open one of the wounds on my wrists until it starts to bleed freely again. And then I press my wrist to his mouth and whisper, “Drink.”
At first there’s no response as my blood drips onto Jaxon’s lips. Seconds go by, maybe a full minute, and I’m beginning to despair. If he doesn’t drink, he’ll die. If he doesn’t drink, we’ll both—
He regains consciousness with a roar. Then his hands are gripping my arm like a vise as he bites down right over my vein. And sucks and sucks and sucks.
It feels nothing—and everything—like it usually does when he drinks from me. There’s pleasure, yes, but also a lot of pain as he takes in as much of my blood as he can with every swallow. Despite the pain, relief swamps me even as the room around me goes black.
There’s no fighting it this time, no need to fight it this time, because I’m not alone. Jaxon’s here with me, and that’s all that matters. So when the next wave of blackness rises up to swamp me, I don’t struggle against it.
Instead, I give myself over to it—and to Jaxon—trusting that somehow everything will be okay.
Trusting that somehow Jaxon will make sure of it.
63
A Bite
to Remember
The first thing I notice upon waking up is that I’m warm. Really warm, which feels off for some reason, though I can’t quite figure out why. Then again. I can’t quite figure out a lot of things as I drift slowly between sleep and wakefulness.
Like what the weird beep I’m hearing is from.
Or why my right arm feels like it’s being crushed.
Or why my room smells like apples and cinnamon.
Eventually, it’s the second question that brings me to full consciousness, that has me opening up my eyes and shaking out my arm in an effort to get the pain to stop.
The first thing I see when I open my eyes is a woman in a black-and-purple caftan holding a clipboard and reading a little machine next to my bed. The same machine that’s making the beeping noise, it turns out. And making my arm hurt, because as soon as she presses a button, the pressure goes away.
Because blood pressure is an actual thing, apparently. And so are IVs, if the needle stuck into the back of my hand and the tube it’s attached to are any indication.
It all comes flooding back to me in a rush—Flint, Lia, the fight.
“Jaxon.” I push myself up, start looking wildly around the room. “Jaxon! Is he all right? Is he—”
“He’s fine, Grace,” the woman tells me with a soothing pat on the shoulder. “And so are you, though it was a touch dicey for a minute—with the both of you.”
Her words feel an awful lot like déjà vu—then again, a lot of this morning feels like déjà vu. After everything that just happened, it’s hard to imagine that it was just a couple of days ago that I found out about vampires. And now, I’ve helped murder one.
And—please God—helped save one, I remind myself as I scoot down the raised hospital bed until I make it past the guardrails and can actually swing my legs over the edge. “Where is he?” I demand of the short-haired woman standing next to my bed. “I need to make sure…” I stop, because I can’t even say the words out loud.
“He really is okay,” the nurse assures me, her tone soothing. “In fact, he’s right outside your room. I asked him to step out while I took your vitals, but other than when medical personnel request it, he hasn’t left your side since he brought you in.”
“Can you get him for me?” I ask after licking my dry lips. “I just need a minute with him.”
I’m assuming if I’m here, then Jaxon made it out of that hellhole of a dungeon. But emotion is currently outweighing logic, and I just need to see him. Just need to hear his voice and feel his hand—his body—against mine to believe that he actually made it out.
To believe that the nightmare is finally over.
“I’ll get him,” she tells me. “If you lie back in that bed. Your pulse rate is skyrocketing, and we just got everything stabilized, for heaven’s sake.”
My pulse is skyrocketing because I’m panicking, I want to screech at her. Jaxon was nearly dead the last time I saw him.
But I don’t screech. Instead, I settle for whispering, “Thank you,” as I lean back against the raised head of the bed. My hands are shaking, so I hide them under the covers—no need to broadcast the fact that I already feel exhausted from one little adrenaline spike.
“You’re welcome,” she answers. “And just so you know what’s going on, you’re in Katmere Academy’s infirmary, where you’ve been for the last two days. I’m Nurse Alma, and I’ve been taking care of you along with Marise. Like I said earlier, you’re pretty banged up and you lost a lot of blood. Plus you have a dislocated shoulder, so now that you’re awake and moving around, Marise will probably be splinting it up for a while. But overall, you’re in good health. Jaxon got you here before the blood loss could do any permanent damage. You’re going to be fine in a few days.”
I know I should care about what she’s saying and I will…soon. “What about Jaxon?” I ask anxiously. “He was stabbed. He lost a lot of blood, too. Is he—”
“From what I understand, you took care of him quite well. But let me get him so you can calm down. He can tell you how he is while I call your uncle and let him know you’re awake.”
I watch anxiously as Alma walks through the door into the hallway. She’s speaking softly, so I can’t hear what she’s saying, but seconds later Jaxon bounds through the door. Alive and reasonably well.
