Chapter 3 It’s a Wound-erful Life
Jaxon
Shock slams through me at Flint’s words. Not so much at the words themselves—he’s not saying anything I don’t already know about myself courtesy of Grace, Hudson, and nearly two hundred years of being me.
But the anger behind them, the rage that seems way out of proportion to the discussion we were having… That is new, and it sends icicles down my spine.
Suddenly, standing here in my boxers makes me feel way more exposed than I’d like.“Fuck it,” Flint says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Squirt some bodywash over that gunshot and call it good. Why the fuck do I care if you get sepsis?”
Then he turns and storms out, slamming the bathroom door behind him as he goes.
What the actual fuck?
The icicles turn into an entire ice storm as I throw open the door and charge after him—just in time to see him close the front door behind him.
And no, just no. He doesn’t get to fucking carry me home like some knight in dragon armor—while he’s angry at me—and then get pissed off because I don’t bat my eyes and beg him to take care of me.
In seconds, I’m out the door and down the hall, but he’s moving even faster.
I finally catch up to him a few steps away from the elevator. “Are you going to stop so we can talk about this?” I demand.
When he just keeps walking, I fade in front of him, then stop, blocking his path.
“Get out of my way, Jaxon,” he grinds out, his jaw so tight I’m afraid it’ll shatter if he tries to open it too far.
“Make me,” I shoot back, because if he wants to go, I am so ready for it. “Or you can get your head out of your ass and tell me what you’re so pissed about. Considering I’m the one who got shot—”
“I’m not pissed, Jaxon! I’m scared.” He lobs the words at me like grenades about to go off.
“You threw yourself in front of that fucking bullet, and for like five seconds, I thought I’d lost you.
I thought you were dead and I’d never see you again.
Never get to hold you again. Never get to—” His voice breaks, and he looks away, throat working.
Just that easily, my anger dissipates. Because I was scared, too. Not for myself, but for Flint. If I had been distracted or just a few milliseconds too late, he’d be riddled with bullets. And I’d be in jail for murdering five human scumbags.
“I’m right here, Flint,” I tell him as the elevator dings its arrival. “And it is just a—”
“If you tell me it’s just a scratch one more time, I swear I’m getting on this elevator and never coming back.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair as the door opens.
“What do you want me to say, then?” I demand, turning so he can see that my side is already healing. “Look at the wound. It’s half gone already—”
Before I can finish, two members of the dragon guard get off—Aritza and Melanie, if I remember correctly. Though it’s late, they’re still in the red uniforms with gold trim that all guards wear while on duty.
They look startled to see us, their eyes going wide as they look from me to Flint and then back again.
While their reaction is justified—I am standing in the middle of the hallway in nothing but a pair of black boxers and a shit-ton of dried blood—something about it has alarm bells going off inside my head.
Even before the blond one—Aritza, I think—tells Flint, “Your father wants to see you.”
Damn. I thought we’d have more time before the night’s adventures came home to roost.
“Yeah, well, I’m kind of in the middle of something.” Flint shoots them the smile that could—and at times, did—charm the socks, shoes, and panties off half the population of Katmere Academy. “Can you tell him I’ll catch him tomorrow?”
As Aritza and Melanie exchange a look, I shift subtly so that my body is partially in front of Flint’s.
Not that I actually expect the two of them to try to drag Flint onto the elevator or something, but, judging from their body language, I also don’t think it’s completely out of the question, either.
Something about this whole exchange stinks to hell and back.
I’ve been at the Dragon Court for over four months now, and not once has Aiden—or Nuri—sent guards to bring their son to them.
Why should they when a quick text does the trick?
Or a knock on our door—we are only an elevator ride away from them, after all.
“Your father said it was urgent,” Aritza answers, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. “And to escort you to his office.”
“His office?” Flint glances at the TAG Heuer watch on his wrist. “Now? It’s after midnight.”
Aritza attempts a half smile, but it looks like it might crack her face. “He told us to tell you that the time doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.”
Flint looks blindsided by the request, but that’s just because he’s always thinking on the bright side.
I knew this was coming the second he took to the air tonight—it’s why I fought him so hard.
His blatant disregard of established flight paths—even in an “emergency”—is exactly what the Dragon Council has been waiting for.
