Chapter 1 I’m Totally Throwing Away My Shot
Jaxon
“So what do you think it is that makes someone wake up on a day as perfectly beautiful as today was and think, ‘I want to make the biggest mistake of my life’?”
Flint’s question—asked in a tone as boisterous as the wildly colored shirt he’s wearing—bounces off the brick buildings on either side of us. I shoot him a what the fuck look, but he’s grinning from ear to ear, like we’re about to have a party instead of a back-alley brawl.
Just because I love the guy doesn’t mean I understand him. At all.
To be fair, that’s always been our problem. Well, that and the world’s propensity for turning out homicidal assholes by the New York City alley full.
Tonight’s adventure being a case in fucking point.
Which, of course, has nothing to do with bad luck and everything to do with the dragon clans stirring up trouble.
Still, I decide to play along—mostly because I don’t want another fight.
At least not with him. But the assholes currently making “the biggest mistake” of their lives are another story altogether.
I can hear the blood rushing in their veins as they psych themselves up for a fight that’s going to be over in thirty seconds, even if they don’t know it yet.
“You’re the one who’s making a mistake,” growls the head dickwad in charge. It’s such a stock, noncreative answer that I almost laugh—especially because he’s currently cowering behind five other dickwads.
But then he pulls out a gun as he steps out of the shadows and straight into our path like he owns this particular alley and the whole fucking world around it. Normally, I wouldn’t give him a chance to change his mind—or to use that fucking gun—but a summer at the Dragon Court has mellowed me some.
Or at least that’s what my fucker of an older brother keeps telling me. He says it’s a compliment, but he’s always been contrary as fuck, so who knows what he thinks?
“Says the jackass who brought a gun to a vampire fight.” As the gun turns toward Flint, I don’t have to fake the threat in my tone. If they so much as put a scratch on him—
“I think you mean vampire and dragon fight,” Flint corrects me, looking for all the world like he’s paying absolutely no attention to the weapon currently pointed his way.
I am, however, and the fact that it’s this close to him has ice running through my veins.
“Though dragon should probably come first, considering you can fly now.”
The eyes on the guy in front grow wider with each word we say. Good. Maybe we can convince them what a bad fucking idea this is before we have to kill them. It’s been more than three months, but I’m still weary of all the death—all the killing—that happened last June.
Byron’s terror. Rafael’s screams. Liam’s blood. Luca’s broken body. I carry them all with me—even Mekhi. Especially Mekhi, poisoned, trapped, stuck between two worlds.
So much blood spilled because of a sociopath with a god complex. So many lives I wasn’t able to save.
I carry them with me every second of every day.
I blink a couple of times to clear away the memories and the guilt. Time enough for that later, after I’ve convinced these fuckers that pointing a gun at the man I love is actually their worst mistake.
With that thought in mind, I toss back a quick answer to Flint. “I’ve always been able to fly.” Then I use my telekinesis to lift myself a good thirteen or fourteen inches off the ground.
“That’s not flying. It’s floating,” Flint shoots back with a roll of his bright amber-colored eyes.
“You think you can do better?” I taunt, even as I start moving—definitely not floating—toward the six guys in front of us.
Flint’s only answer is a clench of his jaw as he partially shifts, his wings breaking through the back of his shirt and slowly, ominously unfurling until they span the entire width of the alley.
And then he, too, starts advancing toward the assholes who thought attacking the dragon prince in an alley was going to be an easy payoff.
We’re not normally big on revealing ourselves to humans, but I can smell the paranormal on them. They may not be paranormals themselves, but intuition tells me my earlier instincts were right.
The Dragon Council is back at work.
“Stop right there!” One of the guys in front pulls out a wicked-looking knife and starts slashing the air in front of him.
Seconds later, the others follow his lead. Like that’s going to do anything but amuse—and potentially annoy—me.
“Stop what?” I ask, menace dripping from every syllable as I continue to close the distance between us. I also flash my fangs as a reminder of just who it is these guys have decided to mess with.
Sure enough, the small one in the gray hoodie mutters, “Fuck it!” as he stumbles backward. “They didn’t pay us enough for this shit.” He takes off running down the alleyway.
I clock what he says—looks like I was right about the origins of this stickup—then wait to see if the others are going to follow his very astute example.
Unfortunately for them, it looks like they’re dug in, particularly the one with the gun, even though his hand is shaking so hard he can barely keep the thing steady.
I should probably help him with that.
I reach for him, and his finger tightens.
Fuck. Looks like time’s up.
I grab the gun just as he fires. The bullet goes wide, missing Flint by several inches. But just the idea that he tried to shoot my boyfriend is enough to have me seeing red.
I toss the gun in the dumpster, then slam my hand into the guy’s chest. There’s a very satisfying snap as my palm connects with his sternum, followed by an even more satisfying crunch as he slams into the side of the building several feet away before bouncing off and hitting the ground.
Then the other four guys are on us, knives and fists flying as they try to take us down.
I take on two, using my telekinesis to send them both slamming headfirst into the dumpster. I glance at Flint, who gives the one he’s fighting a chance to land a punch or three—he’s such a drama queen, always looking for the best show—before hitting him hard enough to knock him down and out.
The last guy lunges for me, the blade of his six-inch knife glistening in the dim alley as he aims straight for my heart.
It’s not a wooden stake, but it would definitely do the job if I let it.
So I don’t. Instead, I grab his hand and twist until the knife hits the ground with a clatter.
Then, to make sure he doesn’t try this shit again anytime soon—particularly on someone who can’t defend themselves—I keep twisting until the sound of his bones snapping is almost drowned out by his screams.
Overkill? Maybe. But some people need to learn the hard way. And that includes the Dragon Council assholes who keep sending fuckers like this after us in an attempt to make Flint look weak.
Sure, it’s a joke—especially since they insist on “covering their tracks” by hiring human thugs to do the job instead of sending someone who might actually stand a chance.
But there’s always the possibility that one of these assholes gets lucky, and I’m sick of taking that risk with Flint.
He’s already lost enough because of my father’s war—his brother, his leg, his mother’s heart, and now maybe even the throne.
There’s no way he’s losing so much as one more drop of blood. Not on my watch, anyway.
I turn to tell him we need to get the hell out of here, but as I do, one of the dickwads on the ground next to the dumpster pulls out a gun and fires it straight at Flint, again and again and again.
I’m too far from Flint to knock him to the ground, so I throw myself in front of him even as I use every ounce of power I have to telekinetically blast the bullets in all directions.
But I was too slow. Too arrogant. Too sure.
One bullet slips through, and I have one second to understand what that mistake might cost us—what it might cost him—before the pain crashes into me like a freight train.
I stumble backward under the force, my whole body in free fall.
But then Flint catches me with a roar that sends a blast of flames straight at the asshole with the gun. As he takes to the air with me in his arms, the last thing I hear is the guy’s screams as his shirt—and the rest of him—catches fire.
I hold on tighter to Flint as we rise through the smoke. I know I should be happy he’s okay, but all I actually feel right now is fear. Because even though I caught the bullet this time, what happens next time if I don’t?