Relief sweeps through me, and I finally feel like I can take a real breath. I mean, yeah, he looks like hell—or at least, as close to hell as someone like him can look—but he’s alive. And walking under his own power. That has to count for something.
As he gets closer, I realize his complexion is still a little gray, which makes his scar stand out against his cheek in stark relief. He also seems like he’s lost at least five pounds in the two days I’ve been asleep. Which is impossible, I know, but he looks so tired and thin and worn out—nothing like the force of nature I’m used to.
“You’re awake,” he says, and for a second I swear I see tears in his dark eyes. But then he blinks and there’s nothing but strength there…and something else I don’t even try to interpret. Not when my head is spinning and I can barely keep my eyes open.
“Come here,” I tell him, holding my hands out to him. As I look down at them, I notice my wrists are wrapped in gauze and the many cuts on my hands and arms seem to be sealed with a shiny liquid bandage. I’m a mess, but at least I’m a sterilized mess.
He moves closer, but he doesn’t sit on the bed. And he doesn’t touch me. “I don’t want to jostle your shoulder—”
“My shoulder is fine,” I tell him, which isn’t even a lie right now, courtesy of whatever drugs or herbs or spells Alma currently has going on with me. “So come here. Or I’m coming to you.”
I kick the covers down in preparation to do just that, then wince as the motion aggravates my raw ankles—which it turns out
are also wrapped. Big surprise.
To be honest, I’m beginning to feel a little like a mummy here. And an unwanted one at that, if Jaxon’s reaction to me is any indication.
“Stay where you are,” he barks as he takes another couple of steps toward me.
“Then get over here and tell me what’s going on,” I say. “Because I’m beginning to feel like I’ve got the plague or something.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem here. You’ve got the plague.” But at least he takes my outstretched hand this time as he settles himself gingerly on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t be snarky,” I say as I rest my forehead on his shoulder. “I did save your life, after all. You should be nice to me.”
“Yeah, and I repaid you for that kindness by nearly killing you, so you should want me as far from you as I can get.”
I roll my eyes, even as exhaustion threatens to swamp me. “Are you always such a drama queen, or do you just trot it out on special occasions?”
The look of shock on his face is priceless. And so is the snitty tone in his voice when he answers, “I don’t think being concerned about you makes me a drama queen.”
“No, but taking on all the blame for what was obviously Lia’s giant head trip, does.” I press a couple of kisses to his neck, reveling in the way he can’t stop himself from shivering at the first touch of my lips to his skin. “So chill out a little, will you? I’m tired.”
His eyebrows disappear under his crazily messed up hair, and I realize it’s the first time since I’ve met him that I’ve ever seen his hair anything less than perfect. “You want me to chill out?” he repeats.
“I do.” I scoot over to make room for him on the bed, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out as I jostle my shoulder in the process. “Now climb on.” I pat the bed next to me.
Jaxon looks from my face to the bed and back again, but he doesn’t move. Which makes me sigh and say, “Come on. You know you want to.”
“I want a lot of things that aren’t good for you.”
“What a coincidence. So do I, though I’m pretty sure we’ll disagree on what’s good for me and what isn’t.”
He sighs. “Grace—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off. “Please, Jaxon, just don’t. Not now, when I’m too tired to argue with you. Do I need to spell it out for you? I need you to hold me.”
And just like that, his resistance melts. Instead of arguing, he settles back against the pillows with me and wraps me in his arms, taking care not to bother my injured shoulder.
We lie like that—in silence—for several minutes, and I don’t truly relax until he rests his cheek against the top of my head and presses kisses into my hair.
“I’m glad we’re okay.”
“Yeah.” His laugh is harsh. “Me too.”
“Don’t say it like that,” I tell him. “We’re lucky.”
“You don’t look so lucky right now.”
“Yeah, well neither do you. But we are.” I take a deep breath, let it out slowly. “We could be…” I trail off, unable to say the words.
“Dead, like Lia and Hudson?” Jaxon fills in the blanks for me.
“Yeah. And we’re not, so I count that as a win.”
He pauses for a minute, but then he nods. Sighs. “Yeah, me too.”
“Flint?” I ask after a second.
“You don’t want to talk to me about the dragon right now.”
“I know,” I soothe, running my right hand up and down his arm for comfort.
“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking. And currently in better shape than either one of us, though he shouldn’t be.”
“He thought he was doing the right thing.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jaxon jerks away from me, shoots me an incredulous look. “He and his friends tried to kill you on numerous occasions, then he pulled that stunt down in the tunnels that made everything worse, and you think he was just trying to do the right thing?”
“He was, bizarre as it sounds. And I mean, I’m not happy with him. But I’m glad he isn’t dead.”