I move a little more, so that I’m directly in front of Flint now, bloody torso and all. “Tell Aiden Flint will be there, but he needs a few minutes to get cleaned up first.”
Again, Aritza and Melanie look from him to me. Then they exchange a long look with each other.
I can tell Flint is getting impatient, but that’s because he’s not used to parents who demand instead of ask. Even Nuri, who is very much the dragon queen, tends to couch her orders as requests when talking to her son.
“He’ll be there as soon as he changes,” I tell her with a steady look. “I’m sure the king doesn’t want his son showing up drenched in vampire blood.”
Aritza’s lip curls at the thought. “I’ll tell him to expect you in fifteen minutes.”
“And I’ll escort you back to your room to change.” Melanie speaks for the first time, and it sounds more like a threat than a suggestion.
A quick glance at Flint tells me he finally clocks what’s going on by the way his spine straightens and his shoulders go back. Even before he says, “I’m pretty sure I can get to my father’s office on my own.”
“Consider me the messenger that’s here to give him your ETA,” Melanie answers easily.
“I’m perfectly capable of texting my father my ETA,” he shoots back.
“Well, then.” She smiles blithely. “Consider me your personal guard.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asks sarcastically. “Do you mean bodyguard or prison guard?”
Her only response is to keep smiling, and I know Flint—super nice guy until you piss him off—enough to be sure that an explosion is coming. Even before he pulls out his phone with a muttered, “What the fuck is going on here?”
I lock my own emotions down deep—the last thing I need is to send an earthquake through Tribeca—and snag his arm before Flint can text his parents.
“Come on,” I tell him as I start propelling him down the hall. “Let’s get changed—”
“Changing isn’t exactly my highest priority right now—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“I know, but it has to be done.”
He shoots me a what-the-hell look, which I consider a huge improvement over his rage from earlier. And which I ignore until we get to my suite.
“He’ll be out in ten minutes,” I toss over my shoulder as I hold the door open for Flint.
He looks like he has something to say to that, but I just shake my head and usher him through the door. The wound in my side is still throbbing a little—the fading definitely didn’t make it feel better—but I ignore the pain as I follow him inside.
“What the fuck, Jaxon?” he fumes as I lock it and slide the chain into place.
I put a finger to my lips in the universal be quiet gesture, then motion with my head for him to follow me into the bathroom, where I turn the shower on full blast. I may be overreacting—in fact, I probably am, as Nuri and Aiden would give their lives to protect Flint.
But it’s pretty clear that something isn’t right, and I have no doubt the Dragon Council is behind it.
Flint thinks he’s safe in the heart of the Dragon Court because he always has been.
But I’ve been around enough Court drama and intrigue to feel the weight of it in the air all around us.
And while a part of me wants nothing more than to barricade Flint in this suite until I know exactly what’s going on, I’m smart enough to know that isn’t the best way to keep him safe.
“What are you doing?” Flint looks baffled as I also close and lock the bathroom door behind us.
But that’s because he doesn’t know I’ve started sweeping my rooms for listening devices every day.
I started a few weeks ago at Eden’s suggestion.
She also thinks some really bad shit is about to go down and taught me how to do it.
Apparently, being a Dragon Guard cadet-in-training teaches a whole host of new and fascinating skills.
When she first suggested it, I wanted to think she was just being paranoid. But I grew up in the Vampire Court. I know the lengths people will go to to get what they want—especially when what they want is power.
Since I’ve started checking, I’ve found at least one bug every few days.
I destroy them when I find them because I want them to know that I’m on to them and I’m not afraid of whatever it is they’ve got planned.
The Dragon Council—and the clans they represent—think they’re so damn sneaky.
But they don’t stand a chance against a vampire, especially not one who was raised by Cyrus, Delilah, and the fucking Bloodletter.
That doesn’t stop the Dragon Council—or whoever’s doing this—from planting other bugs in even more diabolical spots. My fave so far was inside one of the ornaments on my bed frame.
I almost left that one—if they really want to hear what the crown prince sounds like in bed, who am I to deny them? Only the fact that we tend to talk about anything and everything before we drift off to sleep had me deciding to get rid of it.