Crave (Crave Series)

by Tracy Wolff

  I grab a tree branch and swing myself up the regular way. It’s fast and a lot more fun than using my telekinesis to levitate. And when I climb up a few more branches to the top of the tree, it gives me a hell of a view of the action.

  Some of the wolves are still in the clearing, knocking the shit out of one another with one superpowered snowball after another. The witches are dropping snow and icicles from nearby tree branches on every person foolish enough to walk under one. And the dragons are stockpiling, staying out of the action for now as they hoard snowballs like they do their jewels down in the tunnels beneath the school. It’s definitely the most pragmatic approach—it won’t be long before they have enough of an arsenal to take down anyone who comes near them—but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t admire the witches’ approach the most. Ambushing anyone who walks by with a pile of snow on their head is both ingenious and fun as hell to watch.

  A nearby shriek in a familiar voice has me focusing on Grace with laser-like precision. And grinning like a fool as she tries desperately to wipe away a face full of snow. At least until Flint reaches over and helps her clear out her scarf, his hands suddenly way too close to the petal-soft skin of her cheeks. The same skin I’ve been dreaming about touching ever since she cupped my jaw with her hand.

  And when she looks up at him with a laugh and a toss of her curls—hot-pink hat definitely included—a low growl that I have no control over emanates from my throat. Even before Flint hands her that fucking dragon hat and helps her fill it with snowballs.

  The growl only gets worse when he actually puts his hands on her, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder like she belongs there. And when he wraps an arm around her upper thighs to hold her in place, I swear I can feel his jugular beneath my fangs.

  If he drops her, if he harms so much as one hair on her head, I’m going to fucking kill him. And if he doesn’t…I just might kill him anyway. Especially if he doesn’t get his hands off her in the next five seconds.

  Relief shimmers through me as he deposits Grace safely on one of the lower branches, and I take my first real breath in what feels like hours.

  Then I settle back to enjoy the show as Grace pelts everyone who walks by with snowball after snowball. She’s got remarkably good form for someone who’s never had a snowball fight before.

  At least until a brisk wind comes up out of nowhere. Grace falters a little, and my stomach bottoms out as she grabs on to the tree trunk for support. And by the time another gust shakes the tree even harder, I’m already moving—sliding down my own tree even as I scan the surrounding area to see if the wind is natural or creature-made.

  The rest of the Order is right behind me.

  I’m down the tree and halfway to Grace—and about to call the wind natural despite the bizarre coincidence—when I spot Bayu several yards away. The dragon is still in human form, but he’s facing Grace’s tree with his mouth wide open. Everything between him and Grace—snow, trees, people—is buffeted with a powerful wind.

  Fury sweeps through me. With a slice of my hand and a flash of my telekinetic power, I lift him several feet off the ground and send him hurtling into the nearest tree trunk.

  He hits hard enough to knock himself out, and that’s all I care about. There’s a part of me that wants to stop and drain him dry for even thinking about threatening Grace, but right now I have bigger things to worry about. Namely the fact that while the wind dragon is currently incapacitated, the last of the breeze he released definitely isn’t. And it’s headed straight for my mate.

  I take off running toward Grace, but, fast as I am, I’m too late. The wind has been buffeting the tree, and her, for too long. I can hear the branch she’s on crack from here. And Flint, the fucker, is doing absolutely nothing to help her.

  A million thoughts run through my head in an instant. Pulling Grace off that branch and floating her safely down to the ground. Wrapping a telekinetic hand around Flint’s traitorous throat and squeezing until his fucking eyes pop out. Holding the tree branch in place until I can get there and catch her.

  But as the branch gives another ominous crack, I go with the most expeditious—and easily explainable to someone who doesn’t know about vampires or dragons—solution and yank Flint out of the tree just as Grace starts to fall.

  He’s a big guy—dragons usually are—and turns out, he makes a really good landing spot to break her fall.

  Of course, Flint knows it’s me who yanked him out of the tree—knowledge that I am more than okay with him having. The second he hits the ground, he’s lifting his head, looking around to try to spot me. But if dealing with Hudson taught me anything, it’s the value of guerrilla warfare. Never let them see you until they’re already dead.

  Today is no exception as I indulge a particularly satisfying fantasy of ripping Flint’s fucking head from his fucking traitorous body. And that’s before my mate tries to scramble off him and only ends up straddling him instead, her knees on either side of his hips.

  As she tries to make sure he’s okay after he just participated in an attempt on her life.

  The irony is fucking painful, especially when the jackass reassures her he’s fine. And puts his hands on her hips in a gesture that makes every cell in my body yearn for destruction. It’s a feeling that doesn’t go away, even after Grace scrambles off him and starts alternating between yelling at him and thanking him for jumping out of the tree to save her.

  And when she steps forward, looking like she wants to check out up close and personally if he’s really okay, I give up any attempt at staying cool.

  Screw decorum. Screw the art of surprise. Screw everything. No way is my mate putting her hands—or any other part of her body—on that jackass one more time, at least not while she’s ignorant of Flint’s part in her taking a header out of that tree.