“Yeah, well, that makes one of us,” he mutters as he lies back down against me. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
I hug him as tightly as my injured shoulder will let me. “I think we have enough blood on our hands right now.”
“You mean I have enough blood on my hands, don’t you?”
“That’s not what I said, is it?” It’s my turn to push away from him, but only because I want to be looking him in the eye when I say this. “This isn’t your fault. It isn’t my fault. And it isn’t Flint’s or the rest of the shifters’ faults. It’s Lia’s fault. She’s the one who devised this plan. And she’s the one who caused everything that happened.” My voice catches in my throat. “Did the shifters tell you? About my parents?”
“Flint told me. He and Cole told Foster and me everything—including why they didn’t trust the witches or the vampires with what they knew.”
“The vampires because they thought you might all be colluding for God only knows what reason,” I guess. “But why not the witches?”
“You aren’t a witch, but your family is. They didn’t think Foster would be able to see past the fact that you’re his niece to the danger having you here at Katmere posed to everyone.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure the danger here at Katmere has all been to me and not from me, thank you very much.”
“I should have figured it out sooner.” Jaxon looks tortured.
“You planning on having that god complex of yours looked at any time soon?” I snark. “Or are we all just supposed to live with it?”
“Wow. You’ve been awake fifteen minutes and you’ve called me a drama queen and now accused me of having a god complex.” He raises his brows. “You sure you aren’t mad at me?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him, pulling his face down to mine so I can kiss him.
But he flinches a little when my hand touches his scar, per usual, and damn it, we’ve been through too much for this to keep happening. I pull away before our lips so much as brush.
“What’s wrong?” He looks wary.
I sigh as I stroke my fingers along his jaw. “I know I have no right to tell you how to feel, but I wish you could see yourself as I do. I wish you could see how gorgeous you are to me. How strong and powerful and awe-inspiring you are.”
“Grace.” He turns his head, presses a kiss into my palm. “You don’t need to say that. I know what I look like.”
“But that’s just it. You don’t!” I reach for him and hold on tight, ignoring the pain that shoots up my arm at the movement. “I know you hate your scar because Hudson gave it to you during the most horrible moments of your life—”
“You’re wrong,” he interrupts.
I stare at him. “About what?”
“About everything. I don’t hate my scar, I’m humiliated by the fact that I let it happen. Hudson didn’t give me the scar, the vampire queen did. And the worst moments of my life weren’t when I killed Hudson. They were when I finally regained consciousness on that altar and realized I’d taken too much of your blood. That moment—and all the moments it took for me to get you here? Those will always be the worst seconds, the worst minutes, of my life.”
There are so many important things in what he just said that I don’t know where to start. Except… “Your mother? Your mother did this to you?” I whisper as horror slithers through me.
He shrugs. “When I killed Hudson, I interfered with her plans. I needed to be punished.”
“By tearing up your face?”
“It’s hard to scar a vampire—we heal too quickly. By doing this, and ensuring I didn’t heal, she left a mark of weakness on me for the whole world to see.”
“But you could have stopped
her anytime. Why didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t going to fight my mother, and I certainly wasn’t going to hurt her any more than I already had.” He shrugs again. “Besides, she needed someone to punish for what happened, someone to hurt so that she could feel better. Better me than someone who bore no responsibility for what happened.”
I can’t keep the horror from my face, but Jaxon just laughs a little. “Don’t worry about it, Grace. It’s all good.”
“It’s not all good.” I do my best to swallow the rage that’s swelling inside me. “That woman is a monster. She’s evil. She’s …”
“The vampire queen.” He fills in the blank for me. “And there’s nothing any of us can do about it. But thank you.” It’s his turn to whisper as his lips brush over my hair.
“For what?” I nearly choke on the words.
“For caring.” He lowers his head for a kiss.
But our lips barely have a chance to brush before there’s a knock on the open door. “Sorry to interrupt,” Marise says as she sticks her head in the doorway. “But now that you’re awake, I want to check out my favorite patient.”
I glance around the empty bay. “Your only patient, don’t you mean?”
“Yeah, well, you give me a lot of business. Plus, I had Jaxon and Flint in here for at least a day. You just require a little extra attention, that’s all.” She grins at me.
“Yeah, well, the whole being human thing really bites around here.” Deep inside me, the voice wakes up. Whispers that I shouldn’t be so fast to call myself human. Which is laughable, except…except Lia’s words haunt me, about how much trouble she had to go through to find me and get me here.
Which leaves me with the question of why am I so special? Even if I am a witch—and I’m not sure I am—there are a lot of witches in this school to choose from. Is it because I really am Jaxon’s mate? And if I am, what does that even mean in his world? But how would she know that? And why would that matter anyway? What does who Jaxon loves have to do with raising Hudson from the dead?