  I fade through the space between us, roughly the size of three football fields, in a flash. There are people milling around Grace and Flint, but the second they realize I’m here, they back the fuck up. Fast.

  And then I’m there, staring down at this girl whose mere existence has changed everything, and wishing desperately that I had met her a year ago, before everything in my life and the world around us went to total and complete shit.

  The yearning is so powerful that for a second, I’m barely aware of Flint.

  Or my friends, who have suddenly lined up behind me in a very obvious show of solidarity.

  Or the crowd, who’s watching every second of the drama with greedy eyes. All I can see or hear or think about is Grace.

  But then Flint moves, whether in an attempt to apologize or tell me off, I don’t know. And I don’t care. He got Grace up that tree deliberately so Bayu could knock her out of it, and if he thinks I’m just going to let him get away with that, then his grasp of reality is in serious jeopardy right now.

  Actions have consequences, and murder attempts mean there will be hell to pay. Even if I don’t yet know what kind of hell it’s going to be. I do know, however, that he’s going to give me some kind of answer about this debacle before we leave. Or I’ll tear him limb from fucking limb right here, right now.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” I demand when he finally has the nerve to look me in the eye.

  Flint doesn’t answer me right away—the coward—and I start to ask again, more forcefully this time. Except Grace steps between us before I can and whispers, “I fell, Jaxon. Flint saved me.”

  It’s like setting a rocket off inside me. Finally hearing my name on her lips feels damn good, but listening to her defend Flint is about to make my head explode. “Did he?” I ask, reverting to sarcasm in an attempt not to tear Flint apart.

  “Yes! The wind kicked up, and I lost my balance,” she implores. “I fell out of the tree, and Flint jumped after me.”

  I’m about to question the veracity of that statement—from Flint’s point o
f view, anyway—when Grace reaches out and touches his shoulder like he’s the big, brave hero who saved her. “What’s wrong?” she asks, and it burns my ass. “Are you hurt after all?”

  There’s a lot I want to say to that, but I can’t. Not here and not now, so once again I lock it down deep and pretend that it isn’t there.

  Seconds later, a small quake rips through the earth.

  Behind me, Byron says my name—quietly—and I shut that shit down fast. It’s harder than it should be, considering the only way I’ve gotten through everything I’ve had to do for the last year is to lock down my emotions until I forget that I even feel anything at all.

  I’m not sure anyone even noticed the quake, because no one says a word. Instead, Flint shrugs off Grace’s hand and says, “I’m fine, Grace.” Which means he’s smarter than he looks.

  Except she’s not buying it. “Then what’s wrong?” she asks, looking back and forth between us. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

  There’s nothing to say, so I don’t answer—and neither does Flint, probably for the same reason. Grace looks confused, and everyone else around us looks like they’re seconds away from rubbing their hands together with glee—even as the dragons move into place behind Flint, making sure the Order and I know that they have his back.

  Like that will matter if I decide to destroy him.

  Macy must sense the growing danger, because suddenly she pipes up from nowhere. “We should go back to the room, Grace. Make sure you’re okay.” Her voice is a lot higher than I’ve ever heard it.

  “I’m fine,” Grace assures her, once again looking between the dragon and me like she thinks I’m going to do something stupid. Which, not going to lie, I just might if we don’t get the hell out of here and soon. Then she continues. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  And yeah, that’s not going to work for me. Not when she’s here surrounded by who knows how many people who want to hurt her. Or worse.

  I take a couple of steps closer to Grace until I’m right behind her, so close that I can smell the warm cinnamon and vanilla scent of her. “Actually, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all afternoon. I’ll walk you back to your room.”

  No way am I letting her go anywhere alone.

  The crowd recoils at my words. Like, I actually see people drawing back, eyes wide, mouths open, faces slack with shock. Not that I blame them. I’m acting way outside the norm now. Everyone wants to watch, but no one wants to get in my way.

  Smart move. With the mood I’m in, the first person to challenge me might very well end up dead. Or at least with two very distinct marks in their neck.

  It’s a feeling that is only reinforced when Grace says, “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?” She reaches out and tries to lay a hand on his fucking shoulder again. But this time I’m there between then, preventing her hand from landing. Then I step forward, moving her slowly, inexorably away from Flint and back toward school.

  She doesn’t object, though the look on her face holds about a dozen questions. Maybe even more.

  “Come on, Macy,” she says, eventually reaching for her cousin’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  Macy nods, and then we start walking back toward the castle—Macy, Grace, and me. I nod to the Order to stay where they are until the crowd starts to disperse, so that’s exactly what they do.

  Grace and I walk in silence for a minute or two until she turns to me and asks, “What are you doing out here anyway? I thought you weren’t going to join the snowball fight.”

  I don’t have an answer to that, so I prevaricate with, “Good thing I was out here, considering the mess Flint got you into.” I very deliberately don’t look at her to keep myself from saying something stupid.

  “It really is no big deal,” she assures me, but there’s something off in her tone even before she continues. “Flint had me. He—”

  “Flint very definitely did not have you,” I snap, her defense of that damn dragon setting me off like few things have in a very long time. I stop to face her, determined to make her understand. “In fact—” I break off, eyes narrowing at the flicker of pain that flits across her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Besides not being able to figure out why you’re so mad?” She brushes off my concern.

  But that doesn’t stop me from looking her over from head to toe. “What’s hurting you?”

  “I’m fine,” she insists.

  “You’re hurt, Grace?” Macy joins the conversation for the first time, and I’m embarrassed to admit I almost forgot she was even with us. Then again, next to Grace, everyone pales in comparison.

  “It’s nothing,” Grace repeats, but it’s not very convincing. Especially when she continues to walk—and winces with every step she takes.

  I grind my teeth together and resist the urge to make a comment about just how stubborn she is. Instead I ask, “What hurts?” and give her a look that tells her I’m not budging on this until she’s honest with me.

  She stares back, giving as good as she’s getting. But eventually she backs off with a disgruntled sigh. “My ankle. I must have twisted it when we hit the ground.”

  As soon as I know what’s wrong with her, I kneel down and probe her foot and ankle as gently as I can through her boot. She gasps a little, and the fact that I’m hurting her, even accidentally, goes through me like a particularly powerful current. “I can’t take this off out here or you’ll get frostbite. But does it hurt when I do this?”

  She gasps, and I ease away, pissed off that I hurt her. Even more pissed off that I let her get hurt to begin with.

  “Should I run ahead and get the snowmobile?” Macy asks. “I can be back before too long.”

  “I can walk. Honest. I’m okay,” Grace says, but her voice sounds as pathetic as she looks.

  I shoot her an incredulous look as I reach down and help her to her feet. Then, because she very obviously can’t walk, I swoop her into my arms. And do my best to ignore the fact that holding her feels better than anything has in the entire hundred years of my existence.

  If You Want to

  Feel Better, Never Ask

  an Evil Vampire a Question

  —Jaxon—

  I’m out the front door before Grace can even make it down the first step.

  I know I should probably stick around, but I can’t do that. Not right now. Not when she’s got that bandage on her neck and other ones on her arm and cheek. And not when I know that I’m the asshole who did it to her.

  I close my eyes for a second—just a second—and it all flashes back. The earthquake. The window exploding under the force of my power. The moment the glass sliced into Grace’s neck.

  I’ve never been more terrified in my life. Fear isn’t something I experience very often—when you’re the scariest thing in the night, you tend to not worry about what else is bumping along next to you. But watching that glass hit Grace, watching her blood spray all over the room and realizing the glass had sliced an artery… Yeah, terrified doesn’t even begin to cover how I felt.

  The next five minutes are a blur. I remember licking her throat closed in an effort to stop the blood, remember bits and pieces of gathering her in my arms, but fade full-out for Marise as Grace lay white and still in my arms.

  I’d nearly killed her because I couldn’t control myself.

  Nearly killed her just because being near her makes me feel so much that I can’t lock it away.

  Nearly killed her because when it comes to her, I’m weak. So weak that I unwittingly let the energy build up and nearly mated her without even asking her permission.

  It’s a humbling realization…and an awful one. I’ve spent my entire life protecting people from the terrible power and un
checked selfishness of my family. And now, three days with my mate and suddenly I’m blowing out windows, shaking the fucking earth, and nearly bonding with her without even letting her know what’s going on?

  What the fuck am I thinking?

  But that’s just it. I haven’t been thinking, not since I walked down those stairs that first evening and saw Grace standing by the chess table. From that moment on, all I’ve been thinking about is making her mine. And now she’s nearly died, twice, all because I can’t get my shit together enough to take care of her—to watch over her—the way I should.

  But what’s the alternative to us being there together? Leave Katmere Academy—school to the children of the most influential monsters in the world—right now, when we’re on the brink of yet another war? Especially when that war has been largely caused by my own family?

  Or should I get Grace to leave? I already tried that the first day, all but ordering her to get the hell out because I wanted her more than I’ve ever wanted anything—a feeling that only grows with each day she’s here. She didn’t go when I told her to because she couldn’t, because she doesn’t have anywhere else to be.

  Because she belongs at Katmere Academy, the animalistic voice deep down inside me snarls. More, she belongs with me.

  Because she’s my mate. My mate.

  Even after five days, I still can’t get over the wonder and the terror that one simple word engenders in me.

  Every vampire has a mate, but finding them in your first two hundred years is practically unimaginable. Byron found Vivien early, but that’s because they were born into the same small town in France and were raised together as friends long before they ever knew they were mates. The rest of us just have to bumble around until we find ours…and that’s if we’re lucky.

  I haven’t told anyone else about Grace, not even Mekhi or Byron, because labeling her as such puts her in even more jeopardy than she’s already in. Which, apparently, is a hell of a lot, considering her mate can’t even fucking protect her from himself.